#I am. Not romani? I have no idea what they meant and I have no idea why it affected me like this

[heather-chandlers-weirder-cousin]

my weirdest hang up is that whenever I hear a hard G sound followed by an I I get a little unpleasant jolt

[mage-of-mip]

Half-Foots and Ainu Culture in Dungeon Meshi

It sometimes feels like I might be grasping at straws with this, but I do feel like it's not completely unfounded. Please note, I am a white woman living in the USA, I am by no means an expert on Japanese culture in general, much less a marginalized subculture. I have simply made limited attempts to educate myself out of genuine interest born from exposure to media about Ainu characters and culture. I am always hoping to learn more.

I think it's fairly obvious that many parallels can be drawn between Ryoko Kui's Half-Foot race, and more than one ethnicity or subculture in real life. Romani, Irish, and Jewish stereotypes come to mind immediately.

But I think there's another one that may be explored less in the text, and much harder to catch by a western reader, but nonetheless could be intended by Kui, or perhaps was at one point. That of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, Japan.

There's not a lot of translated information about the Ainu online, so please bear with my limited knowledge. In short, the Ainu are the indigenous people of Northern Japan. For generations, their way of life has been taken from them and they were forced to assimilate to the wider Japanese culture. There are not many who still fully practice the cultural heritage in this day, but there are movements to bring the Ainu culture back.

In Delicious in Dungeon, there are two instances that reference the Ainu, both relating to Chilchuck. This could, of course, be a coincidence, especially if there are more references that I missed. It may be flimsy, but it still feels significant that this is the case, and that Half-Foots are or were meant to be an allusion to the Ainu.

This is the first instance. A significant panel in the context of the story. To my knowledge, this is the only specifically Ainu dish that's referenced in the text. On it's own, its just an interesting factoid, and the same dark humor that's being used for all the other character deaths in this fight against Thistle.

This is the second instance. From the supplemental material rather than the main story, Chilchuck is discussing what Half-Foots are called across the languages. The one that caught my eye here is the one in the top corner. Korpokkur.

The Korpokkur are a race of small people in Ainu folklore, their name meaning "those who live under the butterbur leaves".

Again, in a vacuum, this could just be a Japanese person using a Japanese word [Edit: Correction; An Ainu word] in her manga. But I think it's interesting that the two instances of Ainu culture being referenced have to do with Chilchuck and Half-Foots as a whole. It could warrant a deeper read-through looking for other references, perhaps by someone more educated than myself.

I think this could have some interesting implications in the wider worldbuilding. Perhaps the Half-Foots have faced similar cultural erasure and assimilation attempts, which is why a lot of their customs and clothing are just "Tallman but smaller", and why other races regularly mistake them for the children of tallmen, despite having pretty noticeable differences in how they look other than just their height(their disproportionately large ears, for example).

This idea might be a tad more indulgent, but I also like the idea that Half-Foot children don't receive a permanent name until they are toddlers. At one point, in Ainu culture(this may not be practiced today, I could not find information on that), the Ainu would give their children "vulgar" placeholder names until they started forming personalities, as a ward against evil spirits. Perhaps the same is done for Half-Foot children, and their two part names are selected when they are a little older.

Again, these are just the observations of an outsider looking in, please feel free to correct any mistakes I may have made! And if I'm completely off-base or have said something offensive, I apologize and will delete or amend the post as necessary.

[umbralsong]

Racism in Astarion's Writing

There is a fascist takeover happening in Europe. Again. With pogroms targeting racialized and marginalized groups. Being at all silent about how media affects our perception of reality would be irresponsible of me. I stand in solidarity with you all. I will polish this as I go along, but this is for anyone who wants to understand.

Block, report, and move on from the inevitable racist shitheads. We have work to do.

Donate to Gaza here: https://gazafunds.org/ Support good causes with a click here: https://arab.org/ Ceasefire Now: https://ceasefire-now.com/ Donate to the [Sidewalk School] [Pay your rent], settlers. [KOSA Resources]

There is a... let's be charitable for a moment and call it "knee-jerk" reaction to discussions of racism in fandom. To call it character assassination, exaggeration, slander - anything but to acknowledge the dehumanizing system of power that underlies every part of this imbalance. It's only scary if you don't understand it, and as part of another group under siege for half a millenia, I am intimately familiar with it.

