#* this is also our very first time writing in a long while. pardon the overall awkwardness.

[khreborns]

Hiii! I don’t usually make requests that often so sorry if it’s a little vague. Would you be willing to write cuddling hcs for Tsuna, Gokudera, and Yamamoto with their s/o?

╰┈➤     (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*    Hello ! Hello ! There's nothing to apologize for, thank you for starting us with something cute.

.𖥔 ˖ PAIRING  :  y / n × Tsuna, y / n × gokudera,  y / n × takeshi. gender neutral & TYL setting. .𖥔 ˖ WARNING  : Pre-establish relationships, just a very slight mentions of NSFW under gokudera.  No beta reading, might have clerical errors

.𖥔 ˖  SAWADA, TSUNAYOSHI. .ᐟ.ᐟ

━━━ Tsunayoshi's shyness never did retire, it goes on crippling him back to when he's just a middle schooler with a dreadful sort of all consuming crush. With clammy hands and heart beating against his chest - he could have sworn you'd hear it , feel the sweat a top his skin and when you do feel his discomforts, ( his body too warm, him breathing too hard . . . whatever self-conscious thing that worms its way into his head ) he's sure to see your face contorting in disgust. BUT you never do. You embrace him a little closer and he scrunches his nose in relief.

You'll learn quick that Tsunayoshi holds you too carefully, arms hesitantly wrapped around you, stiff with shaky breaths, but unwilling to leave all the same. His eyes are often shut tight, holding his breath until you squeeze a gentle reassurance into him, lulled into your comfort. He's happiest with you, safest with you, wants to be like this forever with you.

I think Tsunayoshi ends up with a severe case of night terrors, what can I say? The trauma got to him! For a long while, he couldn't really sleep properly, but having you there sure eased those fears.

He'll find himself seeking that special space beside you more often than he'd like to admit if only because he thinks he's bothering you. ( Is he being childish? unmanly? do you hate that? was he being too clingy? god forbid! ) - he could never verbalize this need but you'll sure see it in his face, just the way he looks at you, you know ? Can I hold you?

You are Tsunayoshi's charging station, his favorite place to be. Home becomes the space between your arms. & he'll hold you a little too desparately sometimes, like the first breath you take after drowning.

.𖥔 ˖  GOKUDERA, HAYATO. .ᐟ.ᐟ

━━━ He had read about it, the benefits of cuddling. He tells you unprompted and whether or not you knew about it hardly really mattered, he couldn't just say it straight could he ? It'll 'boost immunity' , it's a 'good stress management' , It promotes sleeps, just so you know. He says one time, face drawn crumpled into an embarrassed displeasure, like he's angry at you . . . but you should know better by now.

Gokudera is neurotic ; he thinks of all the awful scenarios before anything else and a simple hug, unless absolutely perfect, could lead into unknown perils and disasters. It has to be perfect! He has to do it right! But he's clumsy above all else and even as an adult he remains inane when it comes to the matters of the heart. How do you do it? The perfect partner, lover. There's no instruction guide for that, is there?

So there he is, rigid against your arms, rigor mortis stage of death, he's supposed hug you back! He knows about this! But he isn't breathing and his eyes are drawn wide with fright. ( Where you suppose to feel this comfortable? where you suppose to feel this good ? ) When he finally moves to embrace you, you'll find his hugs tight and needy, don't go - stay. All over again, he feels uncool. This is not a perfect hug but when you move closer, snuggle into him just as enthusiastically as he had been, he feels all his worries melt away.

Ah, but he doesn't like that he's greedy - cuddles always lead to one thing and another, makes him want a kiss, to hold you longer, maybe, maybe just feel you a little more.

Gokudera would likely , vividly remember every little thing about you — the way you feel against his skin, how you smell, how you sounded... seared into his cranium. So! he's obsessed, you should have seen that coming!

.𖥔 ˖  YAMAMOTO, TAKESHI. .ᐟ.ᐟ

━━━ Quick to heave you close! Takeshi's shyness lay just beneath his inclination to keep you near, he had always been predisposed to touch . . . you'd noticed long before you've gotten together, how he'd linger just a little bit too close, loiter in your space and stall just to stay there, more often than not his habits are thoughtless, never preemptive, always just an unanticipated impulse. ( but there you would be, apprehended into a comfortable embraced, squeezed just enough to remember how you both have bodies, how you feel against his. He'd be red faced, blushing peachy pink like he isn't the perpetrator of this crime - and even if you aren't a hugger, you'd think it isn't too bad, you also found out Takeshi has a sway on people, he has a sway on you too. )

You might think it's sly, when he's able to settle into you urbanely, charmed smile across his face and hands along the dip of your hips. He's shy, really, he is! With his heart tapping across his chest lamely, nervously . . . ! but he knows where his body should go, knows where to hold you just right. Knows to ask - "can I?" - "May I?" , knows to kiss you thank you when you grant him affection. There's nothing clever about this, nothing methodical in spite of what it may seem, he feels clumsy and he's in love. He doesn't know what to do with himself really.

He's unwilling to let you go. (It's childish he knows.) but once you're caught, he'd wished for you to stay there - just a little bit longer, a little bit more. Takeshi feels he's a bit too self-indulgent, like he's being too greedy, but self-restraint is difficult when you feel just right, when you allow him to be eager and humor his troublesome self. A kiss follows and another and another, he's smiling through it, likes to murmur your name smothered with i love yous.

Forgive him for being overwhelmed. He'd be very dog coded when it comes to his partner, very enthusiastic . . . to say the least.

[beyondconfessor]

Explicit Truths

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman/Reader

Summary: When a truth spell has you admitting what you're really thinking about during the assembly, Zelda has no choice but to punish you.

N.B.: for @ lilithsmuffin, also posted on AO3 You had been brought in as an educator. A witch from a distant coven, moving to set new roots and get away from the old ways. When rumours arrived to your doorstep that the very same Academy of Unseen Arts had a Directrix as well as a Priestess? You practically packed your bags the same day, leaving your coven to sprint towards the Church of Night, now turned Church of Lilith.

Zelda was…magnificent in all of her glory. Watching her speak in Dark Mass was breathtaking. She was elegant, prepared, but in easy confidence, and there was a dry humour as she rose an eyebrow, offering a joke that had your heart glowing around the stories of Lilith.

Here the coven taught independence, it taught power in the simple magics, and strength in your ties to one-another. It taught you self-respect and made you eager to be a part of more.

Your introduction, an ardent request to join the coven, had been met with an arched brow. “And what can you offer us?”

It didn’t take a keen eye to notice the lack of adults, but despite the desperation the coven was left in, not all would be accepted––you still needed to prove your worth.

You could offer a lot, you assured, and had somehow managed to convince her that your skills were well not just invaluable but required. Perhaps you were not proficient in high-end hexes and curses as herself, but your theory was strong, your interest in the dark arts paramount to your obsession in transmutation. And at the very least, you were a teacher who could stay at the school when Directrix Spellman was otherwise needing a break to return home to the Spellman Manor.

Though, since your arrival, you noticed she had only visited a few times, otherwise staying nearby should the children require her.

You prepped your lesson, you taught with enthusiasm and passion, and where as some of the children took well to you, others…thought themselves pranksters.

A truth spell in your morning tea. At first, it was hardly noticeable. You were overall quite an honest person, finding no reason to lie when asked a direct question, which was all fine and well…until Directrix Spellman began to speak at the assembly, and as you had over the last few weeks, you found yourself lost in her eyes, watching as the sunlight sparkled in her hair, or the way her hands moved that made you wonder if they were as elegant in other kinds of movements.

It was a dull topic, barely made more interesting by the way her she spoke, truth to be told. And when she turned and asked you a question, enquiring as to your agreement, you’d answered her honestly.

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

It received a laugh from the students, and Zelda’s face pinched at your admission. Confused.

“Pardon?” she asked, her voice going low with warning, reminding you that you were undermining her authority. “And why aren’t you paying attention?”

“I was thinking about what your fingers would feel like buried inside of me.”

Zelda blinked.

The students roared with laughter.

And you felt your face burn with embarrassment. It was then you realised that you were under the influence of a truth spell, and it seemed like you were unable to swallow the words away.

“Excuse me?” Her voice was low and deep. You’d humiliated her and the terror of that swelled in your chest.

Squeaking, you buried your face in your hands. “Please ignore me.”

Zelda’s expression shifted, a mask coming over her face before she looked back to the students and waved her hand, bringing silence to the room. “Who?” she asked. And the room paused, looking at each other awkwardly. “Speak up or I’ll personally punish each and everyone of you.”

“I’m sure one of us wouldn’t mind being punished, would they?” Dorcas said, and the girl’s eyes turned on you, a mischievous look in her face. Apparently your crush on Directrix Spellman had not gone unnoticed.

“I would enjoy it,” you agreed and then bit your lip hard, as if it could stop the words from coming out. Zelda gave you a sharp look before glaring at Agatha and Dorcas both.

“If no one will come forward then you’ll all be punished until such a time as you decide to be honest. Consider your freedom to move off campus revoked, and your reduced. Dismissed.” There was grumbling before the children scatted and Zelda turned on her heel, looking at you. “With me,” she directed sharply and your head bowed at her words. She was angry, and it was your fault. You should have checked your tea, you should have known that the faint taste of honey had to do with a truth spell, but you’d just thought that Hilda had noticed the cough you had that morning.

In fairness, it had helped it.

Zelda led you to office and then shut the door behind her, pointing for you to sit in front of the desk before she moved to sit in the grand chair behind it. You’d fantasied more than once about fucking her in that very same chair.

Her hands folded before her on the desk, as she sat up straight, her expression firm and unimpressed and you felt yourself look away, unable to meet her eyes. You’d been here a total of three and a half weeks, and you’d already disappointed her.

“The children are cruel,” she began. “When I first begun as a teacher they’d tried a similar thing. You need to be strict with them or they’ll continue to walk over you.”

“Yes, Directrix,” you said, still not meeting her eyes.

A silence pulled, and then you found yourself looking up, watching as Zelda seemed to stare at you, as if trying to work out what to do next. Perhaps she planned to temporarily strip you of your magic, or have you on scutwork in the kitchens. Whatever it was, you were sure it would be something well deserved.

“Do you think you need to be punished?” She enquired.

You nodded, feeling your eyes prick. “I do.”

“What lesson do you think you need to learn?”

You swallowed, her voice had taken to being gentle, as if she was guiding you to some point and the ease of that helped. “Not to drink potions unaware?”

“Mm. And anything else?”

“To…” and you swallowed, the truth spell tugging at you to respond while your own anxiety seemed to desire it to tug the words back––the spell won. “To not fantasise during assemblies.”

“Well, we’re only witches,” Zelda said. “We can hardly help our base desires. In fact, I would say that its encouraged in our tenets.”

Your eyes held hers and you watched as a smirk tugged at her lips. Was she���implying what you suspected? No, it seemed unlikely. Directrix Spellman was the High Priestess of the Church of Lilith. Her devotion was to their goddess, their Queen of Hell. Lilith guide her, surely she wasn’t––

“Surely she is,” a voice said beside you.

You’re back tensed as you slowly turned to look at the chair beside you, watching as crowned Queen of Hell crossed her legs, giving a small laugh as she drew a glass of whiskey to her lips. “She is as you said, Zelda.”

“I don’t exaggerated.”

“Mm. Quite lovely,” she said and her eyes drew down the length of your body and then back to your face. “But look at her. Flushed with guilt, and saying such naughty things to undermine your authority. Whatever will we do?”

“I’m always of the believe that a good punishment is picked by their wrong-doer,” Zelda said, before her eyes fell to yours. “So, tell me dear, what do you want your punishment to be?”

Your throat swelled with the words. Not what do you think, but what do you want. And you already knew what you wanted. You’d thought about, dreamt about late at night between your sheets. Embarrassment flushed through you as you squirmed on the seat, trying to bite back the words, your hand wrapping over your mouth to muffle them.

“What was that?” Lilith inquired, her eyes sparkling and you felt your breath draw tight in your lungs.

“Speak up,” Zelda commended. “Or I’ll have your hands bound if you can’t keep them away from your face.”

“Caning,” you said, and your eyes moved to the weapon she had leaning by the desk. It was a a long piece of wood, an extender with a piece of chalk in it to write high on the tall chalkboards, but the few times you’d seen her weilding it in the classroom, your mind had drifted to better uses for it.

Your eyes fell to your lap and your hands dug into the material of your dress on your thighs. There was more, but the spell seemed satisfied at the single admitted word.

“Well, Zelda. I think we should oblige.”

“Oh yes, quite a good idea.” And then she was pushing back in the desk chair, standing behind the desk. She moved papers to the side of the otherwise tidy desk, and then she she gestured for you to stand before her, eyebrow cocked, waiting.

You shouldn’t keep her waiting.

Swallowing, you stood up and moved around the desk, coming to stand before her. Lilith remained in her seat, a large cheshire grin growing on her lips as she watched you shiver, making no attempt to leave to the privacy of your punishment.

And a part of you didn’t want her to leave, especially when her chest heaved with an intake of breath, eyes drawing over you again with unabashed lust.

“What are you waiting for? Bend over, on the desk,” Zelda said.

“Yes, Directrix.”

You laid yourself across the desk, hands reaching across the expanse to clutch at the other side as you shifted your legs.

“Back straight,” Zelda said, and then she was adjusting your hips and you had to bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you felt her hands draw up your sides and then back down, almost soothing. And then she pressed behind you and your breath exhaled, eyes opening as you felt something press against you.

Was she––?

“Good girl,” she whispered in your ear and her hand drew down your back, down your backside to your thighs where the skirt of the dress ended. You held your breath and felt fingertips graze over the back of your legs, and then the dress was sliding up and over your hips, bunching around your waist. The air was cool against your skin and you felt her fingers trail over the band of cotton. “These off too, hmm?” she enquired.

“Yes,” and you ducked your face under your hands, only to feel a hand cup under your chin and tug it back, looking up over the desk.

“I want to see your face,” Lilith said, her thumb grazing across your cheek as she held your face steady in her hand. “Will you oblige your Queen?”

“I will.”

“Zelda’s right, you are a good girl. And if you’re very, very good, I’m sure a treat can be arranged?” and then Lilith’s eyes flicked to behind your shoulder, to where Zelda was. Both women seemed to share a look and you felt the response squirm inside of you.

And then your underwear wear was tugged down, dropped around your ankles. You stepped out of them and felt as Zelda’s hands settled over your backside, nails bluntly drawing over thighs to your hips. And then the warmth of her hands left and you heard the sound of wood dragging against wood as she picked up the cane. Anticipation tightened in you, but Lilith’s hand hadn’t removed from your face, her thumb stroking against your cheek as she watched Zelda set up behind you.

“How many lashed to begin with?” Zelda asked.

“Five,” Lilith answered, her bright eyes turning to you, “that sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

“Five is good,” you agreed.

There was a quiet and you watched as Lilith’s eyes looked to Zelda’s, her smile widening into a grin. The cane pressed gently against your ass, and then it pulled back and the only warning you had was Lilith’s eyes sparkling with delight as the cane cut through through the air––thwack––and hit your backside, across the middle, against both cheeks.

Gasping, you felt the hand tighten on your chin, nails holding you firmly in place before the cane struck again, firmer this. It stung, pain bleeding hotly over your skin, but Lilith’s expression softened and you heard a moan slip from behind you.

You jumped as fingers touched over your skin where the two marks had hit and watched as Lilith smiled at you. “Too much?” she asked.

“No,” you answered, voice heavy with arousal. Again you wanted to say, but it was clear on your face as Lilith looked to Zelda and gave a nod.

It was harder, firmer. One, two and then three, the sounds filling the air and by the last one you were gasping, head bowing against Lilith’s hands as you clutched at the desk. Already you could feel a slickness in your thighs––if the day was filled only by this you’d dream of it from the rest of your life.

“Five,” Zelda stated and you shivered at the deepness of her voice, thick with arousal at her finger tips drew over the hot skin. “Do you think you’ve served your punishment?”

“No, Directrix,” you answered, biting your lip and this time Lilith laughed.

“Is that so?” Zelda asked and her hand came to press against your lower back, holding you firmly. “Perhaps we should try something different.” And then you heard the sound of a drawer opening and something being pulled from it.

Lilith looked from whatever object it was and then to you. “This will sting,” she promised, her thumb still stroking your cheek. “Usually I’d say something along the lines of ‘this hurts us more than it hurts you’, but that’s just not true. This will hurt and we’re going to enjoy it very much.”

You nodded and felt as behind you Zelda shifted, and then you felt the touch of leather draw over your ass, across the hot skin. It slid down your thigh, sliding low to the back of your leg, and then it slipped between your knees and up. You’re mouth parted, a throbbing growing already between your legs as you began to almost pant in anticipation.

It brushed over the labia, drawing gently against it, drawing over the entire length before it disappeared. Your hips pressed firmed against the desk, a part of you wanting very desperately to feel that leather draw firmer against it.

You felt Zelda’s heel nudge between your feet, “Spread your legs for me,” she said, her shoe pressing your foot from one side to the other until you were spread wide and open. Your body flushed at the command.

“You like being told to spread your legs for your Directrix, don’t you?” Lilith teased.

“Yes,” you responded.

“Would you like it if she pressed between your thighs and…” and then Lilith was drawing close to you, until her face took up the entirety of your peripheral and all you could see was how blue her eyes were, “slid her fingers between those very wet folds of your cunt?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and your mouth parted as you felt Lilith brush closer, almost as if she was about to––

Thwack. You gasped and Lilith laughed, drawing back as you felt the sting of the leather against your backside. The pain drew hotly over your skin, and before you could prepare, a second one struck higher, firmer and you hissed feeling the sting wash over your backside. And just as you were about to recover, there was a third, low and firm to one cheek, leaving you whimpering.

“Good girl,” Zelda said and her hand drew over the last mark, firm as she touched over the forming welt. “Two more for me and then I think you’ve learnt your lesson.”

“Yes, Directrix Spellman.”

You paused, a tugging low in your belly. In the bent position, you could feel the cool air drawing over the wetness building between your legs. It must be obvious. It felt obvious.

Before you, Lilith’s lips parted, her eyes softening as she watched Zelda, and then her eyes pulled away to yours, mouth tugging into a secret smile for you. She held you firm, and when the strike came, fast and hard against your ass, you felt a moan pull at your mouth. It hurt, but as you drew in a breath, Lilith’s thumb drew over your cheek and Zelda’s hand over the struck area.

They were both gentle, tender movements and you whimpered, tears prick in your eyes. “You’re doing well,” Lilith told you.

“One more,” Zelda said.

“Make it count,” Lilith said. And she did. The strike was firm and hard, low on your ass so very edges of it struck over your labia. The sting shuddered through you and Lilith let go of you gently, allowing your head to drop forward, hiding in your arms.

She drew a hand through your hair, rising to her feet before she walked away. And then you could feel both women standing behind you, fingers grazing over the marks as Lilith gasped approvingly. “How lovely,” she admired, and you thought it was the welts Zelda had caused…and then you felt her finger slide between your thighs, drawing at the very edge before she pulled away.

“Quite wet,” Zelda said. “I dare say the lesson may not have been as well received as I’d hoped.”

“Whatever shall we do about that?” Lilith asked, and you felt her move to sit beside you, leaning against the desk. You shifted, turning to look, but a hand splayed over your lower back, holding you in place. And then you felt as fingers slid over your folds, before you felt Zelda press against your ass, her hand coming to stretch before your face.

Her fingertips glistened before you.

“Do you see this?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what this is?”

Swallowing, you nodded. “Arousal,” you answered. And then corrected, “My arousal.”

“It’s a mess is what it is,” Zelda told you, “You should clean it up.”

You looked over your shoulder at them and watched as both women raised their eyebrows, waiting for you to do so. You turned back to the fingertips and pressed your face forward, until they brushed over your lips. And then your mouth parted and felt as Zelda’s fingers pressed against your tongue one by one, allowing you to lick them clean.

“There we go,” Zelda said, drawing her hand away. You felt an emptiness tugging low from inside of you, a desperation to feel those fingers enter elsewhere.

“This doesn’t fix the problem that I see,” Lilith advised. “I mean, look at that mess between her thighs. Poor thing is dripping. We should really help her out.”

“Oh, I entirely agree,” Zelda said, before she was nudging your legs further apart. “How do you want us to sort this mess?” Zelda asked of you.

“Fuck me,” you said. “I don’t care how just fuck me, please.”

“She doesn’t care how,” Lilith commented. And then she was stepping around the desk again, sitting in the same chair as she had before, setting her whiskey glass down to look you over. She leant back in the seat, her hand propped up on the arm of the chair as she rested her chin upon the palm of her hand, watching you. “Perhaps we can narrow this down.”

And you felt Zelda press against you and you knew this time, feeling the pants brush against your parted legs, there was a strap pushing against you and your eyes fluttered at the thought.

Lilith caught your expression. “You can’t see,” she told you, “But our dear Directrix is looking at you like you’re the belle of the orgy. I think she wants to touch your cunt, would you like that?”

Your response came out as an exhaled breath, “Yes.”

And then you felt Zelda’s fingers sliding over the front of your thighs. Your hands clutched at the desk, anticipating the touch as you felt her pants press firmer against you. And then there was the lightest graze, over your pubic mound, down touching lightly over the folds and then a finger found your clit. It was soft tease, and then a firm stroke, circling. You whimpered at it, pressing firmer against the front of her pants as you tried to slide against her fingers.

The hand dropped away and you whined.

Lilith pouted, leaning forward in the chair to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not enough?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.”

“Tell your Queen what you want.”

“I…I can feel…”

Lilith nodded, and it was patronising as she bit her lip, eyes flicking to Zelda and then back to you. “You can feel, what?” she asked.

“A toy.”

“Mm. Directrix Spellman was all prepared for a meeting we were to have later,” she said, eyes flicking up to Zelda’s to share a secret smile before turning back to you. “And then we had to deal with this situation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, this has be a much preferred turn of events, wasn’t it dear?” Lilith asked.

“Indeed,” Zelda agreed.

“You know, where Directrix Spellman first saw you…oh she couldn’t keep her eyes from you. She’d dream about fucking you, fucking me, fucking us. Now, be a good girl and tell me, did you dream about this too?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

And Zelda’s fingers were circling your clit again as you nodded. “Here,” you confirmed, your breath coming out in a pant.

“Did you think about fucking her or just being fucked?”

“Both. And you. I thought about fucking you…” you trailed off, feeling a growing orgasm tugging low. You weren’t far off, you could feel yourself clenching, wanting to squeeze around Zelda’s fingers, or the strap she was keeping in her pants, or Lilith’s tongue or…anything, anything that they’d give.

Lilith grinned. “Do you want Directrix Spellman to fuck you with her dildo?”

You nodded, feeling the pace quicken.

“You need to ask her.”

The speed around your clit was increasing, stroking firmer and you squirmed, hips shaking. “Please,” you panted. “Please Directrix, will…will you fuck––“ you cut off with a moan, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck me with your dildo.”

“You only had to ask,” Zelda said, with a low throaty laugh. Her fingers pulled away and you dropped on the desk, your muscles easing as you felt the growing climax die away. And then there was the unmistakable sound of a zip being undone, and then your felt the toy press against your entrance. Zelda’s hand held your waist and Lilith’s hands drew over your wrists, holding you firm as the toy drew prominently over your vulva, sliding firmly up, hitting over your clit and then back down.

Once, twice, she stroked and your hips shifted, moving in time and then she was pressing against the entrance and your breath came out as a sigh at how good it felt.

She slid inside of you and gave a short stroke before she was sliding out again. Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan spilling from your lips. She did it again, deeper and then she was gone and you were left feeling empty.

You whimpered and then she was drawing inside of you again, deeper. You felt her hand tug you firmer on the shaft and you obliged, sliding down on it until it filled you completely. “Good girl,” she said.

She stroked inside of you, slowly at first, and then as you hips met her pace, she increased and you felt your self whine and moan, the sounds filling the air until she stopped and you were left panting on the desk, feeling the cool wood press against your skin.

“You’ll need to be quiet,” Zelda said. “We can’t have any students pushing through those doors and seeing you in such a compromising position.”

“If you can’t be quiet,” Lilith agreed, “We’ll just have to gag you.”

You looked at and watched her smirk, her hands still firm on your wrists. You weren’t certain of what they would gag you with, but you could hope.

When Zelda began rocking inside of you again, you didn’t hold back you moans. Deliberately allowing your mouth to part, moans coming out with short, sharp gasps.

Zelda’s hand spanked at your ass and you yelped with surprise. And then Lilith was grinning at you. “Now, I didn’t come prepared with a gag, and I’m afraid your dear piece of cotton has mysteriously disappeared. But…” and you watched as Lilith let go of you and with a sudden burst of magic, she had a pair of silken black undergarments in grip that could only belong to one other person. “Open up,” she said, her own mouth parting in excitement.

You obeyed, mouth going wide and felt her carefully place and ball Zelda’s silk underwear into your mouth. They were warm and wet and the realisation of that hummed through you as you realised that she’d been wet because of you.

“Much better,” Zelda said, “If you’re very good, next time we can go somewhere more private.”

Next time, you wanted to ask, but she was thrusting inside of you and your body was responding too well to the feeling to do anything but focus on meeting her pace.

Lilith’s hands held your wrists firm, her eyes staring at you with hunger as you felt Zelda slide in and out, in and out and desperately you wanted attention on your clit as well. You were close, so very, very close. You just needed….

Lilith let go of you and drew your hands down the table, only to feel Zelda’s nails dig into your hip, warning you to put them back. You couldn’t see Lilith, but you imagined she had moved around to stand beside and watch Zelda fuck you as you were moved closer and closer to orgasm––except, all at once you felt Zelda pull out of you.