There are Romani perspectives on Astarion's storyline I would encourage everyone to read before mine. I don't wish to link them in case this post gets targeted. Please lend them your kind support and sincere gratitude for their contributions.

I do not "forgive" a character for questionable biases. I wonder why the writers put it there. I question its purpose in the narrative and the effect it has on the story and audience.

Let's discuss the effect:

The racism in Astarion's storyline serves no purpose, but the effects are harmful.

I've played evil (poorly). But I also have a very fucked up sense of humor and understand the appeal of a well-written fucked up little dude. Take, for instance, this Warlock from a BG3 playthrough:

Absolutely vile, but a clearly theatrical/satirical look at a classist piece of shit, you know, that sort of character. Take it as a palate cleanser after reading, and then gather your strength.

This is not a post about liking flawed characters. Please take your strawman, dust behind you, and move along.

I often find the trouble with depicting racism is the inherent unfamiliarity with the subject in a majority-white writer's room and company. There is an idea of what it entails, but not its purpose, and not its day-to-day application.

There is a veritable treasure trove of knowledge out there that I've ended up having to take in small parts. It is not easy hearing about the ways people have hurt others, systemic and otherwise. I genuinely want us to learn from this and be better for one another.

So when I see depictions of people who are Indigenous and Romani and Sinti, I wonder... why? And why were these writers chosen for this character/storyline?

In Astarion's storyline, from what I can tell, he makes light of stealing the Gur children. I can tell this is meant to be a depiction of guilt and deflection. What sucks is the fact that he's ultimately a white man making light of the fact that's... historically what they do.

The point, I believe, of him "following Cazador's orders" is to invoke the Nuremberg Defense. The tragedy is that Astarion, by D&D logic, literally couldn't do anything but follow his command. It's implied because he's defensive as hell, but he feels exceedingly guilty regardless. For all we know, it's earned.

Is Racist Magistrate Astarion still canon? If so, his "grudge" against the Gur is motivated by racism. Is that something we are prepared to confront with more than a line? Was he just a (maybe recently?) privileged asshole exercising his newfound power? In that case, his use of systemic power over the Gur may be read as a parallel to his storyline. But then the Gur need autonomy as well.

There is something to be deconstructed here, but I would not know its intimacies from my perspective. Others would. They may restructure it altogether so that it makes sense for their experience.

Here is what I know, and it should not be on this group alone to point it out: The inappropriate misuse of these tropes has encouraged racism in the fandom at large.

Performing a script well is not the fault of the voice actor, nor is the twisted logic of fans the fault of the writers. I am pointing out that reckless inclusion of certain ideas can have very unfortunate implications:

So stealing their children, expressing little remorse, and then "sparing" them the pain of executing stolen marginalized children is a good ending? I'm adding some untagged comments here for emphasis:

I find it interesting the game recognizes the complexity of the situation regarding the spawn and doesn’t punish the players or Astarion whatever the choice as long as they aren’t doing it for selfish reasons. Some good, thoughtful writing there.

Wow, even as a dedicated Astarion romancer, I was beginning to feel like it was a little unfair how much more recognition Neil is getting over the rest of the cast, but now I’m reminded of why. I’ve finished the game 3 times and never even considered not sparing the spawn, because if he deserves a chance, why don’t they? But the conviction he has behind his words in this makes me think I’ve been making the wrong choice.

Person 1: I really dislike Ulma. She’s such a judgmental Monday morning quarterback. Person 2: same, no matter what you do she'll blame Astarion for things that were outside his control

Spawn Astarion sparing their children as spawn is better and in line with his story, but for some reason, that isn't acknowledged through commentary, dialogue, or mechanics... thus, again, unfortunate implications:

To the spawn Astarion, Greetings from the family of Ulma, hunters of monsters and keepers of peace across Faerun. We know this letter finds you well, for although we hunt you no longer, we do sometimes keep a watch. Your restraint and control over your bloodlust has been admirable. Indeed, it has been an inspiration for our children, who have struggled with their own hunger. These last months have been a difficult time for our people. We have protected and nurtured our children as best we can, and we have learned much. Herbs we once used to dull our foes' minds are now sedatives to ease hunger and pain, restraints built to hold the undead now protect them from themselves. There has been a lot of pain, but a lot of progress too. Our children learned discipline and control, while we learned compassion and patience. There was a time when we would have destroyed any undead creature, our own blood or not, and called it a mercy. But then we met you. Wer saw that redemption was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful. But possible. You saved our children first from Cazador, and then from us. For that, we thank you. We will watch you still, but with more admiration than fear. Walk in peace, Astarion.