“Stand up,” she said.

You panted, feeling your whole body flush, your heartbeat thundering in you as you shakily stood up. And then your back was being pressing against the front of Zelda’s body as Lilith came to stand before you. The toy pressed between your thighs and Lilith reached up, tugging the underwear out of your mouth gently, her hands cupping your face as she pressed a kiss to your lips, mouth parting for her tongue to brushed against yours.

And Zelda was kissing your neck, and then your head was turning and your mouth drew to hers.

The toy was sliding against you, and then as Zelda’s mouth parted, you felt it thrust inside of you. With a sudden gasp against her mouth, you squeezed around the toy.

And then a hand was drawing between your legs, over to your clit and you were kissing Zelda, Lilith was on your neck, and slowly you felt Zelda began thrusting inside of you, her mouth hot against yours until you felt her moan into your mouth.

Praise Lilith, you could feel the hand drawing against your clit, the firm, steady stroke in and out as the pace increased. The women held you steady on your feet, their hands firm on your body and you drew from one mouth to another as they stroked and fucked and drew every whine and moan and exhale from you until could feel stars building behind your eyes.

“Please,” you whimpered as you felt one of them bite at your shoulder. “Please let me…” as another sucked at your throat. There were hands holding your hips, tugging you over the strap, and one drawing underneath your bunched up dress, sliding to your breasts to pinch at your nipple.

“You can come for us,” Zelda whispered in your ear. And then her mouth drew over yours as the dildo stroked long and firm and Lilith’s fingers on your clit circled and pinched.

You came sobbing, grasping at both women, feeling you might collapse as your knees buckled but they held you up, kissing you eagerly as your body clenched and convulsed between them. It felt as if the bliss would extend for all eternity.

And then it slowed, like waves washing against the shore. Lilith’s hand drew away first, and then the shaft was sliding out of you.

With panting breaths, you leant back against Zelda as Lilith hands held you firm on your feet, a haze of endorphins washing over you.

“I should drink more spiked tea if that’s how it’s going to end,” you murmured.

“Oh, we’re not done with you yet,” Zelda advised. “You may be satisfied, but the two of us are just worked-up.”

You laughed, opening your eyes as you came to carefully pull away, steady on your feet. You manoeuvred yourself to lean against the desk, grinning at the two flushed-face women, both of them looking at you hungrily as if they’d only been teased.

Already, you could feel ideas forming in your head, thinking about how lovely Zelda would look in that grande chair of hers. How wonderful it would be to have Lilith sitting on your face.

“And how may I be of service?” you asked.

Zelda and Lilith turned to each other, sharing a look before they turned back. "First thing's first," Lilith said. "You have to pick who you'll serve first. And I promise, dearly, that the other will only punish you a little bit."

You drew in a breath, looking between them, knowing that either one would hold it against you. The question was...which one did you want to punish you more?

[miggydiaz]

For the salty ask 1, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 14, 16, 20, 22, 23 and 26 for cobra kai pretty please

My answers are so long, so I am putting this under the cut @wonderwolfballoon! Also I just noticed your Daniel icon I SWEAR I’M NOT DRAGGING HIM TO BE MEAN!!!

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?* My biggest IDGI ships for CK are probably Elimetri or Kiaz. I’m not here to yuck other people’s yums or anything, but I do think there is something to the idea that Migueli isn’t popular because it’s a ship predicated on mutual respect for one another. Kiaz has the obvious enemies to lovers vibe and I just generally don’t sail those ships. Elimetri has... its problems, IMO, most especially around the idea that Demetri has to like... save Hawk from himself? Idk. I just like romances that I feel are based on love and mutual respect and not ...tropes.

 I am also not a Lawrusso shipper although I have a lot of those on my dash and you all are great! Again, not yucking yums! Daniel just makes me want to head butt him too much to pair him romantically with anyone 😂 I don’t even want his wife with him. He needs to self reflect~ 

4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?* 

I once saw someone ship Amanda and Anoush and I noped out of that so fucking fast I almost tripped over myself. I’m not sure if they’re popular. I just think some people feel the need to get Amanda out of the way to sail their ship and stuck her with Anoush which... no. Just no. Let Amanda be a messy single queen with a martini hobby, thanks! 

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?* 

Not in CK. I’m lucky because I pretty much stick to my little Migueli bubble and I’m okay with that? Lmao lord knows the Squad on my dash is all about the DISCOURSE™️ so idk if I just don’t feel the need to get sucked into the wider ship wars because we have good healthy debates, but so far, so good. 

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?* 

I never hated it... I just didn’t have many feelings on shipping with this show in general at first. Then I was in the CK tag one day and I saw Migueli fan art. Then I discovered @afurioushawk‘s falconry series and it was all over for me after that! So fandom DID make me love a ship, just not one I hated.

9. Most disliked character(s)? Why? Oh boy. How much time do you have? In some instances, it’s a good thing season 3 happened because otherwise, this would be a multi-page essay on the problems with race and class privilege as it pertains to Sam LaRusso and just some... generally not nice comments about Demetri that I’m conflicted about because I’m not sure if the writers are intentionally trying to write him a specific way and it’s just not translating to me or what. But season 3 revamped both of their images with me a lot. I’m way more flexible in terms of Demetri, but lmao I was the number one Sam LaRusso hater for a minute there (or maybe number 2, I can think of at least 1 other person who was in that boat with me back in like... August/September, but I won’t call them out because I don’t want them to get hate...) However, I have grown a bit in my opinions of Sam, and even though I still think she’s responsible  for a lot of shit she NEVER gets held accountable for, I also think that’s a reflection of the adults around her too, and this includes my otherwise unproblematic queen, Amanda.

But honestly, my most hated character (other than the obvious villain that is Kreese) is Daniel. No matter how handsome Ralph Macchio looks in cable-knits, because Daniel has always been a sanctimonious, shit starting drama king and I say that about KK Daniel too. I’m not saying Daniel was the ~true villain~ or anything, or that Johnny was innocent -- I can only drink so much Red and Yellow Kool-Aid -- but Daniel’s always been annoying to me as a protagonist, and turning him into a smarmy wealthy car salesman who is also a class traitor did not do him any favors in my book. I will say, I also like Daniel more in season 3 than I have in previous season, but since he is the adult, I will be mad at him longer than I will be at the kids, ya feel?

10. Most disliked arc? Why?

 Johnny’s entire season 3 storyline. The sheer level of REGRESSION at every turn drives me bonkers. It’s like watching him go through all of the stumbling blocks of season 1 all over again, but without the “he’s learning! He’s going to make mistakes!” free pass that I was willing to give him the first time around. He regularly jeopardizes Miguel’s recovery and it’s played for laughs. He fucks up on every level with Robby. He spends most of his time running away when things get hard or too real. He drops the ball completely with Hawk, and like, not to put too fine a point on it, but a lot of Hawk’s issues are because Johnny put Hawk on this ‘flip the script and be a badass’ path and then offered him no guidance for how to walk that path and instead left him in the hands of Kreese. And then he has the nerve to go to Hawk and basically be like “I made you what you are!” lmao yeah Johnny, you sure did, that’s why he’s breaking peoples arms, hoss. And then all of the nonsense with Ali and Carmen, like... if you were planning on teasing KK fans with Ali and him getting back together, why write her as married in the first place? Why even tease the idea of Carmen and Johnny until after you were sure what you were going to do with Ali as a character? Instead, they do what they did in season 3 and it makes him look like a colossal jerk. So yeah. Literally every choice they made with Johnny this season, I hated.

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom? People who hate Tory are not valid, sorry not sorry.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? I would have kept Miguel entirely out of Tory and Sam’s beef. Or at least not directly inserted him into it like he was with the kiss. I know the writers thought it was necessary to push Tory to the point of inciting a fight at school, but I am just so exhausted over girls being unable to fight about anything but boys. Also I would bring Aisha back.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom? 

I am probably biased, but I still maintain it’s Migueli. Look, Miguel stood up to Kyler for Eli and Demetri both. Hawk joined CK because he saw what it could do for some skinny nerd who was getting his ass kicked. And he took to CK, really took to it! Even flourished before he started getting mixed messages. And he and Miguel were pretty much inseparable after that. They coordinated their wardrobes ffs. Hawk dubbed him El Serpiente and no one else calls him that — it’s Hawk’s nickname for him. Miguel confides in Hawk only secondary to Johnny, who is like a father to him. The entire Coyote Creek exchange shows they can fight and disagree but... well, to use the cliche, they don’t go to bed angry, you know? They’re square the very next day. Hawk is the first person at Miguel’s side when he gets kicked over the balcony and the LOOK he gives the second floor where Robby is? That boy is out for blood immediately to avenge Miguel. So much of his s3 behavior is fueled by that need for vengeance because MD is wholly responsible for what happened to Miguel. And Miguel is so confused and betrayed by Hawk’s shift in behavior, and yet still holds out hope that Hawk will see through Kreese’s BS and come with him to The Dojo I Refuse to Name. And when Hawk does make that deflection finally, he shows up at MD with Miguel. There’s so much more that I know I’m missing but whether someone ships them or not, that is a tried and true love and respect for one another, a willingness to fight for and defend one another that you don’t often see in TV friendships... or even in most tv relationships. And I just think that’s the best ❤️

22. Popular character you hate?

 Daniel, hands down. I mean... I don’t even necessarily hate Daniel, you know? I just think it’s really, pardon the pun, rich that a guy of immense wealth and privilege can’t get a therapist or turn to his far too patient wife for help with his existential crisis over his high school bully opening up a karate dojo to make some money and help a kid who is getting the crap kicked out of him. I get that Daniel’s narrative is necessary for the rivalry, but it does nothing to make him sympathetic as a character.

23. Unpopular character you love?

 Tory, definitely! Everyone hates her and then there’s me and the Squad over here banging away on our Coors Banquet cans yelling TORY RIGHTS! Seriously she catches so much flack for a teenage girl who is... the sole income provider for her family? At 17? While caring for a sick mom and a little brother? And fending off a creepy landlord? Tory has it so rough and then she meets a cool girl at her dojo who asks her to hang out at some fancy ass country club which is probably the nicest place Tory has ever been in, and then she gets talked down to and accused of being a thief and has another girl lay hands on her, only to find out that same girl is her new boyfriend’s ex and... ugh. I HATE that Tory gets shit all over when Tory and Sam wouldn’t even have beef if Sam had apologized to Tory as she SHOULD have. Tory isn’t innocent, but damn, I’d be pressed too.

 My other unpopular character I love? Nathaniel. Seriously that kid is THE best. He’s a literal child but is out there like I WILL FUCK YOU UP, even though he’s MD. Honestly, his Cobra Kai energy is so ferocious I won’t be surprised if he moves back to CK eventually. Anyway, I love him.


26. Most shippable character?

 Miguel, hands down. It’s because he’s so affable and sweet overall. And because his hair is so fluffy and pettable that no one can resist touching it. I like to imagine that one day he and Hawk are talking about their hair and Hawk makes a joke about how Miguel’s mane is getting so long that it’s going to be bigger than his own, and then he reaches out to ruffle it and internally has a bisexual meltdown because oh no IT’S SO SOFT AND NICE. But uh... anyway, yes. Definitely Miguel.

[thearkhound]

Why are Konami’s MSX games fun? Interview from Beep #35 (1987/09)

We Asked Konami’s Development Division

Text by TAKE ON!

Photographs by: Keita Iwagami

While there are many gaming software for the MSX, there’s something special about Konami’s MSX titles that makes them stand out. Rather than just doing simple ports from other platforms, their titles have a unique charm to them that titles from other developers might lack. To find out how they do it, we tried asking Konami directly.

Just as Expected

“Hey, I knew it! It’s just like I predicted.” As I saw the results of this issue’s survey, I raised my voiced and shouted “Did you see this? Konami was voted the number 1 software maker for the MSX!” However, my voice was simply absorbed by the editing room, with no even a simple “yes” or “I see”-type of response. While I was happy that my favorite company Konami took the no. 1 spot, the editors around me didn’t seem very impressed by that. Perhaps they were exhausted by all the hard work they were doing everyday.

“Why are you guys not impressed? Maybe Konami being No. 1 was too predictable, but it’s still outstanding. Perhaps our readers might want to find out why their games are so interesting. I think such an article will probably be invaluable for this issue’s special MSX coverage...” After trying to argue with the editors in a way that made no sense, I went to Konami’s branch office at Tokyo to interview them.

Overwhelmed by the Company’s Policy

“Uhh, my name is Take On, I’m a writer for Beep magazine.” Like a country bumpkin, I went there without a business card stating who I was, so I had to spent time explaining myself away to the receptionist. After somehow managing to explain who I was and why I came there, Ms. [Akemi] Kamio, Konami’s spokeswoman, led me to what seems to be the reception room.

Before I knew it, I was sitting absent-mindedly at the reception room. “Where am I? Who am I? Ah! Ms. Kamio is such a beauty, that I almost lost my memory. I’m not so used to that. By the way, what was I going to talk about...”

While desperately trying to remember what kind of questions I had in mind, I noticed there was some kind of writing on the wall.

Company’s Policy:

Brilliance Begins With People

Cosmic Pondering

Earnest Action

Release the Fountain of Sensitivity

And Continue Sending Waves of Creativity

Into The Future

Huh. It has a very creative feeling to it, but I have no idea what it means by just reading it. What sort of company policy or philosophy was this? And what the heck was a “cosmic pondering”?

While I was thinking about this, Ms. Kamio guided me, or rather lured me to the “great developer”, so I automatically switched to interview mode. But I still didn’t know what was going to be my first question, so I ended up fumbling a bit.

Cosmic Pondering

Take On!: Uh-hello! I came here today to ask about the MSX and its “cosmic pondering”?

Akihiko Nagata: Uh, pardon me!?

T: (Crap! I fumbled my way so suddenly. Come to think of it, I did brought a notepad with me with the questions I had in mind. How silly of me.) Sorry about that! What I meant to say was that I came here to ask about why Konami’s MSX games are so popular. I would be glad if you could start by talking about Konami’s development department no. 1, the group you belong to.

Nagata: Our company’s development team is divided by three sections: Arcade, Famicom and PC. As you see, my department focuses on PC gaming development, even though most of our games are for the MSX. The company’s plan of action is to have the three sections assembled to work on the same level.

T: Does that mean that titles such as Ganbare Goemon and Akumajo Dracula [Vampire Killer], which were ported from Famicom games, have their own staffs for the MSX versions?

Nagata: That’s right. When it comes to porting a game from one platform to another, other companies tend to have the same team involved with the port. We could do that too, since it’s very efficient, but our company has a structure which allows the MSX team to independently research and develop its own ports. As a result, we hardly release any port that is just the same game with a few minor changes. In other words, because we feel the class of users for the Famicom and MSX, as well as the market, are different, we’re doing a full-time service for each, In that sense, each software is basically its own original product.

The Inside Story of the Gradius Development

T: (I see. With such a logic, you won’t have an identical product.) Speaking of which, the MSX version of Gradius [Nemesis] was very different compared to the arcade and Famicom versions when it came to aspects like the difficulty level and the additional stages.

Nagata: That’s right. When I saw the development of the Famicom version of Gradius I felt a sense of “I really want to do this”. When it comes to developing a port, we set milestones with the condition that “if we can’t complete this, then we must cancel the development.” In the case of Gradius, making the laser long was such a condition, so the first thing we ended up doing was the programming for the laser itself. If we could accomplish that, then we can surely port the game.

T: (He really knows how players feel.) That’s why I was glad when it had new area and the hidden extra stages.

Nagata: Originally we were set to develop the game on a 32 kilobyte cartridge, but that was not sufficient to fit everything we wanted, so it was increased to 1-Megabit. Because there weren’t that many Megarom cartridges back then, we worked hard to make the best of it. We ended up with excess space, so we added a new regular stage to make use of it, but that was still not enough content to fill the extra space, so we added the hidden extra stages, as well as title screen that took 8-kilobyte.

T: (I see. But still, doing your best to make full use of the game’s given memory is pretty amazing.) I had the chance to play Gradius 2 [Nemesis 2] a while ago. It’s a superb game with all new stages and inclusion of a sound source that seems like it was developed specifically for the Megarom cartridge format. Particularly with its opening story sequence that made me teary-eyed.

Nagata: That story was something that its lead designer was particularly fixated with. (laughs) The original arcade version of Gradius didn’t have much of a story other than “the Bacterions are coming, deploy the Vic Viper”, but that wasn’t enough for the manual, so we had to go back and write a new story.

T: And then Gradius 2 added a sound source to the software.

Nagata: The music is all new and composed by the same person who did the music for the original arcade version of Gradius. This time we were able to employ audio waveforms in addition to the standard 3 PSG channels. All in all, you could say it has 8 ports or 8 chords. Simple calculations are also increased by 2.8 times. The programming is already like a puzzle. As for the music itself, you might not be able to tell the difference when compared to a recent game, but when compared to the first Gradius, you’ll see that the sound itself was considerably improved.

A Gathering of Little Ideas

T: Lately Gradius 2 has served as the centerpiece of the MSX1, but where does that leave Metal Gear in regards to the MSX2? I was very impressed by the innovative direction it took.

Nagata: I’m glad that the game was well-received by your staff. (laughs) I was concerned whether or not the game would be well-received by players or not. But it seems like we’re off to a good start. The world of Metal Gear was also something that its designer was particularly fixated with. When it comes to directing, or rather structuring a game, there are ways to create it after deciding on its main ideas, but sometimes it’s better to mix up a lot of little ideas like a crossword. You’ll know the game’s overall balance when it’s finished.

T: That’s why all Konami games have subtle little touches or shine with their presentation. Are there any particular problems when it comes to developing an MSX game?

Nagata: Sincerely, while the world of graphics have expanded since the introduction of the MSX2, it is very difficult in terms of processing. The MSX was designed to be used on a home television set [as opposed to a computer monitor], so even if you make the graphics more detailed, it still won’t look very pretty on a TV screen.

And then there’s the scrolling. If you’ve seen TwinBee or Hinotori, you’ll understand. The machine is capable of vertical-scrolling, but not horizontal. That’s why you won’t see anything like points on-screen.

The LSI concept for the MSX’s image processing was designed with scalability in mind, but it wasn’t compatible with the kind of LSI employed by the Famicom, so that gave us a lot of problem.

T: You done a great job! Finally, I would be glad if you could tell us what’s Konami’s outlook for the future of the MSX.

Nagata: We’ve been allowed to make a living off the MSX, so we’ll continue to do our best when it comes to both, the MSX1 and MSX2.

When it comes to genre, our company has been basically making only action games up to this point, but we plan on adding more cerebral and adventure elements to future titles. The way users are viewing games are changing, so we want to grow while gradually attracting their needs.

Our MSX games have changed a lot content-wise since we started making them, but I don’t think they would changed that much in such a short time if we were doing only MSX games. There’s a sense of rivalry among Famicom and other PC users. We’re also going to do our best to compete with the arcade and Famicom sections anyway we can, so please continue to support us.

T: As an MSX user myself, I’m looking forward to Konami’s future games for the platform. I know it’s a lot of work, especially when it comes to the MSX1, but for the one million users out there please keep up the good work. Thank you for your time.

I was worried about what was going to happen at one point, but the interviewed ended in a hour without a hitch. If I get the opportunity, next time I’ll ask about what exactly a “cosmic pondering” is. Until then, see you again in “my own forum!” (Editor’s note: “Hey! Don’t advertise your own serial!”

Source

Beep Vol. 3 No. 9 - September 1987 issue (Softbank Publishing)

[inkwell1013]

Lillies and Roses

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Genre: Humor, Oneshot, Outsider POV, Flowershop AU (just barely)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mistaken infidelity, mild elements of body horror

Summary: Cameron has been running his family’s flower shop for years now. When a handsome yet peculiar redhead walks in to buy flowers for his boyfriend, he thinks nothing of it. But when that very same boyfriend comes in a week later to buy flowers for his fiancé, Cameron finds that he has a decision to make. Does he tell Crowley that Aziraphale is two timing him with Anthony or does he keep the secret? Or Crowley has two names and confuses a poor, innocent florist.

- - - - -

Cameron woke up early, as he always did. He brought in the latest shipment of flowers and swept up the shop floor ready for the customers. Things were always quiet in the mornings, when he was the only person in the store, and he took the opportunity to listen to some music while he worked.

Things were quiet most of the time. His shop was small, and he got just enough customers to get by. That was fine with him though. He enjoyed his quiet, unbothered life.

Whistling along with the music, he set up a few arrangements on the centre table and decided to work on a few special orders whilst he had the time. The door to the shop creaked open a few minutes later, and the bell rang, letting him know he had his first customer of the day.

He turned around and gave them a friendly smile. “Good morning,” he said. “How can I help you?”

The man was strange, though Cameron couldn’t immediately put a finger on what was unusual about him. It was a collection of odd traits which, when combined, made for an overall peculiar man.

He was wearing sunglasses even though it was bright and sunny outside, and Cameron swore he saw a flash of yellow eyes from underneath the dark lenses, but that was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him.

The man’s movement was almost serpent like and when he opened his mouth to speak, a forked tongue flickered out. Cameron blinked in surprise but when he looked again, it was replaced by a regular tongue.

Snake eyes. Snake tongues. Slithering. Serpents.

He shook his head. He was just imagining things. Covering his surprise with a classic customer service smile, he spoke. “Pardon?”

The man frowned. “I said, I want to buy some flowers for my boyfriend.”

How unusual… He even hissed his words like a snake.

“I can help you with that sir,” said Cameron. “Any particular type?”

The man thought for a moment. “Lilies,” he said at last. “He likes lilies. White ones.”

“You’re in luck,” said Cameron. “I got a fresh shipment of those this morning. It’ll take a little while for me to make the bouquet, but you’re more than welcome to wait in the shop.”

The man agreed and Cameron went to fetch some lilies from the back room. He found some suitable flowers and brought them out.

“So, tell me a bit about your boyfriend,” he said, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut the stems to the correct size.

“Why do you want to know?” Crowley asked, leaning up against the centre display table.

“Just making small talk.” Cameron wrapped the stems of the flowers with an elastic band.

“He owns a bookshop in Soho,” said the stranger. “Our anniversary is soon, so I thought I’d surprise him. Lilies are his favourite flower.”

“That’s sweet of you. He’s a lucky guy.”

“If anything, I’m the lucky one.”

Cameron nodded absentmindedly, holding the bouquet upright to check that everything was in order. Once he was sure that everything was in place, he laid it back down on the workbench and pulled out a notecard and pen.

“The flowers come with a personalized note,” he explained. “What do you want me to write on it?”

The stranger thought for a moment. “Could you write ‘Happy anniversary Aziraphale. I’m really glad Armageddon didn’t happen. Love Crowley.’?”

“What?”

“It’s an… inside joke.”

Cameron laughed. “And a unique one for sure,” he said. “How do you spell Aziraphale?”

Crowley spelt it out for him, and Cameron scribbled it down, along with the rest of the message. Then, he rang him up at the till and took the payment.

“I’ll come again soon,” called Crowley, as Cameron waved him goodbye.

***

Two weeks later, on a chilly spring afternoon, another strange person came into the shop and Cameron couldn’t help but be reminded of Crowley when he saw him. On first impression, he was unassuming - the only thing even slightly unusual about him was his unnaturally white hair. Still, there was something unequivocally wrong about him. Something off.

Cameron blinked and when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone. Instead, a creature was hovering before him. Concentric rings of eyes twisted around each other, framed by six wings which were large enough to touch either side of his shop.

He blinked again.

Two of the wings curled in on each other, forming a vaguely humanoid shape. The creature wrapped two of its wings around its body and Cameron watched in horror as three heads lurched their way from the thing’s shoulders. There was a human head in the centre, flanked by a lion’s head on the left and an ox’s head on the right.

He blinked again.

The creature cocooned itself in its wings. The two sets of remaining wings merged into a single pair. The wings were thrown backward revealing an otherwise normal human form, save for the bright while halo floating above it.

He slammed his eyes shut, blinded by the light. When he cautiously cracked them up again, he was faced by a regular man.

“Are you alright my boy?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just a little out of it,” said Cameron.

Had it all been in his head? He would have to go and see a doctor if these… hallucinations continued.

“How can I help you?” he asked, doing his best to keep his worry at the back of his mind.

The stranger gave him a friendly smile. “I’m looking to purchase some flowers for my fiancé,” he explained.

“Then you came to the right place!” said Cameron. “What kind would you like?”

The man considered for a moment. “Red roses, if you have them,” he said

Cameron nodded. “You’re in luck - I think I still have some of those left. This will only take a moment, so you are welcome to wait.”

Cameron went through the same motions he had gone through two weeks ago and every day since: fetching the flowers from the back room; arranging them; cutting the stems to size. The familiar routine was a comfort to him, especially after the strange occurrence that had happened just moments prior.

“So, how did you and your fiancé meet?” he asked.

The man smiled. “We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said. “When I first laid eyes on him, I knew he was different. But we didn’t get along at first. We were quite different people, and our families were… I don’t want to say at war, but it certainly felt like that sometimes. We were on opposite sides of a conflict we had no part in.

“Despite all that, he kept surprising me with his kindness and compassion. We ran into each other again and again, and somewhere along the line, between the clandestine dinner dates and getting drunk together in my bookshop, I realised I liked him. And I realised I loved him not long after. Things fell into place after that.”

“That’s so sweet,” said Cameron, as he finished making the bouquet. “Would you like me to write a note to go with the flowers?”

“I would like that,” said the stranger. “Could you write ‘For my dear Anthony. You bring light to my life. All my love, Aziraphale.’?”

Cameron went to write the message, but his pen stilled halfway through as his brain caught up to him.

Aziraphale.

This was Crowley’s boyfriend.

And he was buying flowers for a man named Anthony.

His fiancé named Anthony.

Cameron desperately tried to keep his expression neutral, even as his heart was racing. He hurried through the rest of the note and thrust the flowers into Aziraphale���s hands.

“I’m afraid we’re closing soon,” he announced, ringing Aziraphale up at the till. Aziraphale handed over the money and Cameron shooed him out the door.

Once he was sure that Aziraphale was gone, he let the horror he was hiding show on his face. Aziraphale was a cheater. He was cheating on Crowley with Anthony, and there was precisely nothing that Cameron could do about it.

***

Looking up a stranger in the phonebook made Cameron feel like a stalker.

He was surprised when his search turned up no results. You would think someone with such an unusual name would be easy to track down, but there was no one anywhere in the phonebook with the first name Crowley. It was like he never even existed. Aziraphale’s name wasn’t in there either.

He searched for them on social media too, which was an equally fruitless endeavour.

In a last-ditch effort, he searched for their names on the internet. When he searched for Crowley, the only search results to show up were some fictional characters and a brief Wikipedia page on a biblical demon.

Aziraphale’s name garnered even fewer results. There are a few reviews for bookshop in Soho owned by a man with the same name, which he presumed was Aziraphale.

He also found a blurred black and white photograph of a man under the images tab. The man was probably Aziraphale’s grandfather or something, though the family resemblance was almost uncanny; they could have been twins. If the photo weren’t so old, Cameron would have assumed it was Aziraphale himself.

He closed his laptop, having exhausted all his options. There was nothing he could do.

***

The shop door slammed open, and the sudden thud made Cameron jump. Whipping around, he was greeted by two familiar faces – Crowley and Aziraphale.

“My apologies,” said Aziraphale (cheating bastard). “We didn’t mean to startle you. It was the wind.”

Cameron cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “It’s fine,” he said. “I was a little distracted anyway. How can I help you?”

Aziraphale grinned like the adulterous douchebag he was. “We’d like to buy some flowers please,” he said.

“Any particular type?” asked Cameron, plastering his face with a bland costumer service smile that barely managed to cover up his scowl.

“We’ll have a little look around, if that’s okay?” said Crowley, arm still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulder. Cameron gave a quick nod, and the couple started wandering around the shop. Somewhere along the line, they split apart, ending up on other sides of the shop. Cameron had found his opportunity.

Aziraphale was examining a bouquet of azaleas when Cameron caught up to him, with what could only be described as a serene expression on his face. He whispered something to them, and Cameron swore that they brightened up a little at his words.

He was talking to the flowers. First the snake eyes, then whatever had happened when he first met Aziraphale, then their presence on the internet (or lack thereof), and now the guy was having a conversation with a bunch of azaleas.

This pair was seriously weird. They matched each other in that way – like two particularly ugly Christmas sweaters or strange modern art sculptures. They fitted together so perfectly that it was difficult to imagine them apart. It was difficult to imagine that Aziraphale would fracture their relationship by doing what he had done.

“I know about Anthony,” he hissed, venom clear in his voice.

“Pardon?

“I know that you are a cheater, and I will expose you if you don’t come clean right now. Please, spare him any further heartbreak.”

He expected Aziraphale to blow up at him, or get defensive, or even cry.

Instead, much to Cameron’s surprise, Aziraphale laughed so hard that he could barely stand up, having to grip a hold of the table to keep his balance.

“Crowley are you hearing this?” he chocked out. “I’m a cheater, didn’t you know? Two timing you with Anthony.”

“Yes. You’re a real scoundrel alright,” said Crowley, wrapping Aziraphale up in his arms. “Adultery. What an unforgiveable sin?”

“Well, you certainly know something about unforgivable sins, don’t you dear?” There was an undeniable smirk on Aziraphale’s lips, that Crowley mirrored.

“I can show you another unforgivable sin if you want,” he whispered into Aziraphale’s ear.

“Crowley! You bad boy.”

“Its in my blood. Can’t help it,” said Crowley with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Cameron found himself feeling rather irritated and left out of the conversation “I’m still here,” he snapped. “What on earth is going on? Why are you two so happy?”

How could these two go right to flirting after he had dropped a nuke on their relationship?

“We don’t mean to upset you dear,” said Aziraphale. “It’s just amusing. That’s all.”

“I’m telling the truth. I swear! He came into the shop two weeks ago to buy flowers for another man.”

“Those flowers were for Crowley,” said Aziraphale.

“But they were addressed to a man named Anthony,” insisted Cameron.

“Anthony is my first name,” said Crowley.

“…What?”

“Did you really think Crowley was my first name?” he laughed. “Anthony is my given name, but I usually go by Crowley. It’s just a preference.”

“You said they were for your fiancé!”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I proposed to him three weeks ago. I am his fiancé.”

Everything clicked. “He’s... Oh my God. I feel really stupid. I am so sorry. That was… I am so sorry,” he stammered.

Crowley patted him on the shoulder. “Its fine kid. I would have assumed the same thing if I were in your situation.”

“No, it’s not fine. I need to apologise.” Cameron face was bright red. This was so embarrassing. “I assumed the worst of you,” he said. “And that was wrong of me. You have my sincerest apologies. I’ll be happy to give you a refund.”

“No thank you,” said Aziraphale. “In fact, we have a favour to ask. Would you cater our wedding?”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. You’re a good lad, and your flowers are to die for. They’re easily the best in London. Will you do it?”

“I’d love to!”

There were lilies and roses at the wedding.

[pandawritesmanythings]

(A Medieval!AU Loki x Stark!Reader Story)

Chapter Summary: Where you meet you future groom. He doesn't seem too happy about you, though.

Word Count: 2,503

Warnings: Allutions to misogyny, an old man being sexist (Not Odin), Loki being Loki.

Masterlist

A/N: I am so excited about this story! Thank you guys again for your support, and please be patient with me, I'm still not super confident in my own writing but I'll keep trying my best!

"Absolutely lovely..." You sighed as you admired the room that would be your quarters in Asgard.

"I'm happy it accommodates you, Princess. Please, allow me to help to ready you for bed." The blonde girl asked as she moved to help you get out of your tight dress.

"Thank you, Sigyn." You smiled and raised your arms so she and Wanda could get to work.

They helped you out of the dress and Sigyn handed you a flowy nightgown that she explained was a gift from the queen herself to you.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly..." You hesitated as you touched the soft material of the dress.

"Please. It is a gift from the Queen. It is considered quite rude for someone to reject a gift from the nobility." She explained.

You looked into her brown eyes and nodded, accepting the gift. It was the softest fabric that you had ever touched and it made you feel weightless as it softly flowed with the salty wind that came from the open window.

"It's gorgeous." You said as you softly smiled down at the gift. "Please tell the queen that I am truly grateful for her gifts."

Sigyn nodded and after finishing helping you get ready she shuffled out of the room, head hung low.

"Sweet girl, isn't she?" Wanda asked as she brushed your hair.

"Shy, but very nice." You agreed.

"It is a beautiful garment, the one you've been gifted."

"I agree. Queen Frigga has impeccable taste."

Wanda also finished up and went to a side door that had a bed for her, a small closet, and a bathroom for herself. She bid you goodnight and disappeared.

Sleep hadn't come easy for you for almost a year now. Tossing and turning were oftentimes how you spent most nights, nightmares waking you when sleep finally overtook you. But for the first time in a very long time, sleep came fast and no nightmares were present. 

That of course meant that you were of very good humour when you presented yourself for breakfast that morning.

The king, Odin, was very pleasant if a little bit straightforward. But overall he did nothing to make you feel overly uncomfortable.

Frigga was a delight, words sweet as honeysuckle and ambrosia, smile kind, and open arms to receive you. 

Thor was as friendly as the night before and greeted you amiably.

But the other brother... To say that he wasn't exactly excited to see you was an understatement.

"My son, Loki." Odin presented you to him with a gruff voice.

You curtsied. "My prince, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Loki didn't respond, he gave his father a lopsided look. "Really? Her?"

Oh, lord no.

Odin paid him no mind and turned to you. "I hope you can forgive my son's indiscretion, it's truly a pleasure to have you here. If you'll follow me."

He led you away from the dark prince while he stared at you like he was plotting how to exactly make you disappear. So you shot him a look that told him that you reciprocated his feelings.

You paid him no mind the rest of the morning. He was awfully quiet, adding nothing to the conversation and you began to doubt this was the clever strategist that your father had talked to you about.

Well, he had called him some particular names that you kept out of your vocabulary, and slowly you saw the reason to use them.

"We're truly happy that you've decided to go through this alliance, my dear," Frigga commented at some point during the meal.

"I'm grateful that you even considered siding with us your majesties. It is truly an honor to have Asgard's favor."

"Speaking of. We'll finish our treaty after breakfast if that's alright with you." There was no room for discussion in Odin's tone.

"Of course, your majesty."

"And afterward, we shall feast!" Thor raised a glass in excitement.

"I would like nothing more, my prince." You smiled politely at his open display of joy.

"I must object in this alliance, of course."

"Loki," Frigga warned with her tone.

"I'm sorry, mother, but as a pawn, at play, I must get a say." He said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

"Loki, please. Stop." Frigga warned him again.

"... No. I don't think I will." He said before pushing his chair and storming outside of the room.

It felt hard to breathe, it was definitely tense in the room, but Frigga tried to lighten it.

"Forgive him, please my dear. He hasn't taken the news very easily."

"I can see that." You looked after where he had left.

"He just needs some time to process it."

You smiled at her, calmly, trying to show her your understanding. "I believe you, your majesty. It's been something to assimilate for me too. So I don't fully fault him. I just hope that we can come past our differences someday."

This seemed to relax everyone in the room, even the servants who had tensed up when the prince left.

"Thank you, my dear."

-

The room was filled to the brim with unfamiliar faces. The only ones you recognized were Steve and Bucky who stood guard by your side, Odin who sat high on his throne, and his two sons who stood by their father.

Thor looked at you with a kind smile, Loki was basically sneering at you.

"We have gathered here today, to make an alliance with our brothers. An alliance with the people of Midgard. May their representative rise." Odin's voice boomed through the room and commanded everyone's attention.

You stood with your head held high, through your mind speeding all of your mother's lessons in etiquette and diplomacy.

"Great leaders of Asgard. I represent my people, so that we may yet achieve peace. We face a common enemy, and we know that together we may stand a chance if they ever were to strike upon any of us." You began your speech. "I recognize Asgardians' accomplishments. Your technology is without a doubt superior. Your armies are well prepared. And though it may seem unnecessary, something that Asgard lacks is something that Midgard thoroughly possesses.

"Our forefathers', those who rose from the ashes of the earth, gained something that the forefathers of Asgard lacked. You have never faced the enemy. We have managed to keep them at bay for a century. We understand how they think. What they do. Name something. Anything. I will be able to provide intel. And not only me. Ask two of my bravest soldiers and companions. Captain Steve Rogers and Lieutenant James Barnes." You pointed to the two men standing right behind you. 

"They have faced the enemy ever since they were young." You looked around the crowd, trying to find a face that looked incredulous, or bored. You expected Loki to not be paying attention, but you actually saw him fully invested in your speech. Eyebrow raised at your defiant look around the room.

You finally found an old man towards the front who looked unimpressed.

"Pardon me, sir. May I ask for your name?" You politely requested.

"Lord Finnean Kendrick" He answered with a bored look on his face.

"Lord Kendrick. Would you like to ask any of us a question?" You offered.

Everyone turned their attention to the man, now put in the spotlight. "O-Of course! After all, if it is knowledge you claim to have, you must prove that is trustworthy knowledge!"

"Go ahead then."

He took a second and readjusted in his seat. "Lieutenant Barnes. At what age do Jotun's begin training their children?"

Bucky stared at the man, that was obviously common knowledge. "As soon as they begin to walk."

He hummed in approval. But that was too easy. "Captain Rogers. Are women often found on the battlefield, or do they stay and raise the young?"

"They are commonly found in battle. Children are raised as a warring community."

That last bit wasn't exactly common knowledge, which raised whispers around the room.

The man gritted his teeth and then looked you right in the eyes. "Alright woman. Your turn."

Oh, how calling him colorful names would help me calm down right now.

"If there was one thing you could say will destroy a Jotun, what would it be?"

You glared at him. You didn't care if the whole Asgardian court was watching you. You were actively and shamelessly glaring at the old man.

"Well, Lord Kendrick. Besides obvious fatal wounds that come from stab wounds, internal bleeding, and getting their faces smashed in by our warriors wielding maces. The most devastating thing to a Jotun is their honor and loyalty."

The room was silent expecting you to elaborate, but you didn't.

"And of course I would say more, but I only could under the assumption that this alliance is still taking place."

Whispers began circling the room once more, and although pensive, Odin had a shadow of a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Spoken like a diplomat, princess. Very well. We look forward to hearing more information from you and your generals." He conceded.

"Thank you, your majesty. I will send for all of our records on Jotuns as soon as the treaty has been signed." You nodded.

"Good." Odin stood and approached you, standing towards the center of the room. "Now, I suspect that you would like to discuss the other side of the alliance?"

You braced yourself, this was the part you weren't prepared for. Looking over at Loki, any spark of curiosity towards you had been snuffed out. In its place, a look of disdain was all that remained. You weren't sure if it was directed at you, but it didn't really matter.

"Of course."

-

"Tell me Sigyn," You called to the maid who was fetching your dress. "What might I expect from tonight's... festivities?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Well, first there will be a feast of traditional foods and drinks."

She passed the green layered dress over your head before continuing. "Then there will be dancing. That's why you can take layers off the dress." She pointed to a series of secret zippers. "Some dances are freestyle, so you can shed layers until you are comfortable."

You nodded quietly and allowed her to continue.

"Afterwards there will be more singing, dancing and drinking. The festivities are pretty loose since after a couple of pints everyone is too drunk to follow or establish any tradition." She lightly giggled.

You chuckled. "Are you sure that's all there will be?"

"I believe so." She tightened your corset. "But if there is anything I left out I'll make sure to let you know. But decorum is long forgotten in Asgard after the third and last waltz."

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you frowned. "Sigyn. Pardon my question but... Why green?"

She looked as if scandalized. "Well, you are engaged to Prince Loki, are you not?"

"Yes. But-" You looked back at your reflection at a loss for words.

"Then you must wear his colors to formal events. It is scandalous to wear another man's colors to any public event." She continued when your words couldn't come out.

"I see..."

"Is this not a tradition in Midgard?" She asked as she worked on your hair.

"Not really. We haven't found the time to establish many traditions when it comes to parties and formal events."

That was true, the few parties that you had ever partaken in everyone dress up however they wished (following the dress code, of course) and it mostly consisted of choreographed numbers and fine dining. You had yet to see what an Asgardian feast looked like, but by what Sigyn had described it wouldn't be incredibly similar to your feasts back home.

And Sigyn was, in fact, correct. After a hearty dinner, accompanied by not only the royal family but lords and dukes, you all followed to the dance ball where couples were pairing to dance in unison.

You didn't know the dance, the culture of each realm were well-kept secrets. They barely spread, only enough to be polite, but dances and literature never reached beyond frontiers, unless they were prohibited books.

But after the first waltz, you seemed to catch the drift. It was actually very similar to some of the Midgardian waltzes.

You were unsure if to ask anyone to dance with you. At this point, you were still so oblivious to Asgardian etiquette that you feared doing something that might upset the king. Even if the alliance had already been signed and Bucky had gone to deliver the news and to bring some of the sages and historians to begin the exchange of information.

But it wasn't necessary to worry much since as soon as the music of the second waltz was finalizing, you heard someone clear their throat beside you. Glancing to your right you found prince Loki, your betrothed, standing awkwardly by your side.

He didn't look at you, he just extended his hand for you to take, and when you did he pulled you softly towards the dancing floor.

Soft and careful weren't words you expected to use while describing your interactions with the dark prince. But life had a way of surprising you.

"I must admit that I don't know the Asgardian waltzes." You tried to ease into a conversation.

He seemed to smirk but he didn't meet your eyes. "Just follow my lead, princess."

He led you through the whole thing and didn't make a single teasing comment, which was nice.

"Thank you, my prince."

"What for?" He yet hadn't met your gaze.

"For giving me a chance."

"It's not like I have much of a choice. We both know it's in both of our nation's best interests." He reluctantly conceded.

"It is. And I know that this arrangement is probably not what you wanted, but if we are to spend our lives together, may I offer a truce to get to know each other?"

He was pensive as you glided through the ballroom. "I cannot offer you love."

"And I am not asking for it. I need an ally. And I think that as underestimated you are, you are the best choice in the room."

That cracked a smile on his face and finally made him look at you as if searching if you were being honest. "Better than the mighty Thor?"

"What are brawns without a brain to control them? Flesh can only get you so far." You grinned but kept your head raised in solemnity.

Loki searched in your eyes, yes there was a level of teasing, but he knew you weren't lying. It had been a while since anyone had been truthful to him.

The music ended and everyone applauded towards the musicians. The men and women with their instruments bowed, but instead of beginning to file out, they sat again and prepared.

"I hope you're ready for the next round princess," Loki whispered to you.

(TAG LIST OPEN)

[the-toppat-king]

Chapter Seven: Recovery

Everything hurts.

That was the first thought Henry had as he started waking up. Briefly, he tried collecting his memories. He'd escaped from the Wall, they'd called the Toppats, he'd been shot and fell...

He'd died.

Henry shot upright, regretting it instantly as intense pain shot through his body. He doubled over with a groan, gritting his teeth.

"Hey, take it easy." Someone said. He took a few deep breaths, looking up. A blonde woman had her hand on his shoulder, peering at him through rose-colored glasses. "You were gone for a bit, you're lucky I could bring you back."

He raised his hands to start signing. He had so many questions for her, so many things that needed answered.

He froze, staring at his left hand.

It was gone, replaced by a new, metal limb. His right hand dropped to his lap as he slowly turned his left one.

A blue light on his palm, and at a simple thought, it suddenly shifted, smoothly changing into a narrow, sharp blade. How did I-?

"You learn so quickly!" The doctor beamed, clasping her hands together. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Dr. Vinschpinsilstien. You fell quite a distance, which was bad enough but you had the misfortune of hitting some very sharp, jagged rocks before you rolled into the water. I caught you in my fishing net." Her smile fell, and she crossed her arms. "I was not happy to catch a Toppat in my net instead of my next meal, however."

Henry looked back up, his hand turning back into...well, a hand. "Where am I?" He finally signed.

"On my boat, of course. Russian waters." She replied simply. "Now I want to hold you a few days to make sure you adjust alright and there are no further complications."

"What about the Toppats?"

"If you want to stay off my nerves, you'll do wise not to mention them too often, Suave." Dr. Vinschpinsilstien replied a bit sternly. "But they're fine. Reginald, Right and your other two friends have already been here to see you."

"That's not my name anymore."

She blinked. "What?"

"S-U-A-V-E," He signed back, spelling it out. "That's not my name, I had it changed. It's S-T-I-C-K-M-I-N now, doctor." His brow suddenly furrowed. "How do you know my name, though?"

"I was a Toppat under your father's reign." She replied, writing something down on a clipboard. "He was incompetent and an utter ass, so I left. But you were always quite the troublemaker," There was a flash of amusement on her face. "Quite memorable, in fact, I didn't need to know you personally to be able to recognize you."

Henry cringed a bit. He didn't really remember much from his father's reign, but he knew that people were often injured, killed or even captured in his raids. If Dr. Vinschpinsilstien was a doctor then, he could hardly blame her for leaving. He could easily imagine her tired of patients coming to her and dying before she even had a chance to ease their pains. "I'm sorry. I don't remember much, but I've heard of how many people were injured and killed because of his plans. It must have been hard."

She blinked a few times at him, then dipped her head. "There is nothing you could have done, Henry. Terrence was an idiot, nothing to be done about that. Sadly, you can't fix stupidity."

Henry laughed a bit. Even though there was clearly a lot of bitterness, at least she had some humor.

"In any case." She shook her head. "You also have a few new...features." The doctor reached back, pressing somewhere on his new spine. Henry jumped as a pair of jet wings shot from his back. He twisted to look at them, eyes wide.

"Where did those come from? How did they fit in there?" He signed, barely stopping himself from signing too quickly to understand. "I can fly now?"

"Normally I wouldn't add anything too fancy for a Toppat. But with your injuries, you may not be a Toppat for much longer."

Henry blinked a few times. "What?"

"Resuming leading the Toppat Clan is unwise. Your prosthetics are very fragile." She replied, frowning. "Single shot to your exposed spine and you will be dead in less than an hour as your failing cybernetics result in your body shutting down. The moment someone decides you are unfit to lead..."

Henry stared at her, looking away. He knew she was right, but leaving again? It felt wrong now, everything was finally coming together. "There's nothing else for me, though."

"You have friends, do you not?" She tilted her head. "Charles and Ellie. And just because you are not in the Clan does not mean you must say goodbye. You think your fathers will let you go without calling at least once a month? Family never truly says goodbye."

"I suppose you're right." Henry ignored the fact that she called Right and Reginald his fathers. He supposed she wasn't wrong, they were certainly more of fathers to him than Terrence ever was.

"You don't need to retire, and if you do, you don't need to now." She looked back down to the clipboard. "But consider it."

____________________________________________

The next few days weren't easy.

There were a few issues with his new spine, mostly the issue of the skin around the implant not wanting to heal correctly, and overall being sore. At least he had visitors often, Charles and Ellie decided to stay on the boat and Right and Reginald visited at least once a day.

"Why are we doing this again?" Henry signed with a sigh. At the moment he lay on his stomach while Dr. Vinschpinsilstien tinkered with his spine. He yelped when he felt metal pinch the spin, jolting a bit.

"Stay still." She huffed. "I'm trying to smooth the edges closest to your skin so your movement won't damage the skin. I underestimated how much the spine moves. I'm also raising the spine itself so your wings don't scrape against your skin upon being unsheathed."

"Have you ever done this on a spine before?"

"Not at all, this was experimental even by my standards." She replied. "Part of the reason I charged on the lower end."

Henry looked up at her, brows furrowed. "How much was it?"

"One hundred fifty thousand."

"Holy fuck."

She laughed a bit. "That's not much for the Toppat Clan, and you should know that. Especially with both the Tunisian Diamond and Romanian Ruby in the vault."

"Excuse me the diamond is mine and remains in my room." Henry signed with a huff. "Do you know how hard stealing that thing was? I almost died."

"Oh? So the Toppats weren't the one to steal it?" She asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"No, I heard Reginald was pissed when they tried to steal it and it was already gone." Henry laughed a bit as Dr. Vinschpinsilstien worked on unscrewing something. He glanced back, seeing her remove what he assumed was the folded version of one of his wings.

The fact that those fit in his spine would never cease to surprise him.

"I think I need to make these thinner." She muttered. "They aren't very aerodynamic and there's no way to prevent overheating."

Henry tapped the table to catch her attention before signing again. "What about fans? You may need to sacrifice size, but a fan could be used to cool off the inside. You can also use up less fuel if you add a sort of membrane for gliding, like a bat's wing."

She paused, looking at him. "Elaborate a bit more, if you will."

"Well, most large bird hover by catching streams of air, right? Obviously metal feathers might not work, but if the wings were more flexible and possibly shaped like a glider. Bursts of fuel would be needed to get into the air but if they're light enough not as much would be necessary to stay in the air."

"That's...not a bad idea. While most of the wing would still need to be metal for internal mechanisms, not as much power would be needed. Not bad, Stickmin." She jotted down a few notes before resuming her work. "...you know, should you actually choose to leave the Toppat Clan, I always have use for an assistant."

Henry jolted a bit, looking up at her. "You hate the Toppat Clan."

"I hate them as a whole, I never said anything about individual members. Besides, you're bright and a fast learner." She shaved down a sharp edge, careful not to hurt Henry too much. "That is, if you want the position."

"I'll think about it." He signed before folding his arms and laying his head down. It wasn't like he would have anywhere else to go, and he did enjoy the good doctor's company. She had mentioned at one point that she specialized in military-grade augmentations, maybe she could even get him a pardon if he stayed.

Of course there was the plan to leave earth but...did he really even want that? Did he really want to leave earth altogether? It felt wrong, like even with the Clan it'd be a lonely life.

"Was it still home for me?"

"Of course! You were always welcome back here, Henry, you're a Toppat."

Am I really? It doesn't feel that way. The Toppat Clan...it didn't feel like his place anymore. It didn't feel like home, like where he was meant to be. Sven, Right, Reginald, Thomas, Geoffery, they were still his family. But what about the others? Am I just overthinking it? Is it because I was gone for so long? Or is my absence why it's not my home anymore?

It was confusing, and it hurt his head to consider for too long.

"Doctor V? Could we see Henry?" Henry opened his eyes at Charles's voice, smiling a bit.

"Конечно, I don't need to much focus for this." She looked up. "I think Henry's a bit tired of signing, but he could use the company."

Charles nodded, practically skipping over and taking a seat next to Henry, Ellie following a bit slower. "I've been talking to General Galeforce."

"Mhm?"

"He said he's willing to pardon Ellie and leave you guys alone a few days if you help us take down the Wall." He said cheerfully. Henry lifted his head in interest. That was perfect! In the days they were left alone, the Toppats could finish preparations and leave!

"Kinda risky to take your eyes off them, isn't it?" Dr. Vinschpinsilstien asked suspiciously.