And, according to these commenters, it's better to kill them because the marginalized Elder is never satisfied with the man who stole their children?

It sounds so casual, I think. Perhaps they don't know what stealing children from a community really means.

60s scoop/residential school/reeducation camps trigger warning:

(The Scream by Kent Monkman. Alt text in link.)

Look at this painting.

Take it in with me for a moment. It is a scene taken from many memories and one. Look at how these families fought to stay together. Look at how they fight priests, nuns, and state officials - ones who my friend assured me are very friendly - how they grasp at their children with such painful desperation on their faces. It is a way for one to bear witness to unfathomable love and heartbreak.

When genocide deniers play their games, this is what they want you to pretend never happened. Don't mind the tens of thousands of child graves, or the stolen land. Just pretend these people are criminals out to swindle you, or steal your wives.

Growing up, listening to survivor testimonies, and the sweet reverberance of the remnants of survivors of slavery, you appreciate what you have. You remember every kindness. You love what you lost, and what you gained through gritted teeth.

And, you remember the unfathomable pain. It's why you promise to stop it from ever happening again, to anyone.

It is very sad. A heart is a heavy burden. Embrace it. To love is to live again, and to live again means you understand Never Again. Because people deserve to be happy. And that's worth a fight. That's why it's worth depicting with care and love, even when the subject matter threatens to choke you.

Let's get into Cazador Szarr.

I've played the game and understand that he has a backstory and some depth. What disturbs me is that an Asian man has the bloodiest, most brutal scene in the game with a white man killing him.

I can't let this be undiscussed as sinophobia rises in a pandemic. I am no authority, but I'm not ignorant. These posts are found in discussions of racism in BG3 and I would, again, prefer not to put a target on their back. Instead, show them support.

In terms of diverse storytelling, casting, and roles, I would only ask that a historical and sensitive look be applied. Hire people from these communities to act, direct, and write for that role. Writing is never easy. There is a weight and responsibility to it, but it's worth it to touch as many souls as possible.

I respect this history. That is why it is not something I believe should be thrown in as flavor text. It's why history needs to be respected as a great backstory to everything we create. We need each other, and we need art we create together.

The debt is yet to be paid.

[rallamajoop]

Hi! I saw your analysis posts about the Lords of RE8, and I am absolutely in love! The early concept of the Duke as the fifth Lord always fascinated me, especially since I wonder what "motif" there could have been in term of horror for him. I mean, the other lords all answer obvious archetypes and that ever since their concept art (vampire, werewolf, Frankenstein, ghost). I wonder what would have been the plans with the Duke and his early, more zombified-like version... What d'you think?

Well, as I've said before, I don't think there's much to suggest the Duke was ever meant to be "the fifth lord" in the sense of having his own domain or a big boss battle, or however else you're thinking here. He doesn't appear alongside the other lords in any of the early concepts for Ethan's trial, and all the lords' iconography is big on square corners and blocks in a way that really wouldn't work with a fifth entry. All we've even got to go on to tell us he was ever meant to be a lord at all is a single line attached to one piece of concept art (below). I don't even see him as looking all that much more zombified there ‒ it's just a sketchy art style.

My guess, FWIW, would be the Duke was always going to be Ethan's ally/shopkeeper, but with some late-game reveal that he was a (deposed? former?) member of the lords as an explanation for his implied powers and connection to the village. But the Duke doesn't need to be explained for the story to work, which may be why the 'fifth lord' idea was ultimately dropped.