"At this rate our concern over the Wall and what they do is more important, especially with the fact that the Toppat Clan has been laying low, and, well, we can't actually pin them on any crimes yet. Not enough evidence." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You see, most of the people there aren't actually guilty of a crime bad enough to warrant being stuck there. I mean, there's a baguette burglar, a...toilet wizard, even someone who isn't even a criminal, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. At even the slightest hint of sickness, you're put in a small, filled quarantine cell with people a lot sicker than you are. Bodies are just-"

"Thrown into the ocean with the rest of their trash, I know." Dr. Vinschpinsilstien sighed. "You think that's the first time I caught a body in my net?"

"Problem is, no one can get in long enough to gather evidence. I was supposed to steal some of their files to prove their wrongdoings, but I got caught." He deflated a bit, then looked at Henry. "I...I'm sorry. If it wasn't for me, you'd be alright. You wouldn't have a metal spine."

Henry shook his head, pulling out his hands to sign. "I don't blame you. I probably would have been caught anyway, besides. Dmitri shot me, you couldn't have done anything to prevent it."

"But I-"

"Dmitri will not get away with that, Charles." Ellie spoke up, putting a hand on Charles's shoulder. "And you can make it up to Henry by helping make sure he never sees the light of day again."

Charles nodded, suddenly looking very determined.

"I say..." Ellie straightened up. "When Henry heals, we lay a trap. I can be bait, he'll want to recapture any of us. I can lead him to a cliff and we can corner him there. Then he has one of two choices: Jump, or let himself be arrested for his cruelty."

"Not a bad plan." The doctor shrugged. "Alright, Henry, try turning. See if it feels any better."

Henry sat up, stretching before twisting a bit. Unlike the last time, the metal didn't dig into his skin uncomfortably or draw any new blood. "That feels a lot better, doctor!" He signed excitedly.

"I'll take a few more days to fix your wings and watch you heal, then you can go back to the Toppat Clan and figure out a plan." Dr. Vinschpinsilstien sat back. "But in case we don't have a chance to talk like this again: I wish you three the best of luck. And...be careful." ____________________ Translation Конечно - Sure

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

#12: Whimsy

- [whimsy]: noun; "capricious humor or disposition; extravagant, fanciful, or excessively playful expression;" "an odd or fanciful notion;" or "a product of playful or capricious fancy."

- References to the level 50-60 LTW and BSM job quests, the moogle beast tribe story line up to level 7 reputation and the side quests available after completion of the New Nest in the Firmament.

- shameless use of writing prompt to introduce a new OC complimentary to my WoL that will be featured in future pieces, Rayne "Echoes" Cowen.

[May or may not have gotten carried away with this one. Hope you enjoy! ^_^”]

AO3 ver.

-

“I beg your pardon?” Aymeric answered aghast.

Ser Handeloup enjoyed the expression the lord commander gave, for it certainly mirrored the one that he certainly had made when he made his own discovery.

“Indeed, Ser Aymeric,” the second commander responded. “To think, the vaunted Warrior of Light and savior of Ishgard had not only treated with the moogles and House Dzaemel to restore Bahrr Lehs to its former glory, but she single-handedly brought honor to House Jervaint by crafting the equipment she uses to this day. Not to mention that she had worked together with Mistress Elde of the Mercantile association in the Crozier to bring about the case of the leather armor-”

“That was Aria, as well?” the lord commander gaped, his eyes wide with surprise.

“An unexpected development, is it not?” Handeloup answered with a bellow of laughter.

Aymeric leaned back against his seat at the war table in the middle of the Congregation of Knights Most Holy. He had wondered how in Halone’s name the quality of equipment fashioned had increased exponentially, thus increasing the morale of the Temple Knights overall. Moreover, he expected the restoration of the Firmament to take a miserly length of time to complete - only to find that the ideal checkpoint drafted and proposed by Lord Francel had reached completion in the matter of a few moons. Then, there was the young miss from House Jervaint that Handeloup was speaking of, an unpolished gem with such prodigious skill that would have gone unnoticed had it not been for an unknown sponsor fashioning the tools she needed to attend their scouting event. 

“She seems to be quite a number of steps ahead of even you, my lord,” Aymeric heard Lucia tease at his opposite side.

“Indeed…”

The doors to the Congregation had opened and the three lifted their attentions upward to find a rather tall Hyuran male with hair like red wine and heterochromatic eyes the colors of night and day. When the man found that he was being stared at, he raised a brow in their direction and approached them.

“Greetings, Master Echoes,” Aymeric welcomed him with a kind smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The man known as ‘Echoes’ bowed politely in the lord commander’s direction.

“Greetings, Lord Aymeric. I have come to deliver something to Ser Handeloup on behalf of my lady.”

The company was quite aware of this man’s relationship to the Warrior of Light - rather, Rayne "Echoes" Cowen was an outcast found in the middle of nowhere, fighting to survive, when Aria had run into him. Treated him with the respect that any living individual deserves to be treated, as well as cure him of mortal wounds that would have otherwise ended his life.  Thus did the man pledge his loyalties to her, allowing only her the use of his true name, and was stationed in Ishgard at her behest, working on behalf of Aria’s birthright and to ensure that Aymeric was taking care of himself. Lucia was eternally grateful.

So, they watched the respected man as he procured a pouch from his pockets, placed it on the wooden war table and slid it towards the second commander. When it reached him, Handeloup retrieved it, mildly startled by its weight, before peering inside.

“Why, this is-!” the man exclaimed, then ogled the man.

Echoes inclined his head. “My lady wishes to invest in Lady Jervaint’s talents. As such, she requests that all of her arms and weaponry needs are to be billed to House Lukos. That is, until the day she completes her training and obtains knighthood. She hopes that the amount withheld in that coinpurse is enough for the course of a moon-”

“Never you mind a moon, Master Echoes, this is enough to last half a year!” Handeloup exclaimed, then shifted to present the pouch to the lord- and first commander.

Echoes raised a brow lazily. “Is that so? Then I have utmost faith that it will be used efficiently.”

Echoes bowed once more and turned to leave, but Aymeric rushed to his feet.

“Please, wait a moment, Master Echoes!”

Stopping in his tracks, Echoes turned back to the man.

“Simply ‘Echoes’ is fine, my lord. I could not possibly accept such honorable words from the one my lady finds favor in.”

Aymeric flinched, startled by the man’s fervent fealty to his beloved. “Th-then, Echoes, please tell me - do you happen to know if Aria is returned to the city?”

Echoes smiled. “Indeed, my lord. However, she urged me not to bring the matter up as she was sure you and yours would be rather occupied at this moment.”

“Do you know where she is at this moment?”

“Yes. She is currently entertaining the children within the Firmament. She will most likely remain there until the sun sets.”

Aymeric shifted his gaze towards Lucia and the woman sighed heavily.

“You do not have an appointment important enough that it cannot wait until the 'morrow,” she answered.

Aymeric’s eyes beamed. “Wonderful! Then, let us pay our dear warrior a visit, shall we?”

The lord commander turned towards Echoes expectantly and the man bowed once more.

“Very good, my lord. Now, if you would.”

The three commanders followed the man out of the Congregation and through the Brume. Eyes followed them, curious to why the renowned Ser Aymeric was strolling about and even Thomelin, the gatekeeper of the Firmament, was startled by the esteemed personage entering. The sight of Echoes did well to keep him from panicking, allowing a rather smooth entry.

Aymeric’s eyes widened. He had heard the New Nest had been completed, but he hadn’t imagined just how beautiful its designs were. As he followed Echoes, he couldn't help but gawk at every building, every staircase and railing that he could, committing it all to memory. Every now and then, he would spy the excited expressions of the inhabitants and the cheers that marked both happiness and hope. The fruit of all their labor - by the Fury, it was all falling to place.

“Here we are, Rolanberry Field,” Echoes announced.

Aymeric, Lucia and Handeloup admired the artistry of the estate. The walls were built on such evenly cut stone and the structure wastes no space on the plot it rested on. Even through the closed doors, the company could hear laughs of glee and delight emanating from it and it made their hearts feel so full.

“Ah, Master Echoes is back,” a voice called out.

The group turned and found a small Elezen girl carrying bolts of cloth in an assortment of colors, as well as find a wicker basket hanging from her arm besides. Upon further inspection, Aymeric and Lucia recognized the small girl to be Maelie, the child that had been tossed off the roof of the Vault during the dreadful day the Brothers of True Faith had held poor citizens hostage within its walls.

“Oh, and so is Ser Aymeric and Ser Lucia!” the girl exclaimed, becoming panicked and yet excitable.

Echoes didn’t hesitate to step towards the girl and stretch his arms out to gather half that the girl was carrying. Maelie smiled wide, grateful for the help.

“Do not be alarmed, Miss Maelie. They are also here to see the lady.”

“Oh!” Maelie turned towards the lord commander and quickly stepped towards him. “Then you’re just in time! Lady Aria is inside and teaching us arts and crafts!”

Aymeric’s smile grew all the fonder. “Is she now? Would you bring us to her? We do not wish to interrupt the class - we simply wish to welcome her home.”

“In that case, we should hurry! We ran out of materials, so Lady Aria had given us coin to purchase more. Everyone’s waiting!”

The girl bounced in her heel and rushed inside the building. Aymeric turned to Echoes and the Hyur male only gave a satisfied grin before he followed the small girl inside. The others mirrored his movements.

The moment the four entered, there was a sudden quiet that was quite opposite of what they had originally heard. That was, until they heard Maelie’s voice echoing against the walls and the subsequent bellows of gratitude from other children at the sight of her haul. There was the sound of rummaging, of children dividing the materials between themselves and when they had crossed the hall into the room they were residing in, they found children gathered before the Warrior of light, watching intently as the woman held an embroidery hoop in her hands, along with a needle and thread.

“Be careful as you stitch the patterns, everyone,” Aria reminded them. “It will not do for you to harm yourselves while practicing. If you are not confident, we have thimbles to protect your fingers.”

“Miss Aria, can you show me how to do this pattern again?” a small boy asked of her.

“Oh, Peyraquile, of course. You do it like this.”

The boy named Peyraquile, as well as two others - a girl wearing a blue winter coat and a boy wearing a grey urban coat - leaned in. Everyone, even children that hadn’t asked the question, watched as the woman weaved the needle in and out of the cloth that Peyraquile presented to her - slow enough for them to pay careful attention, but not as slow as to make them dreadfully bored. When she was finished, she turned back to the child.

“Does that help, my dear?” she asked.

Peyraquile nodded quickly and took the hoop back. “Yes, it does! Thank you, Miss Aria!”

The three children nodded and retreated back to their spot. In that time, three gentlemen wearing red anemos long sleeves and craftsman’s pants stepped to Aymeric’s side from the other direction as they peered into the room.

“My lady, we finished the outer frame of the structure as you have instructed. Do you have the time to inspect it before we move on to the next step?”

“Ah, Rasequin, of course-”

Aria stopped mid-sentence when she followed the direction of the voice and found not only the caretakers present, but the lord speaker of Ishgard in accompaniment of the first and second commander standing by. The sight gave her slight surprise before she sighed and stood to her feet.

“I will be with you a moment, Rasequin, Gontrandoix, Pehainel. In the meantime, please prepare the materials for the next step of construction. Rayne, do you mind watching after the children for a moment?” she asked.

Echoes nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

Aria shifted her head, motioning for the remaining three individuals to follow and she led them into the kitchen. She quickly prepared Ishgardian tea for them and set delicate teacups before them on the table.

“Please, help yourselves,” she urged.

They did just so as Aria sat at the table with them, watching the three fondly as she propped her head up with her arm, leaning against it ever so slightly.

“I assume you have no qualms with my investment in Lady Jervaint?” she questioned.

Handeloup bellowed in laughter. “Nay, my lady, none at all! Rather, we were rather bewildered on how you manage to continuously surprise us. The lord commander the most!”

Aria shifted her gaze to Aymeric and the man looked horrified hearing that his second commander sold him out almost immediately. Fighting back the burning behind his pink-dusted cheeks, he cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly at the warrior.

“Indeed. You have given so much to Ishgard already, Ia. Such things-”

Aria raised a hand to interrupt.

“Ishgard is also my home, Aym. I will have none of that. Not only is it the duty of a citizen in this beautiful nation to aid where needed, I wish to make use of my talents and knowledge as such. Plus, ‘tis not as if I am spoiling them, as you can see with the fine gentlemen you met earlier.”

“Are they perchance the caretakers of this place, my lady?” Lucia asked.

Aria nodded. “Indeed. They asked for my assistance in creating a playground of sorts for the children. I taught them how to perform basic woodwork and smithing techniques so that they could fare on their own. They only ask of me to check on their work because one cannot be too careful.”

“And the children?” Aymeric asked. “They requested they teach you embroidery?”

Aria chuckled softly at that, a playful and entertained smile stretched upon her lips. “Nay, my dear. They requested to be taught ways they can contribute to the Restoration effort. They came together beforehand and some of them decided that selling custom handkerchiefs as staples of Ishgardian artistry to be exported would be a good idea. Who am I to deny them such ambitions when they are so eager to learn?”

Handeloup hummed, markedly impressed as he leaned back on his seat and crossed his arms.

“What a splendid idea, my lady. And you say they came up with the idea of their own accord?”

Aria nodded. “Indeed.” Aria stood on her feet and offered a curt bow towards the three. “Now, pardon me for my rudeness, but I shall return soon. I mean to inspect the work the fine caretakers have done so they may continue on their project. Ah, but feel free to stay as long as you like. Rayne?”

At the call of his name, Echoes had stepped from around the corner and into the room to join them. He bowed respectively towards Aria before she departed to do as she said she would. It was then that Handeloup found courage to ask what they were all thinking.

“Speak true, Master Echoes, how is it that Lady Aria is so motivated to complete such large tasks?”

Aymeric leaned in where he sat, eager to learn the answer, as well. Echoes pondered over the question, cupping his chin thoughtfully as he had done so.

“Well, if it is my lady, I would assume she is viewing all of this as a game.”

Lucia raised a brow skeptically. “A game?”

Echoes nodded his head. “Yes, Ser Lucia. Recently, Lord Stryder had caught wind of dissenters looking to stain Lord Aymeric’s good name as lord speaker of Ishgard. When my lady heard of this, she was quite furious, you see. So, she challenged the noble houses that were against Lord Aymeric - that if certain requisites were not met within a given time, she will not interfere with any further attempt they would have if they were to put a motion forward to have him step down.”

Lucia jumped to her feet, almost slamming her fist to the table. “That is-!”

“Just as you feel, Ser Lucia,” Echoes answered with an incline of his head. “Unfortunately for them, they only see House Lukos as a middle-ranked noble house with nary a connection to the upper echelons because of their prolonged absence from the country. Moreover, my lady issued the challenge with Lord Stryder as the intermediary - therefore they are unawares that it was actually the Warrior of Light, with all the support of the four High Houses and the Mercantile association of the Jeweled Crozier, not to mention the entire realm besides, that they have challenged.  So, she has rather taken her time ensuring that the lords would, for lack of a better way of putting it, ‘stew in their mistakes’, as Ser Estinien would say.”

Aymeric, Lucia and Handeloup stared at the man as if he had grown a second before the lord commander pressed his hand against his face and released a helpless laugh.

“Boosting our economy, putting down opposition in a way that maintains their honor as a noble house, raising the status of her own and rebuilding the city-state to a level above its former glory … and she perceives it as a game.”

Echoes smiled pleasantly at the sight of the three’s exhaustion and Aymeric was then reminded of the character of the woman that he had fallen in love with. Benevolent as Halone herself and as punishing as the Fury when angered. As astute as the most knowledgeable of academics…

...and as whimsical as the very definition of the word can get.

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 4 of 21

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer​

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego​

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Horsetense looked up from reading a romance novel, to judge by the cover art.  Smiling, she replied, “I really did not expect to see you again, after yesterday’s little upsets!  Here, let me send it up!”

She took Daring Do’s envelope and put it into a vacuum cartridge and dropped it into a tube.  With a whoosh, it was gone.  In a few minutes there was a whoosh and clunk as a cartridge returned.  It held a copy of the original document and a note:

“This is the ONLY acceptable agreement.  We will not back you at all if you do not sign!

Isa Robber

Mystic Overthrow

Crule Tyranny”

Reading the note, Daring smiled and wrote across the Document in deep soaking indelible marker, “These terms are the sort of toxic trash that the composting facilities will refuse!  I do too!  Find another sucker!  D.D.”

Horsetense looked sour as she returned the document with a clack and whoosh.  She observed, “The Partners won’t like that!”

Daring Do patted her hoof and replied, “They don’t seem to like anything that is honest.  I hope that you find a better position than this one soon.”

She turned on her hoof and was leaving when the system did its whoosh-clack.  The note in it said:

“Our generous offer is withdrawn.

Good luck in your year long wait to sell your latest major find to the Royal Museum! R.O.T.”

Daring Do smiled serenely, showed the receptionist the note and told Horsetense, “See this? You might find the noon news amusing!”

She sauntered out, the note safely in her saddle bag.

She was about to return to the Adventurer’s Guild for a nice luncheon when her brows drew down in a V of concentration.  Not only the waiter’s news but many other things began to fall out of their accustomed places, making a mess of her orderly mind.

It was a feeling that she knew well.  It had led her to almost all of past expeditions.  When things are not as they should be, the first stop is the Royal Library.

As she climbed the steps, she admired the allegorical carving of the doors.  The sun and moon arising together over the field of knowledge.  The doors, obeying an ancient spell, opened impressively for her.

Inside, she was greeted by the wonderful odor of books, scrolls, manuscripts, codices of many sorts. This was the scent of her true heart.  

Lurking in the overall scent, was the recent addition of fire proofing and extinguishing spells. They were a wise precaution whose necessity was shown by the Golden Oak Library disaster of Ponyville.  Some still wondered how one of the most magically powerful beings of Equestria, Twilight Sparkle, could have forgotten something so basic as fire suppression spells, just when she most needed them.  That, however, was not germane to her visit.

She walked up to the research desk and presented her Royal Pass, personally sealed by both Luna and Celestia.  “I need full access to the Closed and Sealed Stacks, please,” she smiled at the young librarian.

Wide eyed, after staring at the pass, she turned and almost galloped to a Senior Librarian.  She whispered, pointing back at Daring Do.

The senior came over and asked, “Reason for your visit, Antiquarian Do?”

“I have come across some discrepancies in research concerning the ancient X'ibian Empire.  I already know, from previous work here, that the answers are not to be found in the ordinary open or closed stacks.”

The senior took Daring Do’s pass and inserted it into a spell reader.  It chimed.  The four nearest Closed Research Stacks simply faded away leaving a huge pair of doors appearing to be iron bound ancient oak.  Daring Do was not deceived. She knew that the reality behind the glamor spell was four tonne Military Armor Grade steel, sealed from forced entry or exit.  She also knew that there were excellent reasons for being sealed against both!  This was not a library for the faint of heart!

Resuming her pass, she asked, “May I have Apprentice Librarian Blendin to assist my studies, please?  He and I have worked together before this.  I have found him to be an excellent assistant.”

Before setting the opening spell, the Senior Librarian made a note and called over a Magic Net system, “Apprentice Librarian Blendin to the Canterlot Main Doors, please.”

It took a few minutes before the signal that he was present lit.  The Senior Librarian tapped the opening spell.  The great doors did not swing or retract, as one might expect.  They became a thin seeming vapor.

Daring Do trotted through it without any problem.  She smiled at her half brother and said, “We have a fun one!  The Heart of Discord not only might be real, it might even be something that belongs here or in the Warehouse!”

Blendin’s brows shot up.  “I would be laughing right now, Sis, if it was anypony but you who said that.  What brings this on?”

Daring Do snickered and replied, “Disorder in what I thought I knew and a conversation with somepony from an organiation that I ran into while searching for the Darkling’s Tomb.”

Showing a side that was rarely seen when he was off work, Blendin promptly asked, “The Ancient Guardians?”

“Exactly.  One told me today that they lost the location of Im Farst’s tomb during the Chineighese invasions of a thousand years ago.  In short, THEY are certain that the Heart of Discord is there.  They just don’t know any longer, where, exactly.”

Blendin’s eyes got a far-away look to them as he dug through the encyclopedic knowledge that even an Apprentice Librarian needed.

“Where do you want to start, Sis?”

“At the beginning.  With the death and funeral of Im Farst.”

Blendin nodded briskly.  “That is easy, then.  There are only three contemporary documents of it. They are followed by the wall painting but it is later.  It will take a few to access them.  Are you willing to use a Twilight Closed Reading spell to keep from disturbing the actual documents.  They are very fragile.”

“If you recommend it, Blendin, yes.  What are they?”

“One is an actual scroll painting on lotus root paper.  It is likely the most delicate.  It is a traditional Xibian landscape with a weeping dragon and a eulogy to Im Farst.  The eulogy is signed Wisdom.  The other two are thin sliced bamboo fold books, both with fire damage.”

He actually went to an OLD physical card file and leafed gently.  Puzzled, he checked again.  “I wonder how long ago this happened?” he inquired of empty air. “There are FOUR things here.  I found two cards stuck together.  I will have to speak to a Senior Librarian about that.”

Daring Do overheard him and looked up from her magically generated pages of perfectly duplicated documents.  They WERE fascinating in their own right.

“What did you find, Blendin?”

“A carved stone inventory made at the time of interment.  It is cracked across but otherwise intact. I assume that you want it?”

“Absolutely!  Also, any provenance or location of finding!  Not only the stone, but everything known of it!”

Blendin smiled sadly and gave her a thin file.  “The stone was found in a Chineighese open air market about eight hundred years ago and given into Royal Care.  Not much help there.”

He did develop the copy spell, giving Daring Do all of the visible surfaces of the stone, top, thin sides and back.

Daring Do began to scan the stone, her brows knitting now and again as she found and solved an ideogram that was new to her.  She pulled out a magnifier for much of it.  The ancient engraving was surprisingly small and tightly compacted.

Blendin watched his half sister’s reading with awe.  “How can you do that, Sis?  I know at least a hundred scholars of Ancient X'ibian and not one of them can just snap out the meaning of a new ideogram like that!”

She looked up for a moment. “It’s really not too hard, Blendin.  The construction of ancient X'ibian ideograms follows a rigidly logical system from about a hundred bases.  Once you know those, the rest follows, except for bad handwriting, of course.”  She grinned.  “That is nothing new at all.”

Blendin nodded agreement and then brightened up.  “I need to do an advancement paper in the Library.  Mind if I take that tip and develop it?”

Absently muttering, “Be my guest,” Daring Do returned to her study.

“Pardon, Sis.  I need more space for you.”  Blendin grabbed the end of the Library table and pulled.  It stretched out another three meters, growing extra legs as it did so.

Daring Do raised her eyebrows as she watched.  “Handy trick, that!”

“You know it, Sis.  I needed the space to set out the more modern works, you know, from four hundred PNW to the End of Exile.”

“Four hundred Post Nightmare Wars?  Nothing earlier?”

“According to the Master Index, nope.  A long dry spell there.  Then the liter-ature explodes.  All the mystical shit and such.”

She nodded and returned to deciphering the fold books and the painting.  She was nearly done with the painting when she asked, “Can I get modern paper copies of these old documents?  I just spotted something curious.”

“Not a problem, Sis.  I will do a contagion duplication on them.  You will be able to take those copies if they pass the Security of Information checks.  I did not bother looking at that info when I set them up for you.”

Blendin was systematically setting out the later documents by date when he stopped cold.  

“This makes no sense at all, Sis.  Check me on this.  When Im Farst was buried in his hidden tomb there was no trace of the Heart of Discord.  

“Then, IN EQUESTRIA, the tales of the Heart of Discord begin to show up in print about four hundred PNW.  The wall painting that is the only known documentation of it was not found until 653 PNW.  

“It gets worse.  The tomb that the painting is in dates quite exactly.  It was made 150 years after the death of Im Farst but not found until 653 PNW.”

Daring Do stared at Blendin’s work in rising excitement.

“It makes perfect sense after all!  Who was the wife of Im Farst?”

Blendin actually took time to consult the Index again.  “Her name was Wisdom.  Legend says that she was a dragon.  How does that make any sense at all?”

Daring Do took a sheet of paper and a writing brush.  Inking it professionally, she wrote a character.

“First, remember that there were no male or female names in ancient X'ibian.  This thing called a SHI was added to a surname or single name to indicate female and left off for male names!  It was silent in ancient X'ibian.

“Now look at this!”  She quickly drew another character.  “That is the ancient character for Wisdom.  This one is Discord, the Dragonequis.  Add a Shi to Discord and what do you see?”

Blendin stared at the two characters in consternation.  “Wisdom!  Discord with a Shi and Wisdom look the same!”

“Right!  Im Farst really was married to a dragon.  Eris, the female form of Discord.  

“The Vase of Wisdom is in all of these inventories!  A hundred and fifty years later, on a tomb wall, the vase was named without the Shi and the Heart of Discord was born!”

Blendin looked carefully at his time-line of publications and written down tales.  He thoughtfully accessed the Index again.

He added a whole selection of more material from the Last Nightmare War onward.  

Softly, he said, “Here she is. It all begins with the Tales of Aleax the Blind.  This dates to only 115 PNW.  Eris, the Dragonequis, is asked if ever she knew love.  Her reply is, ‘In a land far to the East, I left my love a vase that I made.  I left my Heart in his tomb.  Im Farst was his name.’  She shed a few tears and asked what reward was wanted for bringing her that memory.”

Daring Do sadly offered, “That explains so much.  Blendin, I need these inventories, including the stone’s upper surface and that landscape painting with the Im Farst eulogy on it.”

Blendin went to the Index and lifted a very modern Magic Net mirror up from a concealed pocket.  He tapped codes and looked carefully at the results.  Grinning, he tapped a whole set of new codes.

“They will accept my paper on the reading of Ancient X'ibian ideograms!  They also cleared modern paper copies of the things you asked for.  They are now locked to the papers that they are on.  Feel free to take them, Sis!”

Returning, Daring Do saw the enormous steel doors simply go to mist again.  She paused long enough to say, “Best of fortune on the paper, Blendin.  It is going to keep you busy, I promise it.”

With a grin, he replied, “I know, Sis.  I do know.  Thanks for the tip.”

Daring Do walked out to the Research Desk and Logged out, showing her copies to the Senior Librarian.  There was no sign behind her of the massive secret doors. Just the ordinary closed stacks.

If Daring Do was walking like nothing of any importance had changed, her mind was racing!  It WAS real!  The Vase, the Heart of ERIS, rather than Discord, was there. The tomb of Im Farst was a fact!

She was pretty sure how to find it too!  That, she had failed to mention to her half brother, Blendin.  Best not to give any possible rumor a root to grow.

Ensconced in the Adventurer’s Guild’s secure communication room, Daring Do tapped up codes on the Secure Magic Net Mirror there.  She was greeted by the surly face of Count Umber.  He still had a plaster on the bruise over his right eye from their earlier altercation.  He reached to cut off the call.

With a smile that could have flash frozen a polar bear, Daring Do said serenely, “Please do, Count.  Princess Luna audits all incoming calls.  When she finds that you cut off a Private Antiquities Emergency call, you will be in so much hot water that you will be lucky to retain your County.  Luna herself gave me this code after the debacle of the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock.”

Putting the knife in deeper and twisting, she added, “That was at the same time that she gave you your present work.  It is amazing how much better the Museum Acquisition Policy has become.  I have already been paid for the balance of the Pharow Underrock Collection.”

With a growl that would have done credit to hungry bear, Count Umber put her through.  Princess Luna was sitting in a bath up to her withers, gently fanning her wings in the warm water.  There was a squadron of blue bath duckies hidden by lumps of bubble foam.  They were preparing to ambush a similar squadron of yellow bath duckies.

She looked up from her bath game and said, “What is the problem with the Underrock Collection? Umber has noted that you are calling about it.”

“With due respect, your Highness, he is absolutely wrong.  I am calling about a thing connected to the legal firm of R.O.T.”

Princess Luna sat up suddenly, water cascading off her shoulders.  “COUNT UMBER!  GET OFF THIS LINE!  ALL CALLS ON THIS CODE GROUP ARE ABSOLUTELY PRIVATE!  You were given strict instructions about the call system.  YOU HAVE VIOLATED ONE OF THE MOST BASIC ONES!  We will discuss your position in Canterlot when this call is done!”

She tapped a few codes in her bathroom mirror.  “There.  The nuisance is removed.  By Royal Guards.  Now we are private.  What do you need to discuss?”

“R.O.T. is mounting an expedition to X'ibia, in the far desert regions of the Chineighese Empire.  They are searching for the Heart of Discord.  Their care with priceless antiquities  was shown during the break in at my University office.”

“There have been many expeditions to search for the Heart of Discord, Daring Do.  None has ever succeeded, lending much credence to the notion that it is legendary.  Why are you so concerned now?”

“Because, your Highness, today, doing research at the Great Library, I discovered that the Vase of Wisdom is perfectly real.  Wisdom was Im Farst’s wife, the Dragon Queen of ancient X'ibia.

“How well do you know the writing of that ancient land?”

“Excellently, my dear.  So, what you found is the connection between Eris now and Wisdom, the Dragon Queen then?”

“You do not seem surprised, your Highness.”

“Only saddened that it will arouse such heartbreaking memories in my friend.  We must tell her that the secret is out.  How much more do you know of this matter?”

“I believe that I know where Im Farst’s tomb is.  Wisdom painted a landscape with a weeping dragon and inscribed her eulogy to him.  I have a copy from the Library.  I am fairly sure that it shows the tomb’s hidden location.”

Luna sort of sank into her bath. “You are correct.  We must tell her.  Now.  Together.  I cried with her for many nights when he died.”

Stiffing up, Luna tapped some other codes to the mirror.

The call was answered by an amazingly lovely pony with one perfectly centered cyclops like eye. “ERIS, Inc.!  How may I direct your call please, Princess Luna?”

“Hello, Cy.  I hate to interrupt whatever Eris is doing but I have urgent news for her. Just tell her that Wisdom has been found.  She will know what I mean.”  

“Wisdom has been found.  I will tell her.”

Almost instantly, the mirror switched to show Eris, wearing the silken robes of the Chineighese. An eye as trained as Daring Do’s saw that they were in the style of ancient X'ibia.

There was a copy of the Wisdom Eulogy to Im Farst hung to the wall and both incense and tea being offered before it on an ornate, low table of black wood, richly inlaid with natural woods of many colors.

Eris asked mildly, “Luna, if it was any but you calling, I would have required them to wait.  What do you mean that Wisdom has been found?”

Daring Do spoke up.  “A Shi is supposed to be silent and only indicate gender.  A Shi added to Discord, the dragonequis, makes Eris, that is you.  It also turns the ideogram into Wisdom, the name that you used when you lived your life with Im Farst, whom I see that you still love.”

There was a small tear at Eris’ eye.  “That is true, all of it.  What do I need to know beyond the fact that you found it out?”

“The law firm of R.O.T. is mounting an expedition to X'ibia to locate the Heart of Discord.  Of course, THAT really is legendary, the result of twisting the words of Aleax the Blind to say that you left a Vase, your heart, in his tomb. That is where the legends of the Heart of Discord come from.

“Even with the trickery that they use, they have begun to set up the expedition.  R.O.T. could find the tomb.”

Eris said softly, “Their care with Antiquities is amply shown by the break in at your office.  I see.  What do you need from me?”

Daring Do smiled and replied, “Two sorts of things.  One is your permission to open the tomb and conserve the things in it.  The other is a little more personal. Anything that you can think of that might mess up the R.O.T. expedition and throw them off the trail.”

Eris began to smile hugely around her fang.  “Doctor Do, I know your reputation in detail.  I will trust you to open my love’s tomb and conserve all as well as it can be done.  Expect my document of permission within the hour.  Cy will deliver it in person.

“As for your other request, let us say that I will consider it favorably.

“Now, I have much to attend to, including letting my love know that you are coming.”  The mirror blanked.

Luna’s bath duckies were all joined into a large squadron, attacking the bath bubble foam furiously!  She looked up with a serious face.  “While you were talking to Eris, I set it up with my sister, Celestia.  We are putting your Expedition under the Royal Wing.  

“You mentioned being able to manage the cost.  You will not have to.  We will cover it all with letters of credit and passage permissions that are being prepared now.  Celestia has summoned the Chineighese Ambassador to prepare your documents for free travel and official assistance.  All the papers should arrive in a few hours.  They are addressed to you at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Daring Do blanked the mirror and emerged from the room.  The waiter from this morning was there, tears in his eyes.  “Our long Guardianship is over.  We have heard from the most exalted one. Wisdom herself has put us at your disposal.  What then shall we do for you?”

Daring Do gave him a deep formal bow and replied, “We will need you still.  There are more than Im Farst to guard.  If you will come with me, I will show you what I mean.”

Deepest concern in his voice, brows drawn in honest worry, he asked, “What will become of Im Farst and all of his things?”

Daring Do replied honestly, “I do not know.  I will gather him and all of those things and they will be given to the Most Exalted Wisdom.  She will then decide what may be kept for study, placed in museums on display and what she will keep for her own.   All will be a gift of my Princesses to Wisdom. This plan has been made and will be kept.”

He needed no thought.  “This is the best that can be hoped for.  He will be reunited with Wisdom. May they find all the joy that can be between Mortal and the Dragon.”

<== Previous  Next==>

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[batomarbo]

Why We Hunger for Novels About Food

While putting imaginary meals on the page, I have thought a great deal about the central role that food plays in our lives. Food is love. Food is conviviality. Food is politics. Food is religion. Food is history. Food is consolation. Food is fuel. Food identifies us and who we are. It can even help us make sense of our world. We live in a culture where food porn is one of the hottest hashtags and seeking out the best new ramen or avocado toast trend is a more popular hobby than collecting stamps. And the “culinary enthusiasts” among us can’t get our fill of books about food.

But what about authors of food fiction? What compels them to write about what—and how—we eat?

Louise Miller, author of The Late Bloomer’s Club “Food is the great equalizer—everyone eats—and what we eat and how we eat it can be so emotional and can carry deep meaning. Food can also be so revealing. I remember an old New Yorker cartoon that pictured a mother and her young daughter sitting in a restaurant looking at a menu. The mother responds to her daughter’s question: ‘Chocolate pudding? I think you would like it. It’s a lot like chocolate mousse.’ That one line tells us so much!”

Phillip Kazan, author of Appetite “Food for me is very tied up with memories of my Greek grandmother, whose tiny kitchen in London was a treasure-house of tastes and smells in the grey, flavorless world of ‘60s and ‘70s England, where olive oil was something you had to buy from a pharmacist as a cure for earache. Presumably the pharmacist in our village thought our family had appalling ear problems, because my mother bought hundreds of his tiny bottles of oil for her cooking. I remember cookbooks as this wonderful escape route to exotic, warm, generous places: Greece, from where relatives would visit with huge tins of olives and bags of sugared almonds; or India, where my father was born. Writing, in a way, is an extension of my cooking, and vice versa. Cooking taught me how to create, that I needed to create.”

Randy Susan Myer, author of Waisted “I grew up in a family where food was the comforting evil (or the evil comfort). My mother—for whom dress size was the holy grail—watched every bite I took. When in a restaurant, first she’d not order what she wanted and then she’d steal bites from my plate. If I protested, she’d say, ‘If you love me, you’ll share your food.’ Often, we barely had food in the house and meals were haphazard at best. My sister snacked on raw Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. I ate uncooked matzo meal. We lived on cold cereal—which to this day is my top comfort food. My mother hid cookies and cake inside our giant pressure cooker and then put the pot on the very top of our already high cabinets. My sister and I were under ten, but a pressure cooker was no match for us. I’m surprised we didn’t become mountain climbers for how often we scampered up the peaks leading to buried sweets.”

Ramin Ganeshram, author of The General’s Cook “I’m from an immigrant family. My parents were from two countries that, at the time, had little representation here in the U.S.—even in New York City where I was born and raised. My dad was from Trinidad and Tobago and my mother was from Iran. I was also brought up in a time where people still really tried to assimilate so they downplayed their native culture with their kids. The one thing that remained a solid connection was the food we ate. I realized from a young age that I could get my parents to talk about their homes when we were eating the foods they had prepared from their respective cultures. My father, particularly, was a born storyteller and if you could talk with him while he was cooking you would get the best stories.”

Whitney Scharer, author of The Age of Light “The main character in my novel is based on Lee Miller, a woman who reinvented herself multiple times in her life—first as a model, then a photographer, and finally as a gourmet chef who wrote for Vogue and other women’s magazines of the day. In all my research about her, there was never any mention of her love of food prior to her becoming a chef. This makes no sense to me. Of course, she must have loved food—and she moved to Paris in 1929, where she would have enjoyed meals quite different—and presumably more delicious—than what she ate growing up in Poughkeepsie. I wanted her love of food to be palpable throughout the novel, both to foreshadow her shift to cooking later in life, but also because I think enjoying food—enjoying the pleasures of the body—is integral to who she is as a character. I see Lee Miller as a woman of voracious appetites: she was hugely ambitious and adventurous, and very sexual. Food seemed like another way to understand her overall hungers.”

Charlie Holmberg, author of Magic Bitter, Magic Sweet “In writing, I think food is an excellent method of transportation. If I were to detail a table setting with food you’ve never heard of, but I describe a flaky crust, the way a gelatin gives underneath a knife, and the smell of burnt sugar, you are there. You smell and taste and see that meal. It gives a story, ancient magical tales included, a sense of realness.”

David Baker, author of Vintage “A dish is a story . . . it’s the story of the culture that created it, the person who made it, the story of the ingredients and where they’re from, the tale of the meal’s creation—successful or otherwise—and then of sharing it. The whole process is a form of narrative. The same goes for wine . . . it’s the story of millions of years of geology that created the region where the fines grow. It’s the story of the culture of the region and then a time capsule of what happened weather-wise the year in which the grapes ripened, and finally what the winemaker did during that year. There are so many layers of narrative in food and wine that it’s a rich field for exploration in writing.”

Amy Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake “I didn’t realize I was a food writer until after people responded to my novels, and I’ve embraced it. One of my favorite parts of writing has become sharing my regional cuisine with them—writing about Wisconsin culinary delights like a Door County fish boil or our classic brandy old-fashioneds. It’s one of the ways I share my love of Wisconsin.”

Marjan Kamali, author of The Stationery Shop “It happened quite organically—pardon the pun. But it’s impossible for me to write about Iran and Iranians without including a lot of food because the preparation of huge meals is an integral part of the culture, and sharing those meals at feast-like parties is common across the classes. Food takes on added significance for my characters because they are displaced from their original home. They are Iranians living in America. There is a longing for the familiar foods they know and a constant search for ingredients they love. Cooking Persian meals links my characters to their past and heritage. Sharing Persian food with Americans is a way for them to create and deepen new relationships.”

Jenna Blum, author of The Lost Family “While I was writing The Lost Family, I cooked a lot—to meditate on the day’s writing as well as to kitchen-test all the recipes I then featured on the book’s menu. Some of my favorite lines for the book would bubble up that way, as if from a Magic 8-Ball, and one of them was ‘vegetables have no language.’ I revised this slightly for the novel, but it means that food is universal. The produce and spices will vary from country to country and cuisine to cuisine, but if you love food, you have a vast family out there. We can all communicate about how our beloved dishes are different—and how they are the same.”

*

I myself have been smitten with books about food since a friend of mine recommended that I read M.F.K. Fisher decades ago. I devoured The Art of Eating and everything else she had written. In her books I found both the exotic and the comfortable. I had never been to France or eaten escargot, but I reveled in her descriptions of food, in her use of simple phrases to evoke such specific sensations: “The air tastes like mead in our throats,” she writes in The Art of Eating. I hope to stir the same feelings and create the same sensory pleasures in others with my novels about famous culinary figures in Italian history.

Now this is a book I can really sink my teeth into, I thought as I once read the opening paragraph of The Flounder by Nobel prizewinner Gunter Grass.

Ilsebill put on more salt. Before the impregnation there was shoulder of mutton with string beans and pears, the season being early October. Still at table, still with her mouth full, she asked, “Should we go to bed right away, or do you first want to tell me how when where our story began?”

The rest of the novel, which tells the story of an immortal fish who meets an immortal man who falls in love with cooks over and over through the centuries, is just as delicious and delightful in its descriptions of food. To this day, it’s one of my favorite novels.

In reading The Flounder and other sumptuous works of culinary fiction, I’m reminded of something dramatist George Bernard Shaw once said: “There is no love sincerer than the love of food.” It’s a statement to which I think we could all gladly raise a glass.

[paradoxidolatry]

Brotherly Love

@birdhole , @beatconductor a lil bit

TG: hey TG: sup

TT: Hey. TT: Not much.  Lunch break at work. TT: Sup?

TG: oh thats sweet TG: sucks theres no free pizza in it when you work as a cop huh TG: i guess its overall kind of a step up from the pizza gig tho

TT: Right? Free donuts though. TT: But nah, yeah, not so bad. TT: Didn't get a chance to tell you about it but I figure Dave or whoever's already spilled those beans. TT: Kinda weird, right?

TG: yeah dave told me TG: donuts just like a real cop huh TG: still cant quite wrap my head around this cop thing tbh TG: i can see you working as a LOT of things but a cop? thats wild

TT: Yeah. TT: I mean, I figured.  Got all that military experience, right? TT: But I didn't want to go back to the military. TT: Plus, working as a cop is an equal mix of 'keeps me active' and 'allows me to work around certain roadblocks in regards to the acquisitions business', so it was a good compromise. TT: Better than fast food and skin flicks again, at any rate.

TG: i mean i guess that makes logical sense n all TG: still fucking wild as shit to me TG: guess you can still wear a uniform even its obviously not as sweet as the fast food ones

TT: Yeah, I really miss that old greasy apron. TT: But what can you do?

TG: the grease just made your eyes pop in that special way ykno TG: chicks love it

TT: They fuckin do, don't they? TT: But somethin tells me you didn't message me to talk about the chicks missing my pizza funk.

TG: you sure about that? its a pretty great topic you could write a book on it become rich quick with your pick up tips

TT: Hey, I'm already on chapter 7: the Sausage Party. TT: But really though. TT: What's up, boss?

TG: nothing TG: i was just TG: thinking about you is all

> Heart, squeeze. TT: That right? TT: Cool, cool. TT: Was thinking about you earlier too, actually.

TG: oh? any reason or

[Dave txt @ bro] im watching u [Dave txt @ bro] > that chicken image

TT: Just, y'know. TT: Was outside on a smoke break and I saw a couple of pigeons hanging out, eating some sandwich or some shit on the sidewalk and like. TT: Got me thinking about you, and like. TT: I spent the past 13 years thing you're dead or some shit, and now you're alive and it's. TT: Just fuckin buck wild. TT: Pardon me for sound fucking sappy but it's kind of like a dream come true.

[TT > Dave: I'm behaving, dad.]

TG: ...am i a pigeon now? tho i do admit i would eat that floor sandwich(edited) TG: yeah its...its fucking wild huh? TG: kinda thought id never see you again even after TG:  i got away and shit TG: idk why not like you up and died but? after looking for you and you werent there i dunno i guess TG: i thought you just TG: werent going to come back TG: ...you didnt even see my wings yet you dont get to relate me to birds just yet dude

TT: I mean, I saw them in a picture. TT: One of you and Dave and a bunch of trolls and some old dude in front of a candy cane dildo? TT: But also you post about birds and shit all the time, so I figured that was sort of your Thing now. TT: And ... well.  I dunno. TT: Almost didn't. TT: I was just gonna stay on Earth, maybe pop in to visit every so often. TT: But then all that shit happened and Dave wasn't answering my messages, so I thought he was dead too, and...well. TT: I guess I'm, uh... grateful to the apocalypse for.  I guess bringing you back to me? TT: Well, no. TT: But like, at least letting me know you're alive.

TG: oh...yeah thats TG: thats my sisters actually and uh..shit what even is grig? grandpa i guess TG: already know mr d after all TG: i mean... im not sure how i feel yet TG: i guess im sorta glad because TG: i mean it has been my embarrassing dream to play family with you again for a while TG: i want to be a family again TG: a lot TG: its just TG: hard

TT: Sisters, huh?  Well damn, you got the whole family package with these folks, huh? TT: Nice.  How long you been with them? TT: Yeah, I figured. TT: I didn't, and don't, make it easy. I know. TT: A lot easier when you were a baby, even if our folks were shit, just cuz, y'know. TT: Everything hadn'tt happened yet. TT: Hadn't started to completely fuckin lose my mind and treat you like dogshit. TT: But I mean.  I dunno. TT: I'm not gonna force you or nothin. TT: But if you ever wanted to come backto the apartment and chill for a day, see how you feel about it? TT: That'd be uh. TT: That'd be really nice.

TG: 3 years TG: as long as ive been TG: away from scratch... TG: i..yeah i guess maybe TG: can you even handle seeing me get gay with dave tho

TT: God.  You were with Scratch that whole fuckin time? TT: Fuckin sonnuvabitch refused to tell me what he did with you. TT: Anyway. TT: Handling y'all and your homogay is a small price to pay at the end of the day. TT: Even if it's still. TT: Kinda really weird from my perspective. TT: But I respect y'all and he takes good care of you, so I can't complain too much, right?

TG: ...yeah like ten years TG: kinda fucked up huh TG: ill..ill think about it TG: okay so im gonna be real with you here for a sec okay TG: i TG: messaged you because i was talking to dave and i realized i missed you and TG: that i TG: kindawantahugiguess

TT: ...Yeah? TT: I can do a hug, yeah. TT: Where are you?  I can meet you, if you wanna.

TG: ...workin TG: at [coords] TG: dont arrest me mr officer these drugs are prescription

TT: I'll leave the cuffs in the car. TT: What happens off-duty stays off-duty, though, so. TT: See you in five.

TG: kay > Try not to freak out. Freak out anyways.

> Pull up by the curb a short walk away and park. > Look, you even pay for the parking meter and everything. > Step out of the car in your full uniform and approach Sock, one hand in  your pocket, the other raised in a wave hello.

> Oh god, he really fucking is a god damn cop. That's so damn weird. God. > Not as weird as randomly meeting up with him for a hug though. Damn it that was the dumbest idea. > You wave back, trying hard to look cool and not like you are dying on the inside and failing miserably.

> You stride up alongside him and... ...well, now what, actually. > Neither of you are very good at this kind of planning, are you. > Damnit, Striders. "Hey." > Now just to... > ... > Open your arms up? > Yeah.  That's how hugs happen.

> Oh god, he's going right for it.Oh god. Not even small talk or anything really bro? > Maybe that's better anyways because god know you don't know what to say. "Hey." > You take a deep breath and you...Go for the fucking hug. Squeeze that big bro tight.

> Aww shit here it comes and here he is.  All up and hugging you. > Actually, that's uh. > That's real nice. > You wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a good, tight hug. > It's probably not the most comfortable thing, what with your radio strapped onto your chest and name plates aand shit, but. > At least for you?  This is a fucking good hug. > (Don't you dare tear up in public.)

> You don't really care about the cofort level of this, it's something you've been craving for 13 years now, a little radio isn't going to stop you from enjoying it. > It's nice. It's familiar, like all the good parts of Bro you've been missing wrapped up for you in one big huggable form. Easy to forget all the shit for a moment. > But the moment does end and when you pull away you have to wipe at you eyes like an idiot. "Uh...Th-thanks."

> Aww, shit goddamn.  He's teaaring up too under those glasses. > You swipe one knuckle under your shades, and you take a steaadying breath. "Hey, yeah, no problem." > Breathe easy, Strider.  You glance up for a moment as you see a fatass snowflake come drifting down, then you look to Sock again. "Hey, you wanna maybe grab some lunch with me?  Haven't eaten yet and it's still my break, so."

> Well at least you are both sappy motherfuckers now. > Oh. You didn't expect that. You think about what Dave told you earlier "Stay in control" and promptly decide to fuck that advice because shit. You are already here. You already went for it like an idiot. "Yeah sure. Gonna have Donuts like a proper cop?" > You make such a face at the snow. Ugh, you didn't really prepare for that kinda weather, fuck.

> You snort a laugh and give your flat stomach a pat. "Gotta work on that signature cop gut, don't I? C'mon." > You gesture behind you with a jerk of your thumb. "Hop in up front.  You can pick the place."

"Hell yeah you do. You look like a fake ass striper cop dude." > You get into the car and immediately get the seatbelt. Doesn't feel safe otherwise. You don't really like cars still but you can't pin point why. It's just a weird personality quirk yeah? But you are used to being in one at this point of your life. > Just drive carefully. Please.

> You hop in and buckle up too, both pleased and a litttle saddened that you didn't even need to remind Sock to put on his seatbelt. > Poor kid. > Luckily, you are an impeccably safe driver, and the drive to Wherever is smooth and uneventful.

> Old habits die hard. > You feel kind of awkward in the car with him, it's too silent for our tastes. > You get out of the car at whatever this amazing food place he's taking you is. Fingers crossed for fast food- "Y'know kinda funny. Always figured my first frive in a cop car would be because I'm getting arrested."

> You snort a laugh.  It's Sock's old favorite pizza place. > God you hope he still likes this shit. > Also this wasn't a Pizza Pimp before, was it?  It was Gino's-- > Wait. > Ugh, well, maybe Dave's not at work. "If you're planning on getting arrested, you're doing this pushing thing wrong, kid."(edited)

> Oh the Pizza Pimp. Fucking score. Maybe Dave is there, that would be rad. "I didn't say I was, I said I didn't think I'd ride a cop car otherwise. Your hearing getting bad?" > You immediately freeze after saying that. Oh man, actually sassing Bro though? Please don't hit me.

> Dave is unfortunately not there, but he sure would love to.

> You catch that freeze, and you... > You snort a little, before pointing to your ears. "Too many concerts and phat-ass beats.  Knew I shouldn't have gotten all up and personal with those speakers.  Who knew the grown-ups were right about that?" > You smile, and it's a little awkward cuz you sure as hell have never been the smiling type, before you hold open the door for him. "C'mon, before we freeze our asses off."

> Oh. Okay. It's cool. It's chill. In a quite literal sense even so you get your silly ass inside. > A smile though? You haven't seen your brother smile in...far longer than you haven't seen him for sure. > That little scare knocked the speech right out of you though so you just awkwardly sit down at the next best table, suddenly really not sure how good of an idea this was.

> You take a seat opposite him, and when the server approaches, you order yourself a water instead of a soda. > Who are you, even. > You glance over the menu, humming softly.  Some of these item names... fitting for a place called Pizza Pimp. "You wanna split one, or do individuals, or?"

> Who is he indeed. You order a black coffee instead of apple juice though, so maybe the traditional Strider beverages are just staying outside today. "Uhhh..Not super hungry honestly I don't mind sharing one." > You haven't been able to eat a whole pizza at once in a while but you don't say that.

"Alright.  We'll split a medium and you can take the rest home if you want." > You let him pick the toppings too.  This really is a strange Strider day.

> The strangest. Do they have nuggets as topping because you want that.

> They might have like, baked chicken, which is kinda like nuggets and also? Is Carro-approved.

> Do you think the pizza pimp doesn't have a nugget topping what kinda fool do you take Dave for.

> A big one. >:3

> LISTEN Nuggets have been added like at least two months ago. Cock Special.

> Goddamnit, Dave.