If you really want to dig into fairy tale archtypes though, there's an obvious one that already corresponds to the Duke, with his horse and carriage ‒ and that's the old, wandering fortuneteller. Typically this would be a Romani woman (although I don't imagine she'd be called 'Romani' in any authentic fairytale), and our hero would more likely be trading money or favours for advice rather than treasure for weapon upgrades, but the Duke fits the bill otherwise.

In fact, as I mentioned in my post on some of the game's unused assets, the Duke actually has a number of unused voice lines that seem to relate to him selling Ethan more information (“You won’t come across this information just anywhere,” “A little bird whispered this to me,” and “Not to presume, but some advice if I may.”) ‒ possibly treasure photos or hints to significant locations.

Fortunetellers and other folk who offer cryptic-yet-vital advice are a regular feature in horror stories too, not just fairy tales. If offended, their role can easily overlap into that of 'witch', for greater monster cred. But for my money, the Duke himself doesn't come across as the easily offended type, so expanding his role into 'monster' might be reaching.

Alternately, you could also look at the villainous Masked Duke from the Shadow of Rose DLC. I doubt he much resembles any authentic 'original' plan for the character, and he's very much his own entity, but he's certainly an effective villain.

(Though if neither of those work for you, given the Duke's size and association with food, 'literal giant who eats people' might also be a fairytale archtype that could fit.)

All that said, I do wonder just a little if there was ever a plan for the Duke to have a proper villain-reveal moment, when you learn he's the fifth lord. I have this whole semi-developed theory that the Duke is actually working on Miranda's direction for most of the game we all played: after all, she seems to want Ethan to destroy her 'false children', and it's the Duke who sets him on the path to do that (with some input from the old hag, our other cackling-fortuneteller-character). It's only once Ethan wakes up in the Duke's carriage at the very end that he unambiguously picks a side against Miranda. After all, even if he was always privately rooting for Ethan, why stick his neck out for a man who might not even survive the day? That's just not good business.

But even if the Duke wasn't working for Miranda from the start, how much do we really know about his motives? It's far too easy to read his eagerness to buy the crystalised remains of mould-infected individuals as the stuff of war profiteering. How much would the additional remains of Miranda, and even Ethan, be worth to him? And these are hardly the only possibilities for what he could really be after!

In short, I would actually love to see more villainous takes on the Duke. Don't get me wrong ‒ I do love that a character as shady as him doesn't turn out to have been Evil All Along, but he's still sinister enough that I'm intrigued by AU possibilities where he has his own twisted plans for Ethan all along, whether as part of Miranda's scheme or all his own. There's stuff you could do here, I'm just saying!

One one final note, people have suggested the owl crest you can see in the background of his shop and the carpet of his carriage was intended to be the crest of his house, and that seems broadly plausible (more on that & translations in my post on everything we do know about the village lords). While I'm at it, have some high-res versions of both from the game assets.

I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that an owl represents wisdom, or how that tracks with his role as a source of information for Ethan either.

Does it actually look like the crests of the other lords, though?

Eh, a little? You'd have to do some heavy reworks to make it fit in a diamond like all the others. As for overall shape, you could even say it bears more resemblance to Miranda's crest.

Does that mean anything? Eh, if you want it to. Who knows?

(I am also going to nitpick you just a little and say that none of the lords was ever a werewolf. The werewolves are the werewolves, the missing lord in your list would be Moreau as the hunchback or swamp monster. We really don't need anyone else thinking Heisenberg is a lycan, that's really getting tired.)

[artist-issues]

Also, I’m just going to say it out loud—NOT EVERYONE believes in the New Age-inspired, simplistic, poetic turn of phrase: “we are all made of stardust.”

The truth of the matter is, we might have some of the same matter in us that stars do—but that doesn’t mean we have “the power of the stars.”

And even if we’re just meant to believe that, in the fictional world of Wish, alone, stars have power, and this is no commentary on our real world…it is still a commentary on our real world. Because all you’re saying is there is no higher power to plead to for your wishes to come true. “Stop trusting a higher power with your wishes and work for them, yourself.”

And you know what, #NotMyDisney? Not everyone in your audience believes that. You’re intentionally alienating us with your feature animation department, now. You’re directly trying to make us all believe what New Age philosophy dictates. You’re directly trying to get us to side with this humanist, self-centered ideology.