> Sock loves Dave and the Cock Special Pizza. Prepare ya taste buds Bro.(edited)

"One Cock Special with extra cock please" > Yes, this is exactly how you order.

> Oh your face. > You're so fucking proud.  Dave sure is your little brother, and so too is Sock. > Bless these fucking kids.

"Hope you like it, it's my fav." > Both the pizza and you know.

> Yeah.  Yeah, you know. "Sure I will." > Snort a laugh. "This sure isn't Gino's anymore, huh.  You remember that place?"

"Oh yeah. Man..That's been a while. Clover gifted the place to Dave what? 2 years ago?" > Back when you were on a no homo basis. Memories.

> [Clover: nya face]

"Used to be your favorite, but maybe that's because it was free when I worked here. ...Clover?"

"I'm always a slut for free food but I still digged their shit later. Oh uh..Yeah. Little green guy? 4 of the Felt?" > Should..You now have mentioned that?

> [Dave] Oh no.

> There's this shift in your face.  It's not a frown, but a certain tightening of your lips as you're hit with the full brunt of what Sock just said. "...Dave's...doing business with the Felt?"

> WHOOPSIES >Oh. Oh, oh, oh shit. You fucked up. You didn't really think about that when you said it. At all. Shit. Fuck. Damn. "Hahaha whaaaat? Noooo. Of course not! He'd never uh...Clover is just y'know his uh... Sugar daddy yeah. Cash money man, can't say no to that even from a greenie right?" > Well it's not entirely a lie. You are sweating though.

> You paw at your face and you sit back in your seat, eyebrows knit together tightly. > Looks like you're going to have to have a little talk with Dave when you get home. "...No, guess not.  Desperate times and all that, right?"

"Yeah exactly! Haha..." > God this is uncomfortable. You are going to warn Dave but you already feel like shit. Fuck. "Don't...Don't hurt him okay?" > There's fear in your eyes now. Not for you but for your boyfriend, which is so much worse in your eyes.

> That snaps you Right out of your bad thought spiral and you quickly wave your hand. "Hey, no, no.  Not gonna hurt him.  It's chill." > There's that smile again, even if it's uneasy and a bit green around the gills.  Your brother and the Felt... "Really.  Just surprised he hadn't mentioned it before now."

> [Dave] GUESS WHY.

" 'kay..." > He probably hadn't mentioned it for a reason. You couldn't have known Dave wasn't supposed to do business with the Felt but you still feel like shit. It makes sense in hindsight and considering your history of course but...You just plain didn't know. > The Pizza arrives but you suddenly don't feel very hungry at all, sipping on you coffee awkwardly instead.

> You're, similarly, not hungry, but you've got to salvage this.  Not telling when or if Sock will agree to see you again after this. "Sorry, I just... Y'know, getting offered a gift by those guys.  If they had snatched Dave too..." > You shake your head, and sigh it off.  Out with the bad. "But they didn't, and that's that.  So." > You take up a slice of the pizza and you point is casually at Sock, an eyebrow quirked. "What're you out there peddling?"

> Oh. You'd really rather not follow that line of thought, yeah.  Smooth topic change. "Dude, don't think I should be discussing that with a cop in a pizzeria. Mr D would murder me man."

"Hey." > You make a show of taking off your badge and laying it upside down on the table. "Off-duty, not a cop.  So is it the good shit, or is it like, oregano in a dimebag being passed off as weed."

"We're still in public man." > And you don't want to piss off your Dad on top of the shit you just pulled.

"Yeah, yeah.  Weren't you in public anyway?" > You chuckle a little and you point toward the kitchen area. "Your big bro used to sell shitty dimebags out of there, way back.  Dealt to all the line cooks."

" Course you did." > You roll your eyes behind your shades. "What you want an inventory list? Okay I'll just tell you my favorite product aight? Kinder Überraschungseier......The surprise is Cocaine." > Huh, sure did slip into your mother tongue there. Welp..

> Okay.  You actually laugh then. "You're selling Kinder Überraschungseier full of Cocaine.  Shut the fuck up, seriously?" > You're nodding approvingly now. "That's a fucking great idea.  Where the fuck'd you get the chocolates, though? Make them yourself?"

> That makes you feel..really proud? Huh. You can't stop the big dorky grin from spreading on your face. "Best idea I ever had, honestly. I'm importing them from earth, duh. Along with a bunch of other banned sweets and shit. Who the fuck thought peeps are illegal anyways?"

> You balk at that and you laugh again. "Peeps are illegal here-- wait, shit, right." > Smack your forehead. "That's my job to know that now.  Wow, fuckin fire me now."

"Maybe I should show you my stock, just as a reminder. A fucking lot of dumb shit is. Fucking Lattes were banned man. Until the King unbanned them just for Jude which is honestly so fucking stupid. Way to play favorite, just like royalty should am I right? Not that I'm complaining, love me a big fat Latte." > Man it's...Nice to be able to make that kind of shit tier level german dick joke and to know you're gonna be understood just fine.

> You snort your water and you pull a face,but you're clearly goofing around a loving it. "Fucking nasty, dude.  I don't need to hear about your love of big hot fuckin Lattes."

"Aren't you glad the prospitian monarchy digs a steaming hot Latte too? What a life that would be otherwise." > You snort yourself.

"Jesus christ.  Fuckin whities, dude." > You stuff some pizza in your mouth and you talk withyour mouth full like the fat nasty trash you are. "Can you believe I have to work with them?  Like what the fuck."

"The Queen gives me the creeps with her I love everyone bull. And the King seems like a huge fucking idiot so...Congrats man. Jackpot."

"Not had the chance to meet either, but this is the closest I've gotten to infiltrating the corrupt government yet.  Maybe if I keep my shit up, I can finally overthrow them from the inside." > You are entirely dead seriouus.

"What's the masterplan? Shoot them in public?" > You aren't but you also don't mind the topic. Not a fan of these guys.

"Nah, nah, nothing like that.  Too messy.  Besides." > You gesture at the scar that runs oveer your eyes. "Never been a fan of guns."

"I know." > Hell maybe you should be grateful he ain't. Swords fucked you over bad enough. "Seems like a popular approach is all. Like historically or whatever. But I guess you gotta go for something less stale huh?"

"Of course.  Flashy's the only way to be when you're taking out a corrupt system of government."

"Looking forwards to the show Bro." > Except you hope he's fucking joking.

> You totally fucking aren't. > You toss him a wink, which of course he can't see all that well behind your shades. "Hope it's a good one.  You gonna eat any pizza, lil bro?"

"Oh, right." > You finally grab a piece too. "How's the Cock Special?"

> Stuff the rest of your piece into your mouth and brush the crumbs off of your fingers. "It's not big hot Latte, but it's nice and tasty all up in my mouth, so it'll do."

"I mean we can grab a Latte next time-" > Did you just say next time. Did you just imply you want to meet up like this again? Shit. > Stuff your mouth with Pizza real quick.

> Oh. > Oh... That makes yourr heart do the smiley emote. > You grin a liittle bit about that and you say, voice kinda soft, "Yeah... alright.  I'd like that."

"Me too...I think." > If you don't hurt my boyfriend tonight that is, is what you think.

> Don't you worry, Sock.  Not gonna hurt your boyfriend tonight. > You're not gonna be home, so Dave gets to go unhurt for another night.

> Or any other night Bro.(edited) > Or day, or ever:

> Well, at least you'll try to keep your cool when you talk to Dave about it later.

> That's a good start.

> Fuck yeah.  Before you all finish up here, you nod back to the streets now lightly coat with snow. "You going back to your corner, right?  You need a jacket?"

"I mean, I'll live..." > But it's pretty obvious that you don't have any especially warm clothes on you, you know like an idiot.

"Yeah, and you'll get sick, doofus." > You shrug off your jacket--it's a plain black windbreaker, while you wait for your city issue polcie jacket to come in--and you ball it up, handing it over to him. "Here."

> You open your mouth to respond but the Jacket is already in your hands. Oh. That's..Oh. > Is that what it's like to have a caring older brother? "Thanks..." > The Jacket is far too big for you and smells like Bro. It's a weird feeling to put it on. Like a hug you can wear. > Your heart is doing several emotions.

"Hey, no sweat. No good to go out there to work if you're just gonna freeze to death, yeah?" > You have the server bring you all a box for the leftovers, and you give those to him, too. > You stand from the stand and stretch. "Alright, my lunch is about over.  You ready to go?

"Uh, yeah." > You are still trying to sort your feelings over all of this. It's weird. It's nice. > It's what you wanted all along. > Except for the part where you are scared about Dave. > You get up too feeling like a huge fool.

> You, very very carefully, put your hand on his back and lead him out back into the cold. > Look to him, then to your car. "Back to tthe same corner? Or you got anywhere else you need to be?"

> You tense up just a little at the touch but let it happen anyways. "Y-yeah same place." > You just get into the car quickly to cut off the awkward moment. Not without putting on your seatbelt of course.

> Always seatbelt first, kid! > You buckle in and drive him back to the street corner you found him on, putting the car into park but not getting out. "Alright.  Don't get into any trouble, alright?  Oh, and patrol comes past here in about 30 minutes, so be cool when they pass, yeah?"

"Oh uh..Okay. See you, I guess." > You wave an awkward goodbye, overwhelmed by a lot of conflicting emotions.

> You're about to drive off, but then you open the door and, hanging halfway out, you call to him, "Hey! Love you, Sock."

> That just leaves you starring for a moment. Did he just-? Does he? What. Can not compute. "L-Love you too Bro..." > You are not sure if he heard that with the way you mumbled that. You are not sure if you want him to or not. > It's only getting weirder. > But it also warms your birdy little heart.

> You heard it--you've actually got pretty good hearing still, despite all tthatt music and shit. > You smile and wave again before ducking back into your car and driving off.

> The patrol driving by half an hour later doesn't find a drug dealer, just a crying kid in some back alley. > This absolutely kills the bird.

[blackwoolncrown]

curious to hear your thoughts bc i think they're sharp, as a person still figuring out fandom. what do you think of the moral okayness of thorki (the ship)? they're brothers, but gods.... godly incest? at what point does "ship what you want" stop applying?

It’s not so much about where it stops applying. Understand that I actually never have said what people should or shouldn’t read- only that what a person chooses to focus on in general (and therefore including what you write, watch, or read) is indicative of something and in many cases of certain taboo* or violent material my heavy suggestion is that that something is ultimately meaningful.

It’s not ‘just’ fiction.

So like, me personally? I often don’t actually care what someone is into (with some logical exceptions), I care whether or not they’re aware of why, because often people would rather not inspect the why so they can keep enjoying problematic media (and also my actual Big Thing is I don’t approve of situations where someone engages in activity they are not fully aware of, because to me if you aren’t aware of the consequences or origins of your actions, you haven’t fully consented to what you’re doing and that makes me sad. Example: Do you smoke cigarettes? Fine! It’s your body; as long as you aren’t exposing non-smokers to second hand smoke, no one should have shit to say. But if you start smoking bc you believe that cigarettes aren’t actually bad for you and there’s no downsides, you haven’t fully consented and now I wish you either a) inspected your motives and actions or b) stopped).

Overall I suspect that many of the most vociferous defenders of ‘fiction is just fiction!’ are people whose interests often veer into what we often call taboo (I think that word is so ineffective) who don’t want to ask themselves why. My other general rule is that people are most doggedly defensive about what they get off to. There’s also the issue of people having already brought to question their fictive interests and instead of wanting to find out the answer, deciding There’s Nothing To See Here, Fiction Is Just Fiction! Or, on the cusp of identifying a maladaptive interest and feeling as if that’s an action of self-judgment, they identify with their fictive interest because to them judging it means judging themselves.

Ideally neither is necessary. You can just understand that you got into something at a previous time but you’ve grown past it, learned from it, and can walk away from it without shame. After all, it’s ideally just your business. All I’m saying is that you know what the fuck your business is, pardon my french, because people who don’t know themselves are….well, it’s an issue.So to answer your question, here’s another question: If Thor and Loki were not brothers, would you care as much? Imagine a situation in which Thor and Loki are not related, but still share a lusty rivalry. Is something missing? What is it? What about them being gods absolves, in your mind, the impact of their siblinghood?Often, something like sibling incest (which to me is, honestly, not my bag but obviously way less awful than parent/child due to a whole slew of issues with imbalance there) is exciting to people simply because either a) the incest is the barrier to love and in general barriers to love make ‘good’ stories because two people overcoming the bounds of a romantic limitation is a more moving story than two people who can love freely (bc we love suffering and strife! it seasons things, I guess lol) and the incest is just an easy yet huge barrier b) because we have a hard time working through something without sexualizing it and who could write or would want to read about two brothers’ having a heartfelt love/hate brotherhood? Very few people, apparently, because that’s not a valued interaction. Thus, add some fucking into the story and Thor and Loki can work out their antagonistic feelings without getting to the bottom of them because we imagine sex is an equalizer and a balm (it’s not, but I understand the idea has a huge place in erotic fiction and absolutely use it myself when I write for fun).That speaks, to me, of an issue (and I’m going to be specific here) with not really having the language or familiarity with the social concept of brotherly love to make a story about it and its struggles interesting. We don’t have the language and thus cannot conceive of brother/brother reconciliation without sex. And this again speaks of a larger issue our society has with sex and the huge void of emotionality between strangers and lovers (friendships, loyalty. non-sexual bonding? What’s that?). We cannot conceive of a way to intensify, for the sake of adult (in age, not nature) entertainment, something like siblinghood without using sex.

It’s just cheap writing.

On the other hand, the very real ramifications of this easy-route conflict writing is that it sexualizes and normalizes sibling incest (or other things in the case of other stories) and I think it’s incredibly callous to want to ignore the voices of SA victims in this regard. People like to retort that ‘well YOU might not be able to tell fiction from reality, but I can’ but here’s the thing: Your subconscious mind can’t. If your brain wholly knew that the fiction you were reading was Not-Reality the information would be irrelevant and would fail to produce an emotional response. The reason we are excited, aroused, sad, scared, angry, tense, etc during movies and books is because while we are focused on them our mind is interpreting the happenings as actual happenings. To the extent (!) that media ‘pulls you in’, your  subconscious believes it, validates it, and signals responses accordingly. That’s why it’s entertaining.

I say this because something many fans of certain content don’t want to face is that the consumption and support of, and proximity to certain types of violent or taboo content starts to lessen your reaction to them. I’m not speaking as an outsider, here, and so I caution you and anyone else to second-guess the awareness of anyone who says ‘there’s no way that’s true!’. What you repeatedly experience becomes normal for you. This doesn’t apply as heavily with Thorki or similar ships bc of the conceptual complexity (it’s pretty far-removed) but there are certainly fetishes/ships  where repeated exposure lessens your reaction to that concept in general. As if that doesn’t seem to be problem enough, since this is an issue of entertainment, this also means that a person seeks more of the content. After all, what fic fan reads just one story about their scandalous OTP? You need more, or more extreme versions. And I’m not talking out of my ass here- people for some reason love incest- it’s one of the top-searched terms on any adult media site for general consumption. On sites that it’s not, that’s only because the term itself is blacklisted and users use some other coded term. In the absence of pearl-clutching, we must recognize that smutty fiction and tube sites’ activities are largely the same. b/b m/s and f/d incest continue to draw attention and I honestly don’t know why. 

And this is why I pay no mind to people who say that fiction has no effect on reality. Even if it didn’t, it arises from our reality. The real minds of real writers in the real world. And I’ve seen the results. I work with sex and fetishes- it’s my job. I know what people as a whole are into and I’m begging y’all: UNPACK THIS BAGGAGE. Soooo many fetishes are just maladaptive coping mechanisms, so talk of ‘fiction being just fiction’ are literally bullshit. Fetish, and the relative psychology of it, is my job, to the point that it’s also what I have to navigate to try and ensure my safety (by avoiding volatile fetishists) and income (my first job, for instance, was a porn artist, and by now I’m an adult content producer and prodomme). And again, many fetishes are the back end of intense or subconsciously formative moments in our lives. The attraction is not ‘the thing’, it is a thread us leading back to that moment, to learn from our experiences, to resolve past issues with the wiser perspective of our older selves.Again, there’s not much going on in terms of Thor/Loki here but on a wider scale there is. Often in fandom, for instance, it’s not really about the ship so much as the fetish. It’s disguised in the language of fandom, but people who have a bunch of incest ships are incest fetishists, full stop. There’s no difference in motive between them and the ~gross pervert guys~ reblogging porn gifs and adding incest prose to them. If geeks could more often find porn gifs that looked like their taboo OTP rest assured they’d do the same damn thing, most of them. Ficlovers like to act like their position is somehow more morally acceptable because there are no ‘real’ people involved like in porn, but whether or not a physical body is used to represent the characters/roles is a pedantic and nebulous distinction at best. Your interest is still your interest. And people are going to hate this, but it sounds so much like pedophiles on 4chan  who say that their ‘fetish’ is okay because the characters aren’t real. Furries into cubs (not the gay dude kind but the baby animal kind) feel justified the same way because the figures are fantasy creatures. But they’re still expressly coded as the infantile versions of adult characters, and again, the motive is the same. I’m not saying ALL of these things are one to one, I’m saying it’s a similar logic: “This is a fantasy and as such it says nothing about me. It would only matter if I physically did it.” Which is dishonest and illogical bc one’s fantasies  and interests arise out of their own minds. Porn consumption is a night map of the human social psyche. It’s not ‘nothing’.

Sure, most of those people would probably never touch a child, but that’s because the real world provides consequences the fantasy world doesn’t- not because they’re not interested. I know bc I’ve seen them say that themselves, many times. I was a 4chan teen. What was normal there would make a well-adjusted person puke. But I was maladaptive, impressionable and young at the time and it became normal for me. So many forms of incest, rape, pedophilia, bestiality etc became normal in the ‘shock makes things acceptable’ speed-posting culture of neverending offensiveness there. And that’s not just a 4chan thing. It’s a group anonymity thing. Any imageboard vet can tell you that. When you’re in the anonymous group, what the group does is what you do, and you go along with it, continuously being desensitized until you suddenly go WTF or…keep going. And having seen these arguments before, I’m wary of those who go to battle on the idea of all erotic fiction being totally beyond judgement, because often what is going on is that people whose interests should be judged, at the very least by themselves, argue against that so that there are other people who feel the same way who don’t realize they’ve been manipulated to cloak the offenders in their community.

But I digress.

Since my feelings on Killmonger fans* started this, I’ll offer an example of my own: I think AoU Ultron is hot. But I don’t actually want to fuck him. I wouldn’t be interested in any ‘reader x Ultron’ narratives. Why? Because despite my love for and identification with  many villains (usually bc of their victim’s rage and queer coding which always leaves them far cooler and better dressed than the hero) and my love for robots, I can’t ignore that Ultron is a heartless, people-hating, death-machine. He has no interest in love, doesn’t care about anyone, and if he bothered to fuck a person (I fucking doubt it) he’d gladly fuck them apart. And since I love myself, I don’t find that appealing. If I found the idea of being fucked to death by a robot arousing, that says something about how I feel about my existence. I know bc I am strangely fascinated by the idea of armageddon (another reason Ultron appealed to me). Spoilers: it’s just easier to feel like you want the whole world to end when you’re so certain there’s no other solution and you yourself are afraid of the emotional responsibility of weathering the world and social interactions. When you love yourself and other people, the idea of seeing the world burn stops being so entrancing. So sure it’s an enthralling literary concept. Is it something I dedicate my blog to or obsess over?

No.

Other things I’ve examined- my love for robots. Do I find myself attracted to robots because they are humanoids you can objectify free of moral conflict? No, and that sucks for me bc that’s why most people like them and that affects the kind of adult media made about them (can you tell im bitter), it’s because I find humanoid robots to be something I can identify with, I see them as symbolically human, and relating to them is, to me, acknowledging that a human is also a construct with both programming and a will of its own it uses to explore and often fight that programming. My attraction to the concept of an automaton stems from my early realization that my own body is but a fantastic collection of parts, electric signals, programmed genetic data, pulleys and fuel. Amazing! Now that I know that, have I stopped consuming robot fetish media? Well yes but only because I can’t find any I like…but in general, no. I’m not ashamed of my attraction, I’ve unpacked it, faced it, and go on about  my life. It actually did lessen the obsession, though.

So, to stay on point, sibling incest as a concept is IMO not ‘wrong’ to write/read about objectively but it is questionable to perpetuate, romanticize, fawn over, collect, celebrate, etc.  Most problematic to me is the issue of how these ships are identified. Generally any time there are 2 handsome brothers in a piece of media, some not-small-enough contingency of the fandom assumes they’re fucking, and sees all forms of affection or antagonism between them as evidence of their lust.

What does this say about your ability to recognize sibling love? What does it say about the social value (or lack thereof) of the same? When ‘all feelings lead to sex’ is the overarching theme of our entire society, I can’t really say I am uncritical of concepts like hatesex and incest being so intensely attractive to people over, say, romantic love between two people who are not related by blood. A bit of a tangent but similarly while I get the chemistry appeal, the fact that ‘hatesex’ as a concept (two people who often express aggression, hatred, intolerance etc of each other being interpreted as actually masking feelings of attraction) is so popular is ripe for questioning. How far removed is it from “He picks on you  because he likes you” and other maladaptive forms of “loving someone means hurting them…a lot” which are real actual problems people suffer for right now?

Plus, it begins to suggest as I said before that all forms of affection/relationship end in sex. Even if sex never happens, sex must logically be the apex of love if two characters who have any kind of affection, even if that affection is also seen in the presence of aggression (!) or a moral barrier (family bond), are easily assumed to be sexually compatible to the extent that fandom perpetuates.

So back to your point, this is again not really an issue (as far as where I’m coming from) with what’s right and wrong. It’s an issue of people needing to take responsibility for themselves and being curious about their own issues and interests. I’m not advocating for censorship- I’m advocating for people to enlighten themselves about themselves in which case a lot of ‘taboo’ media would be produced in a lessened capacity.

I find it interesting that when I ask “Why are you into ____?” people don’t answer that question, or seem unwilling to, since their first reaction is to flip out and cry censorship. No one seems to notice that that’s not what I’m actually saying lol.

I don’t care what people do, if it’s not hurting someone. I care that people know why they do what they do. I am critical of things and of myself. I think people should just dare to be critical. It’s a great tool for self-healing that doesn’t involve perpetuating damage.*I dislike the term taboo because it and the moral judgment it applies is a nebulous term that is used far too broadly. Incestuous pedophiles soften their interest by calling it ‘taboo’, but interracial relationships are also classed as ‘taboo’, thereby suggesting that the term is as loose as ‘whatever many people think is wrong’, which is clearly far too transient and easily-influenced. Often, I find, it’s used as ‘something that is morally objectionable for reasons we’re not going to explore, we’re just going to lump all this shit together indiscriminately as taboo’.

*Again, I don’t care about people who mainly think MBJ is hot as Killmonger, that’s totally logical. I question people whose fantasies specifically extend to Killmonger THE CHARACTER being seen as sexually attractive **because** of/specifically on the grounds of his general character (i.e. radicalized, violent, murderous, apathetic) and what kind of person would fantasize about being subject to a man like that.

[tediousoscars]

2020

Predict-o-meter: This year: 9/12; Total: 117/147 (80%)

Hey. What’s up? Anything much happen since we talked last March?

Delayed, but undaunted, it is a minor miracle that the Oscars are happening at all, and even more surprising that they have managed to assemble a fairly strong class of eight films, due in large part to the advent of streaming services as original content creators.

It was a big year for 1968 Chicago, with two nominated films - “Judas and the Black Messiah,” and “The Trial of the Chicago 7” - plumbing the depths of that tumultuous time and place (Black Panther Chairman Fred Hampton appears in both films).

And it was a good year for innovation, with films like “The Father,” “Nomadland,” and “Sound of Metal” boldly exploring new techniques in film-making.

But, of course, overall it was a very bad year, but instead of dwelling on that, let’s jump right in, shall we?

The Father is the story of a successful, retired engineer who is sliding into dementia and vehemently resisting his daughter’s attempts to help him by hiring in-home caregivers. Anthony Hopkins (nominated) is breathtaking as the titular father (also named Anthony), but Olivia Colman (also nominated) matches him as his put-upon daughter, Anne.

Most films that deal with such topics do so from the outside. We watch the decline of the afflicted person and judge their reasonableness by the reactions of those around them. When they are delusional or hallucinating we know because the other characters say so, and we believe them.

The genius of “The Father” is that it goes to great lengths to effectively put the audience in Anthony’s shoes. Scenes are shot out of sequence, and sometimes repeated. The time and even the setting change without warning. And, most disconcertingly, the actors playing certain roles may be different from scene to scene. So when Anthony can’t recognize his own daughter we are right there with him because the woman standing in front of him is not the same one originally introduced as Anne.

This leads to confusion and disorientation in the viewer which, if not as intense as Anthony’s, at least allows an empathetic glimpse into his declining mental state. This is no light-hearted romp; there will be no happily ever after. Anthony ends up confused and afraid, sobbing uncontrollably and crying for his mommy. But he is never alone, and he is never uncared for, making this a deeply touching, deeply human story. With impeccable acting and innovative storytelling, “The Father” is certainly a worthy nominee by any standard.

Judas and the Black Messiah tells the incredible true story of the war waged between the FBI and the Black Panther party in Chicago in the late 60s. LaKeith Lee Stanfield (nominated) plays ‘Wild’ Bill O’Neal, a two-bit hustler who flashes a fake FBI badge, claims the car outside is stolen, confiscates the keys, and then makes off with the car. When he is caught and facing prison time for impersonating a Federal agent he decides to become an informant and is sent to infiltrate the local chapter of the Black Panther Party who’s young, articulate, charismatic leader, Fred Hampton (played by Daniel Kaluuya, also nominated) is on an FBI watch list as having the potential to become a Black Messiah and galvanize the minority population across the nation.

The world created in the film is nuanced, complex, and anything but black and white (pardon the pun). On the one hand, Chairman Hampton reaches out not only to a rival Black gang, but also to white supremacists flying the stars and bars, and a Latino gang as well. By making common cause on the grounds of lack of economic opportunity and harassment by the ‘pigs,’ Hampton forms the first Rainbow Coalition, much to the consternation of the closely-watching FBI. On the other hand, Wild Bill’s handler, Agent Mitchell, starts out all gung-ho to fight domestic terrorists, but becomes disconcerted about his superiors’ willingness - even eagerness - to cut legal corners in order to achieve desired ends. For his part, Wild Bill enters the informant agreement as a total cynic looking out for number one. But a grudging admiration for Hampton’s goals and methods leads him to question his role in the unfolding drama.

O’Neal wants out, but Mitchell (and an impending sentence) won’t let him. Mitchell wants to do things by the book, but the FBI won’t let him. Hampton wants to do things peacefully, but the Chicago police won’t let him. All three men become swept up by forces beyond their control that propel them to an inevitable, tragic, and violent climax. Stanfield and Kaluuya both give such commanding performances that apparently the Academy could not decide which of them was the lead, nominating both for Best Supporting Actor in a curious move. The storytelling is fast-paced with several independent plot threads that director Shaka King masterfully weaves into a coherent, compelling tapestry to create a film that is at once edifying and thoroughly entertaining.

Mank is a great movie about the making of the greatest movie. When a young Orson Welles is given carte blanche to make any movie he wants with full creative control, he brings in Herman ‘Mank’ Mankiewicz (played with verve by the nominated Gary Oldman) to write the screenplay. In 60 days.

Mank is a (barely) functioning alcoholic, gadfly, bon vivant, and frustrated auteur who feels that his artistry is constantly being watered down by the studios to appease the masses. Hence he finds Welles’ offer of no studio oversight irresistible. Recovering from a car accident, Mank spends the entire writing process bed-ridden and tended by a stern German hausfrau to care for his material needs and an attractive British woman to take dictation who spends equal time worrying over her husband in the Royal Navy and skewering Mank with disapproving glances at his irreverent behavior.

Through flashbacks we see Mank cut an Oscar-Wilde-esque figure that gains him entree into the world of the upper crust of Hollywood. He becomes a favored dinner guest of William Randolph Hearst because his snide, witty, risqué repartee provides - as the Las Vegas ad says - just the right amount of wrong.

From the opening title to the closing credits the film is shot entirely in the style of 1940s Hollywood: in black and white, with outsized characters spitting rapid-fire snappy patter and sizzling dialog, a melodramatic score, and a large, talented supporting cast.

Arliss Howard shines as studio mogul Louis B. Mayer, and basically steals the entire movie with a sequence in which he violently punches a man to the ground for anti-semitism, cheerfully and grandiosely pontificates upon the glory that is MGM studios, and tearfully enjoins the rank and file of said studio to accept a 50% pay cut due to the Depression - all within the span of about 30 seconds while barely taking a breath. Tuppence Middleton is also wonderful as Mank’s long-suffering wife (universally known as ‘Poor Sara’), who is every bit Mank’s equal when it comes to wit, but who cannot match his irresponsibility and so is back East caring for their children throughout the writing process. What “Mank” lacks in historical accuracy it makes up for in plain old fun. A thoroughly enjoyable film.

Minari is, despite its Korean origins, an unabashed love sonnet to the American Dream. Jacob, played by Steven Yeun in a nominated role, is a world-class chicken sexer with larger ambitions. Because of his amazing speed at separating male chicks from female he manages to scrape together enough money to buy a plot of land in rural Arkansas and pursue his dream of starting his own farm.

His pragmatic wife Monica does not share this dream and reluctantly agrees to move with their two children from the comfortable confines of California - with its thriving Korean community - to the hinterlands, and is discomfited to find that their new home is a trailer parked next to a large, empty field in the middle of nowhere.

They both take jobs as sexers at a local poultry farm where Monica is much slower than her husband but is told that she is “fast enough for Arkansas.” But Jacob is restless and begins to spend more and more time trying to get his ‘garden of Eden’ up and running.

One of the first tasks is to dig a well, and when a dowser comes out to demonstrate his skill at locating water Jacob explains to his young son David that, “Americans believe nonsense, but Koreans use their minds.” The viewer would be forgiven at this stage for thinking that this will become a theme of the film with the Koreans rolling their eyes at the eccentricities of their American neighbors and maintaining an insular distance to preserve their culture, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Rather the theme that develops could be summarized as coexistence without assimilation. The differences between the Koreans and Americans are not ignored, nor are they celebrated; they simply are. When David’s classmate Johnnie asks him why his face is so flat there is no racist animus behind the question, merely childish curiosity. And the two go on to become fast friends. Similarly, Jacob may find his handyman Paul’s tradition of dragging a heavy wooden cross through the back roads of the area each Sunday as very strange, but Paul is a good and loyal worker, so where’s the harm?

Our expectations are further defied with the arrival of Monica’s mother Soonja (played by Yuh-jung Youn in a show-stealing nominated role) from Korea to help look after the kids. We expect a stern, disapproving ‘tiger mother’ but find instead that she is kind-hearted, mischievous, and foul-mouthed in equal measure.

Though 7yo David, whom she had never met before her arrival, is initially stand-offish, the two eventually form a bond and take to going off on exploratory hikes on which Soonja encourages David into more physical activity than his over-protective mother generally allows due to a congenital heart condition.

It is during one of these excursions that Soonja finds a perfect spot on the banks of a creek in the woods to plant the seeds of minari (Korean water chestnut) that she has brought with her from Korea.

Through hard work and perseverance the family seems to be making their way. Monica is accepted at the local church, the kids make friends at school, Jacob and Paul manage to get a crop planted and harvested, and even David’s heart condition seems to be spontaneously healing.

But when disaster strikes and the crop is lost they find that Soonja’s minari - transplanted from Korea - is thriving in America and has spread widely along the creek banks, providing enough of a crop to squeak by.

“Minari” is a quiet, gentle little film that touches upon some large, sweeping themes that we like to think of as American but are really universal: success through hard work and self-reliance, but also the importance of family and community. And, most of all, tolerance of other cultures that is born out of mutual respect. I think we all could do with a bit more of this version of the American Dream right now.

Nomadland blurs the distinction between documentary and feature film. The town of Empire, NV really did essentially evaporate when the local gypsum plant shut down, and most of the people who appear onscreen are actually nomads playing slightly idealized versions of themselves.

The two primary exceptions are Frances McDormand (nominated), as Fern, who blends in so well that many of the nomads didn’t realize she was an Oscar-winning actress and accepted her as one of their own, and David Strathairn as Dave, who sticks out like such a sore thumb that he may as well have ‘ACTOR’ tattooed across his forehead.

The nomads are a cadre of mostly older Americans who have taken to the road in modified vans to eke out a meager existence on the peripheries of society. Fern joins their ranks after the death of her husband leaves her with absolutely no reason to stay in Empire and few resources to resettle anywhere else. After a helpful seminar on what size bucket to shit in and a stern lecture about the necessity of having a spare tire, Fern careens across the American west finding temporary, seasonal work at Amazon fulfillment centers, National Parks, and even Wall Drug.

If I had to summarize “Nomadland” in a single word that word would be ‘bleak.’ Though the nomads form a transient community that is supportive and operates primarily on goodwill and barter, their personal relationships tend to be impermanent (with an over-arching vague promise to meet again ‘down the road’) and their lives tend to be characterized by isolation and desperation, always one medical issue or flat tire away from death.

The film is presented diary style, following Fern’s day-to-day activities over the course of a year, with little narrative superimposed. The closest thing to a plot thread is Dave’s gentle but persistent attempts at a relationship with Fern, which mostly seems inexplicable given that Fern is barely civil to him.

If you are into ‘slice of life’ films that provide a glimpse into another culture then maybe “Nomadland” is for you, but I might recommend upping your Zoloft dosage before watching.

Promising Young Woman introduces us to Cassie (short for Cassandra - the Greek prophetess who was never believed), a woman young enough to still be hot, but old enough to ‘know better,’ who has a very strange hobby: she frequents bars and clubs, pretends to be falling-down drunk, and waits for some ‘nice’ guy to take her home.

When said ‘nice’ guy inevitably makes both his intentions and his lack of concern over her consent known, but before things get too out of hand, she suddenly reveals her stone-cold sobriety and confronts her would-be paramour, much to his consternation and frustration. In the real world one might expect these confrontations to turn violent - either on her part or his - but in Cassie’s world they end with the ineffectual guy feeling chagrinned and Cassie feeling smug.

We gradually learn that Cassie and her lifelong bestie Nina were once promising med students, but Nina got blackout drunk at a party and was gang raped, leading them both to drop out, Nina to commit suicide, and Cassie to resign herself to living with her parents and slumming a dead-end barista job. And that’s just Act 1.

Act 2 sees the introduction of a love interest in the form of a former med-school classmate now turned successful pediatric surgeon, and the pair spiral off into a brief rom-com that seemingly puts Cassie well on her way to healing and getting on with her life.

Then a tragic plot twist (no spoilers here) propels Cassie into an Act 3 full of vengeance and, yes, violence, but probably not quite in the way you were expecting.

“Promising Young Woman” is a searing indictment of the rape culture that values the career prospects of young men over the well-being and even lives of young women. Carey Mulligan stars as Cassie and is remarkable. Her nuanced performance captures a struggle with mental illness along with a parallel struggle to conceal it; her Best Actress nomination is richly deserved. And comedian Bo Burnham shows some surprising acting chops as the love interest.

Overall some of the scenarios portrayed may seem a tad unrealistic (a withering stare seems to be all that is needed to put obnoxious men in their place), but the film creates a self-consistent ethos that makes this forgivable. There is a rich and compelling plot, with a couple great twists leading to a conclusion that is both tragic and oddly satisfying. Though it deals with very heavy subject matter the film never feels preachy or heavy-handed. There are no graphic scenes and no nudity. “Promising Young Woman” manages to be thought-provoking without being gratuitously shocking, which, considering the subject matter, is no mean feat.

Sound of Metal. There is a common story-telling trope that goes like this: take a protagonist who is generally happy and comfortable, suddenly rip them from their familiar surroundings into a strange new world, launch them on a quest to return to their ‘normal’ life, but when they finally achieve that goal have them discover that the journey has changed them to such an extent that they no longer fit into their once-idyllic world. Neil Gaiman has basically made a career out of telling stories of this type.

“Sound of Metal” follows this traditional outline in a very non-traditional way. Ruben, played by Riz Ahmed in a nominated role, is living his best life. A former heroin addict rescued by the love of a good woman, he now tours with her incessantly as the drummer of their heavy-metal duo. It’s just the two of them in their RV, traveling the country, doing shows, and loving each other with no rules or restrictions.

This all comes crashing down when Ruben suffers sudden and almost complete hearing loss. His partner Lou leverages some connections and manages to find him a spot in a deaf community and they drive off to check it out. At this point Ruben is very much thinking this is a temporary condition. A doctor has told him about cochlear implants, which he sees as a panacea to get him back to normal with the only barrier being the expense of the procedure. Lou convinces the reluctant Ruben to stay with the community - at least temporarily while they figure things out - and then flies home to her rich parents’ house.

The community is loosely led by Joe, a stern and wizened figure who basically plays Yoda to Ruben’s Luke. Right off the bat Joe explains that this is an immersive experience, so he confiscates Ruben’s phone and RV keys, and explains to Ruben that the members of the community view deafness as a way of life with a rich culture, not an ailment to be cured.

At first Ruben nods along politely, but is clearly not fully engaged. But gradually he learns sign language and begins to assimilate into the community. A major step in this process is Ruben’s involvement with an associated school for deaf children where he is able to bond with the kids by introducing them to drumming.

Eventually Ruben appears to embrace the community fully to the point where Joe offers him a job so he can stick around permanently. But throughout this entire process Ruben has been secretly plotting to get his old life back. He sells the band’s sound equipment as well as the RV to raise funds for the operation, and sneaks into Joe’s office when no one is looking to access the internet and arrange appointments.

While the surgery is nominally successful and restores some measure of Ruben’s hearing, the results are by no means what he expected.

On the one hand, true to his stated policy, Joe informs Ruben that since he is no longer a part of the deaf community he can no longer stay with them.

And on the other hand, the sound Ruben now hears is mechanical and distorted, and while it works well enough to allow him to carry on a one-on-one conversation in isolation, in any situation with significant background noise - a crowded room, a busy street - the distortion becomes overwhelming and he can barely make out what is being said.

When he is reunited with Lou it becomes clear to him that while she still loves him, she has moved on and prospered professionally and no longer pines for their previous nomadic existence. Finally Ruben accepts that his life is changed and he removes the external sound processors associated with the implants and revels in resulting absolute silence.

“Sound of Metal” is a well-crafted film with all of the requisite components - strong characters, compelling plot, good direction. But the genius of the film is in its sound design. We are frequently put inside Ruben’s head and allowed to hear what he is hearing, often to devastating effect. Early in the film the band is onstage and Ruben is pounding on the drums for all he’s worth, but what we hear is nothing but a muted wumpf wumpf wumpf. Later, after the implants, Lou is singing a beautiful song with her father at a party and Ruben stands in the crowd paying seemingly rapturous attention. Then our sonic perspective is shifted to his and we realize that what he is actually hearing is such a garbled mess that you can barely make on the melody. This powerful device increases our empathy for and understanding of Ruben’s journey throughout the film and serves to make his realization that his life, as he knew it, is over all the more impactful. Truly brilliant work from a film-making craft that is often under-appreciated.

The Trial of the Chicago 7. If the phrase “there’s a lot to unpack here” did not exist then it would need to be invented for this film. With more strong characters with independent backstories and plot threads than an Avengers movie, it is truly a spectacle to behold.

Based on the trial of eight defendants arrested for conspiracy to incite the riots that marred the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago, most of the action is set in the raucous courtroom with frequent flashbacks to elucidate specific testimony.

The eight defendants can barely stand one another and have little in common save the notion that war is generally a bad idea. This, of course, is awkward for the Government’s case that they conspired together since by all appearances they couldn’t conspire to order a ham sandwich. Throw in an increasingly unhinged judge and an acerbic defense lawyer who collects contempt citations like Pokemon, and all you can do is sit back and reach for the popcorn.

But this isn’t all fun and games. The reason it is the Chicago 7, rather than the Chicago 8, is because the trial of Bobby Seale, a member of the Black Panther Party and the only Black defendant, was declared a mistrial halfway through the proceedings. Abbie Hoffman (played with typical flamboyant exuberance by Sacha Baron Cohen in a nominated role) wryly observes that Seale was only thrown in to scare the jury; he is not even represented by the same lawyer as the other 7. And since his lawyer can’t be present due to a medical emergency he consistently points out that his right to representation is being violated, much to the consternation of the judge.

This all comes to a head when, after one of Seale’s repeated outbursts, the judge orders him removed from the courtroom and “dealt with.” He returns shackled and gagged, which is a bridge too far for the Federal prosecutor who is already concerned that this trial is being pursued for largely political reasons.

There are some serious and substantive discussions of social issues of the day as well, but for the most part the film is a fast-paced roller coaster ride that is just a lot of fun. With a strong and star-studded ensemble cast (is that Michael Keaton?) and sure-handed direction from writer-director Aaron Sorkin (nominated for writing, not directing) who manages to balance entertainment with a strong message “The Trial of the Chicago 7” is sure to be a crowd-pleaser.

So which SHOULD win?

The two films that I most enjoyed watching were “Mank” and “The Trial of the Chicago 7,” and both for similar reasons: great ensemble casts, compelling stories, quick-witted snappy dialogue. But I think the one that would stand up best to repeated viewings is “Mank,” so that’s my pick.

But which will win?

Much to my befuddlement the clear odds-on favorite to win is “Nomadland,” the only film in the bunch that I did not enjoy. At all. “The Trial of the Chicago 7” is a distant second, but there has been some chatter that it might have a chance due to the new ranked-choice voting. The thinking is that “Nomadland” may well win the first-choice votes, but it’s support in the second- and third-choice slots will drop dramatically, which will allow “The Trial of the Chicago 7” to sneak in due to its broader overall appeal. I think this is wishful thinking and so am holding my nose and going with “Nomadland,” but I would actually be thrilled to be wrong here.

And in the other categories …

Best Actress: This is by far the most interesting and most hotly-contested race between Carey Mulligan for “Promising Young Woman,” and Viola Davis for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.” The smart money is on Mulligan, whose performance is truly strong. But Viola Davis’ transformation is utterly complete and completely breathtaking. So I am going to apply a little wishful thinking of my own and go with Viola Davis. Frances McDormand for "Nomadland."

Best Supporting Actress: 73yo Yuh-jung Youn should win here for her fabulous portrayal of the irreverent grandmother in “Minari.” How cool is that?

Best Actor: Chadwick Boseman will join Heath Ledger as a posthumous Oscar recipient for his role in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” in the closest there is to a sure-thing this year. See this is what happens when you get smug. Anthony Hopkins for "The Father."

Best Supporting Actor: Daniel Kaluuya should beat out his “Judas and the Black Messiah” co-star here. Given the Chadwick Boseman juggernaut for Best Actor the Academy may have done him a favor by nominating him here.

Best Director: *sigh* Chloé Zhao appears to be a shoo-in here for “Nomadland.” I just don’t get it.

Best Original Screenplay: This looks to be a two-way race between “Promising Young Woman” and “The Trial of the Chicago 7,” with the former a clear favorite. No argument from me! Emerald Fennell for “Promising Young Woman.”

Best Adapted Screenplay: Another two-way race between “Nomadland” and “The Father.” Incredibly, “Nomadland” is the favorite (What? There’s no plot! It feels more like surveillance footage than a feature film!) Whatever. Chloé Zhao for “Nomadland.” Hmpf. Christopher Hampton and Florian Zeller for "The Father."

Best Documentary: “My Octopus Teacher” should beat out “Time” here.

Best Animated Feature: The Pixar train just keeps on a-rolling with “Soul.”

Best Cinematography: This is between (wait for it) “Nomadland” and “Mank.” Joshua James Richards for “Nomadland.” I give up.

Best Production Design: The stylized 1940s-movie feel of “Mank” should carry Donald Graham Burt and Jan Pascale to a win here.

Best Sound Design: Nicolas Becker, Jaime Baksht, Michellee Couttolene, Carlos Cortés, and Phillip Bladh should be runaway winners for “Sound of Metal.” The sound design really makes that film!

And that’s it for this most terrible of years. Hopefully we’ll be able to watch movies in actual theaters again soon!

[meandmyechoes]

The more I think about my first romance novel, the more I find something odd.

[28th March 17:46]

I keep referring to it as a ‘favourable experience’, and there is no question the writing is what made me fall totally head over heels about quin tress, but I also just, can't?

I mean, yes. It's very passionate, dramatic, scenes and gestures I can only dream of. And it's all very bisexual and fantastical of me. But I also, don't really see it in that 'omg they totally belong together here are my sixty headcanons of them' sense?

I am very involved in the pairing, but also don't really, actively 'ship' it — like the way I have the ability to with Rhayme or Latts (since it's the same author that indoctrinated me to Captain Rhayme). I could imagine them being happily ever after and silly shenanigans and slow-burn. But the concept of a quin tress fairytale ending is so wild. I can only ask if this has to do with my personal view on relationships. Does this tie back to how I say the hottest thing a heterosexual couple can do is fuck (and the spiritual experience is emphasized with a same-sex partner)? - anyway, ace brain (probably) speaking.

I know the plot leaves little room for 'the future' and fed me well on all tropes possible. But, it just never occurred to me to put them in any other clichés or invent a missing scene.

Winding up, I don't think their relationship is 'weak', but it's very motivated by circumstances and once you take that out of them, you are a little bit lost. For example even during the illicit affairs month, I… can't really propose one date that does not seem tonally insensitive. (I can think of them being cloak dorks and Vos bringing her to ice-cream, that's it, after a long hard moment) Really, all I possibly want is that sweet, sweet angst and canon is already there so I have no complaint.

It's just… I don't really get why it has to be the two of them that fall for each other. I understand why they did, and I believe it— Perhaps it's much more a physical attraction thing that I don't really have personal experience with.

I don't know if quin tress classify as slow-burn because 10 chapters still seem a little quick in the grand scheme of things. (aside: I'm quite disappointed Ventress wasn't doing much in the last quarter of the book.) My point is, they do feel a little bit puppet to tropes, and while it's deliciously written, there's not much potential outside of canon. And that lack of inspiration makes me grimace a little.

[3rd April, 01:39]

I’ve scrolled through the dd tag and let the book sank a little. I am better articulated to talk about the sexist criticism now.

It's a romance story, and when I judge it by that (lower) standard, it ticks the boxes. However, it might be a weakness as well, due to the projectability of the heroes. And yes, the whole assassination is dumb. Yet, tcw has been consistently this dumb at us. The last two times when she's more rooted in the dark she failed, sent Savage and failed, so she's gonna do it again with Vos… after she put down her desire for revenge. right. ans surprise! Our "assassination" plan is to find Dooku and duel him directly. right…

I've read a review that says the romance takes away from the plot. However, the romance IS the plot. The book IS supposed to revolve around the two of them. I do agree them becoming begrudging allies then partners is a more unique approach, more rewarding as foils as well. but I guess a romance is easier for the convention to process ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

With the "Ventress lose agency in falling for Vos". Now, I can't dictate how each of us buy into their physical attraction and chemistry (or lack thereof), and there's no denial that a conscious human being is making that choice for the fictional character, I think the stance on this topic is really tinted by the above two factors, which are very different starting points.

I kept Katie. Lucas's foreword vividly in mind while reading. She said this is a story about people seizing chances to rebuild. That there's always a choice. Cliché as it is, I believe ~the power of love~. I believe there exists someone you're willing to sacrifice everything for, to overlook everything for, to forgive - to love them, warts and all. So, yes whether you think Ventress loses her agency to the romance, or if that's a conscious choice on her behalf, is swayed heavily by how much you buy that they are the one.

[10th April, 10:30]

So Mr. Partner has finished the book too. He didn't offer particular insights, but we discussed briefly the overall pace and bits of characterization. He did made me rolled with laughter describing Vos through a childish, tropey lens. Regarding the topic of this documentation - the quin tress relationship, I've been more or less really enjoying it as a guilty pleasure. I don't read romance novels at all, and this is tooth-rotting sweet angst. 

Yesterday I’ve been thinking a bit more about this. I do love this ship, I just don’t believe they’d be two people who find each other again and again in every life time, in every universe. That’s why, as magnificent as fireworks, it also won’t last.

It's very nostalgic to indulge in a heterosexual relationship, and pair it up with taylor swift songs. If I have a boyfriend as devoted as Vos, I'd fall one hundred percent. And if I'm faced with an bombshell like Ventress, I would not be able to have any agency I swear. Either way, in my headcanon, Ventress is happily away on adventures with Lassa :3

To explore this, it’s not entire impossible for quin tress to separate peacefully after this incident, but would that cheapen the build before? The entire motivation of dark!Quinlan hinges on his vision of their future. And say, Ventress did saved him and survived. How would he balance being a Jedi and his feelings - that’s publicly exposed to the Council? (sidenote: i really don’t like Ch. 27 where a bunch of old men are questioning their love life, but uhhh yes, I’m a sensible person!) For now, I’m seeing another Obitine situation. And honestly how bad that an outcome is. It’s not like Ventress died for her war crimes! The show gave her a full pardon! So Idk man. Why can’t she leaves him because she loves him and she exiled herself and they never see each other again WHY NOT FILONI WHY NOT.

Now I’m lamenting more what could’ve been with the two arcs. In Filoni’s original sketch, Aayla and Maul were involved. Man, that could’ve been the dream. I skipped to translating the last two chapters and all the way I was just fuming at how stupid it was. There are difficult technical terms but I really enjoy voicing the characters. But it just takes away bit of that formality and Shakespearean tragic factor having them talk in my native tongue???? haha

Prelude: [12th March 22:37]

since dark disciple heteronormatively gave Rhayme and Ventress boyfriends, I'm gonna go ahead and sign the charter that says "all sw characters are bi"

which got me thinking, I insist that Quinlan and Ventress must fuck (and I insist they did, with the implication from when Quinlan "had seen her by starlight, just her"), but why didn't I think that way with Rhayme and her? Maybe it's because the story never pushed me there. I'd wish it indeed have more to do with I'm aspec than internalized homophobia (that I look down on everyone), but I also think, fucking is literally the hottest thing a heterosexual relationship can do? Every selling point, either be appearance or intellect, leads up to the ultimate goal of reproduction?

But oh my god, space lesbians, beating up pirates, sharing a wine, teasing hairs and finger tips. That's so goddamn romantic

[edit: i know that is an extremely skewered and unfair view, but i’ve met maybe, one, boy on my intellectual level. it’s a game of probability ok]

~~~

Part 2: [26th April, 15:15]

It has been… a month, since I finished Dark Disciple and I feel like it’s time to conclude all the thinking this book has made me do.

On the wider reflection about attachment and the Order, I still have to do more reading on it to form a concrete opinion. This theme won’t be touched on in this post yet, but I cannot shake how intriguing it is to compare “falling” in love to falling to the dark side. The temptation, and the submission to their emotions, the irrationality, the newfound curiosity, it all incites. Very curiously, it was Anakin. Skywalker who commented that one is “blinded by love”

Okay, so what I’ve been scratching my head off the past two weeks is how I look at the romance between Asajj. Ventress and Quinlan. Vos. How would I define it?

Now this is as much as an exploration of how I view romantic relationships. Well, I’ve decided it wasn’t “love”, it was an “affair”. It was an affair because it’s a rush of passion, it’s a secret, it won’t last. Before I chop my own head off for bluntness, I mean it in, of course they are hopelessly in love with each other, that’s the exact premise of why it moved me so. But it wasn’t a complete relationship, wasn’t a healthy, sustainable one by any objective standards. Then, that’s the exact contradiction. Oh to throw caution in the wind with you, or to build a future with you?

Both are things I want a lot, and the ideal is of course one after the other. What quin tress had (in the end) is definitely not something I’d want for myself, but it’s so fantastical, it’s alluring, just like the concept of falling in love - opening up yourself and trusting another person, is - it’s risky. That’s why it’s a sweet, sweet drug.

I’ve been so angry at all the red flags in this relationship. Reading this book, getting into both of their shoes, yelling NO like their best friends. But ultimately, what they had is unique to them and I can’t influence it in any way. Re-reading, I find myself holding myself back at all the places I was furious about going ‘You are smarter than this!’. Because it’s a tragedy, and the beautiful thing is they chose each other (I guess).

The other day something on the dash inspired me to really think about ship dynamics. I, unashamedly admit, I’m VERY into Obi/Quin/Ventress in any and all combinations. *cough* I will not explain further.

Aside, the elephant was I’ve never been in a relationship or felt physically attracted to any person in my life. I suppose that’s a reason it took some time for me to really buy into them more than friends. I do accept the premise and I did discover they share quite a bunch of traits, but it confused me a while what made them cross the boundary, and it was, physical attraction (that the book was selling so hard I was blushing hot). But what really frustrates me, not that I couldn’t invest into two paper people’s love story, but was why my body is governed by hormones so bad. I could say things I wouldn’t dare depending on the day of the month. I have to be honest, I love them both a lot, and I would like to date them both, and I can see myself in either of them. Again comes another contradiction, is it a good thing to have characters so easily projectable, or do I want to see myself in more complex characters like them?

I probably lost quite a few cars stalling this train of thought. This book brought me a lot of emotional upheavals and a lot of food for thought. It brought me down to reflect on my romantic worldview and sexuality because I have nothing better to do. It totally challenged me as a writer and it’s just a really good novel by its right, regardless of the absurdity that is The Clone Wars. It’s a lot of firsts for me. And I really should find something better to do.

[izzyovercoffee]

Reading through all of your stuff about mando'a and toxic masculinity etc...has it ever bothered you that the word for sheath is an awful lot like the word for woman? Cause that bothers me. Idk if I'm reading too much into it or if it's because I'm used to looking for subconscious sexism stuff in languages.

Oh yes, lmao … this has bothered me for a very, very long time. It’s very … well, it’s very offensive. There isn’t any which-way about it, and it’s not subtle whatsoever. I actually find it fairly upsetting, in the way that once you actually see misogyny for what it is, it’s impossible to then return to being blind to it.

So, I’m gonna do what I do best, and come up with an alternative word first, and then break down why that word in the mando’a dictionary is a shitty fucking word and just an overall shitty thing to do that has no context and no basis in the language, and why it has no place in mando’a. 

Mostly because I intend to put the breakdown on why the word sheath, derived from the word for woman, is fucked up beneath a cut in the event people don’t want to be accidentally triggered—the fact is there are a lot of uncomfortable to violently misogynistic implications in that vocabulary decision, and while I don’t want to mince words, I also don’t want to accidentally harm anyone who’s just looking to have the alternative word.

So … Let’s find other words for sheath.

kad’gam / kal’gam / kald’gam — sword sheath / knife sheath / blade sheath

From the words for sword, blade, a smush of sword and blade bc I liked how it sounded (very scientific), and from ‘gam, a suffix used to indicate skin or a physical cover. ‘gam is not so much a word that exists on its own but rather a modifier, and its uses in beskar’gam, armor (lit. mandalorian iron skin), and pel’gam, (lit. soft yielding skin), we can infer what ‘gam is meant to indicate.

Another word for sheath:

cab’gam — protective skin

So … do we need multiple words for sheath? Actually, yes. I’d even go so far as to suggest it’s weird to only have the one.

First of all, mando’a has multiple words for blades. There are specific words that refer to very specific blades. Knives and swords are differentiated. Sheath, just as a word, should not have a one-size-fits-all term when mandalorians are very specific when it comes to the type of weapon they’re using to do battle,

Departing from the weapon terminology, mandalorians also have many words for stab. It’s to the point that it’s joked they have 80 words that are just variations of stab and the act of stabbing, of inserting a blade into a person with intent to do bodily harm.

Stabbing, to mandalorians, is a nuanced thing. It requires many different words for specificity.

Again, wrt the development of words, usually one or two is enough. To have more than that? Means that mandalorians, as a community, view nuance with weapons, and the act done with that weapon, as necessary.

So, again, because of the above … there should not be only one word for sheath. It just doesn’t fit, pardon the pun, because just as there are many different types of blades … there are also different types of sheaths. It does not do to have a requirement of specificity for the weapon, and the different ways in which to fully utilize that weapon, and then not also be specific for the protective cover of that weapon.

The logic just doesn’t follow.

And now … my breakdown on why the word for sheath, derived from the word for woman, is misogynistic, transmisogynistic, heterosexist, and homophobic all in one piss poor conlang decision.

I want to say … strong warnings for: transphobia, misogyny, cissexism, homophobia, mentions of assault, victim blaming

And yeah, I know. “All those warnings for one word?” 

Yes, unfortunately. This is one of those moments where on first glance, you might know something is wrong but not how wrong, and why it’s wrong. I am going to try to explain the why alongside the how clearly, and to do that is going to touch on a lot of topics and references that are or can be upsetting.

I also just want to say when I say “you” I’m referring to a general you, and not you, the anon, specifically. In case that gets confusing. Sorry lol.

All right, here we go.

My very, very first issue: mando’a is gender neutral. Gender, as a rule, is not emphasized—it is, effectively, gender neutral. 

The implications of this are, in fact, many, but at its foundations are one of two things. If a language is gender neutral, then that means:

all genders are recognized, or

no genders are recognized

There isn’t any way around that, because the language itself does not acknowledge gender except in clinical terms of “Man / Woman” that are used next to never. Anyone who uses those specific words, casually? Are imposing a gender bias onto the language that, literally, does not exist.

It’s been argued that “well you might need to know” and … I still argue that that’s just not true.

If you have two people in front of you, and you’re trying to indicate which one you’re talking about, if you’re incapable of indicating who you’re talking about without assigning them a sex or gender that you, yourself, cannot know? 

Then that’s a problem with you, personally. Not a problem with the language.

This is where, if you said you need that, I would gently ask you to take a step back and consider why you think you need it. Why are you so razor focused on sex that you’re incapable of first thinking of something simple like person on the left/right, and instead immediately define someone by “apparent” sex characteristics that are not related to gender?

The originators of mando’a, the original mandalorians, in-universe, were all aliens. And they weren’t even near-humans. They were humanoid simians called Taung. Actual walking, talking, bipedal bonobos with tentacles for hair. If someone argues they also have a white, western, earth-human concepts for a sex and gender binary … I’m just going to laugh, to be perfectly honest. 

First, gender neutral language doesn’t spring up by accident — it has to be reinforced by the culture to maintain its neutrality, repeatedly reinforced over centuries to millennia and, truly, value everyone in that culture regardless of gender identity. 

One of the main facets of mandalorian culture? Adopting literally everyone who fits what is believed to have “the right stuff” to be a mandalorian.

I mean, not even getting into the fact that armor — real combat-purposed armor — could potentially hide or skew the person in question’s gender. Or the fact that mandalorians, as a people, regularly adopt aliens into their community — and not all alien women share the same sex characteristics. No avian species would. No reptilian species would. No amphibious species would.

So. First false assumption:

women = having a vagina

First of all, lmao. This is, factually, incorrect.

It is an outdated concept that only serves to reinforce a white, western, earth human social construction of sex and gender that is

not universal

heavily politicized

heavily policed

Here on earth, we already have countless examples of animals who are both female and don’t have “sheaths.” I’m disgusted I even had to write that, tbh, but here it is. To then impose vaginas as a standard of being women on alien species that don’t share the same gender social constructions? To assume that all men have dicks and all women have vaginas, always, forever?

A culture that literally decided that there was NO need to differentiate gender of any number … would then associate woman, a human concept, with cissexist human sexual organs that a large swathe of their population might not even have?

Well, it just doesn’t make sense. It’s not even an idea supported here on earth. There’s actually a great National Geographic article that breaks it down into simple language with a ton of resources — and I’m going to link it so I don’t have to do the same. Before this article? A metric fuckton of academic literature and studies, published articles, dissertations, books. Steeped in very heavy academic language, though, but I mean … my point is that, in space, if you’re transphobic, or a TERF, you are not a mandalorian. 

I don’t make the rules, but if I did, every TERF and transphobe would be banned. Forever. Dar’manda, fuckfaces.

Furthermore, if mandalorians are known to regularly adopt in a widely varied mix of humans and aliens into their population … then having human indicators of man / woman is fucking useless.

It’s completely fucking useless.

I would actually argue that the only real use for these words is for something I’m sure the originator did not intend: which is to indicate if someone who once identified as a man has transitioned to woman, or vice versa. Then, and only then, does it actually become relevant. Before then? Irrelevant, and fucking useless to indicate.

“The woman!” “Which one, Tom?”“The one with breasts!”“How do you know they’re a woman, Tom? Did you fucking ask them?”“No, but—”“Did you think they may just have a condition, Tom?”“Well, no, but—”“What if they’re a fuckin’ lizard, Tom? What if it’s their fuckin mating season and they just happen to expanding their chests, Tom?”“I didn’t—”“Fuck off, Tom, you ori’mirsh'kyramud (fucking brain assassin).”

Here’s the thing. Human earth ideas of gender, and its associations with “sex,” are null and void, because mando’a is gender neutral and concepts tied in with how we perceive gender do not exist in the language. At all.

And, actually, going even beyond that? The above points to a severe lack of creativity, and a fear of science. Mandalorians are literally space-faring aliens who adopt other aliens of all different species and communities, and have a culture whose very foundation is emphatically gender neutral. A fear of science has no place here.

Anyway. Moving on.

Our culture, here on earth, does not value women to the fullest. It just isn’t so, as much as that grieves me to say. And I know it’s hard, but I really wish that fandom, as a whole, would stop projecting their shitty, toxic masculine views on mandalorians as “fact,” because it’s just not there. It’s, seriously, not there.

Now, I don’t know if most people are familiar with some parts of linguistic theory, but the basic thing is this: if a word doesn’t exist in language, then the people who speak that language don’t really have a conceptualization of this … well, concept. Language literally affects thinking. It affects perception. It affects how we understand and view the world. How we see and construct the world is shaped by language.

Which is why the word for sheath, derived from woman, given all the above? Is fucking garbage. It’s built entirely on false assumptions steeped in human-earth western thinking that are not, and cannot, be supported by mando’a because these concepts literally do not exist, or are even actively, and passively, contradicted in the language and the culture itself. 

If you don’t get it, reread the Brain Assassin conversation, read the NatGeo article, and then come back, because I’m literally going to beat this idea to death, resurrect it, and then kill it again, in true mandalorian fashion.

Mandalorians, from every impression on the culture built from a language that is inclusive to its core, would accept easily and readily people of all gender identities, because the language literally tells us this. These things are, literally, non-issues—or they should be this way, because the gender neutrality of the language itself sets this as the very very basic foundation.

The idea that Mandalorians aren’t inclusive isn’t supported by canon. But mandalorian fandom’s inability to separate toxic assumptions from actual context, and projects toxic masculinity, sexist, transphobic, homophobic, stereotypes again and again on an entire body of people with little-to-no textual support, purely because they fit the definition of Proud Warrior Race, is a really serious problem.

How many people find interacting with the larger, more male-populated mandalorian fandom, to be threatening? How many people are more than a little concerned for the well-being of girls who, having seen Sabine, decided they want to be a mandalorian — and then went online?

I could name more than a few online mandalorian fan communities, and tbh I am very, very wary with ever recommending them to teenage girls, or even adult women, or anyone who isn’t cisgender. 

There is a very real, very serious problem with fandom, specifically the men of fandom, defining and setting the tone of Proud Warrior Race as inherently as toxic as our society — when it doesn’t need to be that way. It’s just assumed, even when they’re written as diametrically opposed to the necessary beliefs that are required in order for a culture built on toxic masculinity to survive.

Anyway. Next false assumption:

woman = to be penetrated

A sheath, a scabbard, exists to be penetrated by the weapon it’s meant to cover and protect.

To then derive the worth sheath directly from the word for woman is to directly indicate that women exist to be penetrated. It also directly indicates that men are the one who do the penetrating, not women, by virtue of that above association.

God forbid the idea that women don’t exist for men, let alone that lesbians exist, or that women are more than their apparent sheath purpose.

I can’t believe I have to write this, but here I am.

How can someone purport to be creating a culture in which everyone is equal, if you’re literally sticking a word in here that directly infers that that isn’t the case. You cannot say that a woman is valued for her worth as a person, if you then create a word that reduces her personhood to her vagina — which she may or may not even have?

Listen. There isn’t an alternative way to interpret this. You cannot create a language in which the word for sheath is derived from woman without directly, blatantly, obviously inferring that women are sheaths. 

Dala — womanDalab — sheath

There is no other inference. You can try to defend it, but the meaning and the intent is still inherent, and it is inherently fucked up.

There are also countless studies out there that have shown how this line of thinking can and does build a foundation in our culture for women to be victimized. To be assaulted. This is one of the major thought processes that contribute to rape — it is one of the major defenses of rape.

It implies this: if a woman exists to be penetrated, then consent is automatically given, because that is her purpose, and cannot be revoked.

And, you know, I’m sure this wasn’t intentional. I’m sure that someone who’s grown up steeped in a sexist culture would then be okay in thinking this way, and not see an issue with the above — but that doesn’t make it okay. It still contributes to a culture that actively harms more than half of its population. Intent is meaningless when it’s in support of further victimization. Intent is meaningless when it is in support of violence.

This is in support of violence. Thoughtlessly, maybe. Unintentionally, maybe. But that doesn’t change what it is, and what it implies.

I know that this is uncomfortable to think about. I know that it’s upsetting. But if your impulse is to immediately jump to “you’re overreacting!” then … I would ask that you take a step back, and ask yourself why you want to rush to accuse me that I’m overreacting. I want you to actually consider what I’m saying, to do the research, and to ask yourself if what I’m saying is true, how does it affect you? And the people around you? 

Furthermore, it doesn’t make sense contextually. 

Like, let’s forget, for a moment, that we live in a culture that actively promotes rape in very real, very insidious ways at multiple levels of society, that reduces women’s worth only in their relation to men, that has been concisely and clearly documented and studied for decades, and look instead at it in the in-universe context:

Once again. In a culture whose very language, the building blocks of thoughts and concepts that structure the world, does not separate people by gender in any way, why would you then have a word that inextricably links women with being penetrated? There is no consistent internal logic. It literally does not make sense within the context of the culture. 

Here’s National Geographic article on gender, again. 

Here’s the Tom conversation, again:

“The woman!” “Which one, Tom?”“The one with breasts!”“How do you know they’re a woman, Tom? Did you fucking ask them?”“No, but—”“Did you think they may just have a condition, Tom?”“Well, no, but—”“What if they’re a fuckin’ lizard, Tom? What if it’s their fuckin mating season and they just happen to expanding their chests, Tom?”“I didn’t—”“Fuck off, Tom, you ori’mirsh'kyramud (fucking brain assassin).”

the false assumptions

the culture only recognizes 2 genders based on western, white, earth-human conceptualization of sex and gender

women exist to be penetrated

everyone is straight as fuck, I guess

Imposing straight, cis, heterocentric gender roles on a society that doesn’t even have the words to think this way makes zero sense. 

IT’S SHIT WRITING, KAREN. 

It’s already afternoon where I am, and yet … it is too early for this kind of insidious transphobic homophobic sexism. 

It has no place in mando’a. Full stop.

Unfortunately, unless we can petition to have it removed officially from the mando’a dictionary, or unless we as a whole community agree to never use that word, it’s going to continue existing — and being used, and probably accidentally and without any realization of the implications of that word.

I would love to never see that word again. To promptly, effectively, never use it. Personally, I don’t trust people who use it casually. Accidentally? I’m sure it happens … but. In my opinion? Given that the larger mandalorian fandom is heavily steeped in toxic masculinity and casual misogyny, I have a hard time justifying its use in any context, because of the toxic masculinity and the casual misogyny. And, sadly, I don’t really have the energy to go through this again and again.

Do I have an in-universe explanation?

Yes, actually. 

I posit this: dalab is a word that came as a result of misogynistic men being adopted into the fold of mandalorian society, and felt that they needed a gendered slur that would fly under the radar. 

And, you know, maybe it did. Maybe it was reclaimed by cisgender human women. Maybe there’s a complicated history behind the word, and that women are divided over whether that slur has ever been reclaimed, or not. 

But, I would rather we didn’t have to do that. Why do we need to introduce sexism to a culture that doesn’t support it? Why do we need a gendered slur in a language that doesn’t recognize gender in that way?

The fact is, we don’t. We don’t need to further victimize marginalized people in the one society that goes out of its way not to do that.

So. I would rather remove dalab from the dictionary entirely.

[brigdh]

Reading not-Wednesday

After feeling sick for a while lately, I saw on doctor on Friday and discovered I have bronchitis! Which means this week has mostly been an excuse to sit still and read light-hearted things. What did you just finish? The Windfall by Diksha Basu. A light but charming novel about a middle-class Indian family who abruptly become fabulously wealthy when the father sells a website he developed. Mr and Mrs Jha – middle-aged, comfortable, traditional – decide to move from their old family apartment in East Delhi to a brand-new mansion in Gurgaon; the American equivalent might be a couple selling their Queens apartment to set up in a McMansion in Silicon Valley. This, of course, leads to cultural clashes both funny and sad, from broken ties with old friends to an ever-escalating game of financial one-upmanship with the new neighbors. Meanwhile, their son Rupak is attempting to acquire a MBA from an American university. "From Cornell", the elder Jhas like to say at first, when they're showing off their upward mobility; "from the nearby Ithaca College", they say later, when it becomes clear that having a failure of a son is even more of an indication of wealth – after all, only the really rich can support useless offspring! Rupak himself strives to chose between two romantic possibilities: the white Elizabeth (Rupak assumes his parents would never approve of him dating an American, while Mr Jha secretly longs for a white daughter-in-law to humblebrag about) or the Indian Serena (who, despite being the niece of a family friend and fellow Delhite, culturally comes from ivory-tower artists who are possibly even more foreign than the Americans). None of the characters are particularly three-dimensional, but then, it's not really that sort of book; it's more interested in recognizing certain real-life types of people and having a gentle laugh at them than exploring the deep personal ramifications of sudden wealth. It's also an excellent book for Westerners despite being set almost entirely in India. Basu has a subtle but deft hand at explaining various cultural allusions without exoticifying them. For example, at one point Serena sends a joking text to Rupak: Have you seen all the places in Collegetown charging $5 or more for turmeric milk? Good old haldi doodh that our mothers make every day. Forget banking, that should be your next big business idea—something from our childhood at marked-up prices. I’m thinking Maggi Ramen. Wait, that might actually be a good idea. Look at that! Providing a translation and context for "haldi doodh" in very naturalistic-sounding dialogue, adding "Ramen" to the brand-name "Maggi" so that it becomes something recognizable even to someone who's never been to India, and all without alienating a reader who's already familiar with both. It's such a minor thing to point out, but I noticed Basu doing this work in several places, and I'm very impressed at how she manages to speak to two audiences at once. Anyway! It's fun, it's breezy, and it's not too serious: I recommend it. I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. An Extraordinary Union by Alyssa Cole. A romance novel set during the American Civil War. Elle Burns, a black woman with photographic memory, works as a spy for the Loyal League, a (fictional? I think?) network of black men and women working to end slavery. Her first independent mission requires her to travel to Richmond in the opening days of the war, where she goes undercover as a slave in the house of a Confederate senator. She soon meets Malcolm McCall, a confederate soldier who is strangely kind to her – and who turns out to be a spy himself, employed by the Pinkerton Detective Agency to gather information for Lincoln. Their immediate attraction to one another is constantly hampered by distrust, the need to maintain their cover stories (which includes Malcolm's flirting with the senator's daughter), rumors of the Confederacy developing a new superweapon, and general social stigma (even without the complications of spies and war, an interracial relationship in the 1860s isn't exactly easy or welcome). There are kidnappings and burning buildings and gunshot wounds and dramatic escapes to add adventure to the love story, but ultimately it is very much a love story. This was a great book, but unfortunately it wasn't quite as great as I had wanted it to be. I can't quite put my finger on why – maybe I needed slightly fuller characterizations? a longer timespan for the relationship to develop? richer dialogue? maybe my expectations were just too high? – and I absolutely don't want to discourage anyone from reading it. It's great! It's just not, you know, the GREATEST. Although bonus points for including a slightly fictionalized version of the story of Robert Smalls! I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. Dearest Rogue by Elizabeth Hoyt. A historical romance, set in England in the mid-1700s. Phoebe is the younger brother of a Duke (himself the star of the Regency Batman! romance I read last year) and has slowly been going blind for the last decade. In response, her brother hires a bodyguard, Captain James Trevillion, to follow her around everywhere and keep her from danger. Although since her brother hardly ever lets her leave the house and even then only to specific, sheltered events it seems a bit like overkill, but then overprotective older brothers: what are they for other than giving heroines a reason to rebel? Unfortunately for Phoebe, her brother seems to be proven correct when a gang of men attempt to kidnap her for mysterious reasons. Phoebe's need for independence and James's need to protect her provide a nice set of conflicts for them to resolve as they slowly start to see one another as friends (and more!) rather than obstacles. Phoebe's youth, status, and cheeriness are contrasted with James's age, cynicism, and working-class-ish origins, so that even once they finally admit their feelings they can't immediately hop into marriage. They have nice chemistry, but my favorite part of the book was Phoebe herself. Here's a scene I feel captures her character very well (she and James are pretending to be married for the purpose of traveling together): “And, just for you, I’ve ordered a mild ale instead of wine,” he said. “Have you?” “Much against my better judgment. It’s a common drink, my la—ahem, wife, and I cannot think it’ll be pleasing to your palate. Although,” he added under his breath, “considering where we are, the beer is probably better here than the wine.” She brightened at the prospect of a new experience. “Then I must taste it at once.” “It’s right here.” He took her hand and placed it on a pewter tankard. “To your health, husband,” she said solemnly and took a sip. Or rather tried to, for her nose seemed to be buried in foam. She inhaled in surprise—not the best thing to do—coughed, and then sneezed. “I do beg your pardon,” Captain Trevillion said, and she couldn’t help noticing that his voice was oddly muffled. Phoebe sneezed again—rather violently—dabbed at her eyes and nose with her handkerchief, regained her breath, and immediately demanded, “Are you laughing at me?” “Never my… wife. Never,” he assured her, his voice shaking. He was. He was most certainly laughing. She sat up straight, threw her shoulders back, and brought the tankard to her mouth again. This time she kept her nose out of the way and delicately sipped through the foam. The beer was… well, sour. And oddly prickly on her tongue. She held it in her mouth for a moment, thinking, and then swallowed. “Well?” She held up a finger and took another sip. Sour. Yeast. Something earthy. And those funny little prickles. She swallowed and took another sip. Did she like the aroma? She’d smelled it all her life—most of the people of London drank beer—it was the common man’s water. That sour tang, so warm and strong. She plunked down her tankard. “I think… I think I shall have to experience it more.” “Why?” he asked. “If you don’t like it, then drink wine.” “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” “Nor did you seem overcome with your enjoyment of it,” he pointed out drily. “It’s… different—very different—from anything I’ve ever tasted before,” she said, her finger tracing the cool metal of the tankard. “I’d like to try it again.” “If you wish to do so, then I’ll certainly obtain you beer at our meals while we travel, but I don’t understand. Why force yourself to drink what you don’t like?” “But I’m not forcing myself,” she returned, tracing the edge of the tankard, feeling the bubbles pop against her fingertip. “Don’t you see? I want to explore different things—food, places, people. If, after several tastings, I find I cannot stomach the beer, then I shall give it up. Often something tasted for the first time seems foreign to us—strange and off-putting. It’s only after repeated tries that one realizes that this new thing, this once-strange thing, is quite familiar now. Familiar and beloved.” Phoebe inhaled, her breath coming too quickly with the force of her argument. “To only try but once and declare a thing lacking… why, that’s quite cowardly.” Of course I love a character who is devoted to tasting new things! The scene also shows how Phoebe's blindness is handled narratively, which I was very curious about before reading. Would Hoyt pull out some weird stylistic device to get around describing things visually? No – as here, there's usually so much dialogue that the lack of visuals hardly makes a difference. Overall I think the issue of Phoebe's disability was very well-handled; it's easy to sympathize with her desire for autonomy, and yet she's very much not defined by her blindness. One could write the exact same book starring a sighted character without needing to change one detail of the plot – overprotected younger sisters are not exactly a rare character type. The blindness feels simply like a realistically-presented detail. The multiple kidnapping attempts and their ultimate resolution are a bit silly, but eh, it's a historical romance; I don't need the plot to be all that serious. I had fun and enjoyed the characters, which is all I ask, and this is an excellent example of the genre.

(DW link for easier commenting)