You didn’t used to do that.

When you made Pocahontas, Native-American spirituality might have been in it, but Pocahontas wasn’t about it. It wasn’t trying to make me believe that rocks have names and spirits, it was trying to make me believe that “love sees clearly, while hate blinds.”

When you made The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Catholicism might have been in it, but Hunchback wasn’t about it. It wasn’t trying to make me believe that Catholicism is evil and the Romani people are good; it was trying to make me believe that “what you are inside is what counts.”

When you made Cinderella, the idea of fairies which comes from Paganism, might have been in it, but Cinderella wasn’t about it. It wasn’t trying to make me believe that fairies are real and reward good behavior; it was trying to make me believe that “acting on the faith it takes to be good and kind regardless of your circumstances is powerful enough to set you free.”

But now that you’ve made Wish? New Age, Humanistic, Evolutionary worldviews are in it, AND Wish is about it! You’re trying to make me believe that I have something in and of myself that is powerful enough to render any idea of a higher power useless, and that I should place my trust in myself, alone.

No. You’re losing me. I grew up with you, and you’re losing me. And I am not the only one you’re losing.

[mdhwrites]

How similar is Belos is to Frollo really? Are they really that similar or is it just fans comparing them because there the only 2 main religious theme villains in a Disney universe ever

This is kind of a rough one because there is certainly a case to be had. The two are cut from a very similar cloth where they are meant to be religious men who have black souls and use the scripture to justify their hate. The big difference for why one is good and one is not is... I believe Frollo is actually dealing with this inherent conflict within him because of temptation.

Belos has no Hellfire... Because he has no fire in him. He is a shell. Not a shell of a man, that's interesting, but a shell of a character. His religious motivation should lead to more extremism, more hate, etc. like that but that would also mean that, like Frollo, he'd have to be active in his hate and pain he causes. After all, from literally the first scene, Frollo is murdering people and trying to kill a baby. He is only stopped when a man more genuinely holy than him calls him out for thinking that even an innocent like a baby deserves death and damnation. It is a moment of weakness from a man who is already hateful and it marks how bad things are for the Romani in the movie. They are NEVER having a good time because Frollo has actively made society and its systems actively destroy who they are. His hate is omnipresent.

Belos' is... *shrug* Like literally until "I am trying to save your souls!" in Thanks to Them, Belos never seems religious in even the slightest. Until we know what the Day of Unity is, it appears he's actually made a pretty good place to live. He's made people safer, he's given structure and community to a world that didn't have it because otherwise his actions before his rise to power would have been found out, and he asks genuinely VERY little of people, even allowing forgiveness to those who have been away from the Coven System for potentially decades like Eda's Friend in Hollow Mind to come back with zero consequences. Even members of his own coven who leave deal with no consequences (which really makes Eclipse Lake feel WRONG in hindsight.)

There is no hate here. There is no motivation. He is evil... Because he is evil. Hell, we even see this with the difference between Quasimodo and Hunter. Frollo keeps Quasi under control by making him genuinely hate himself. By tearing who he is down until he would almost never even question the idea of going against Frollo, especially long term. Disobeying him is terrifying, especially because in Quasi's eyes, no one can replace Frollo for no one will ever be capable of liking him. Not just liking him like Frollo does but liking him AT ALL. And this is all done because while Quasi is Frollo's penance for what he tried to do on the steps, he is also indicative of so much that Frollo hates so he is better treated as an animal than anything approaching a human being. After all, even if he isn't in touch with his heritage, just being tangentially close to the Romani or sympathetic to them is enough to make Frollo hate you and wish to see you erased.

Meanwhile, Hunter is number 489244502 attempt at using magic, which Belos supposedly hates, to create a right hand man of someone who betrayed him for witches! FUCKING AMAZING! Not only that but instead of genuinely trying to isolate and control him, Belos is easily replaced motivationally by Darius for an episode because Hunter easily sees people as able to replace Belos for giving him approval and there's no actual reason Hunter should think himself lesser than others. He literally replaced Lilith in the fiction as the poster person of the Isles. Literally his face was EVERYWHERE shortly after the execution. He holds a lot of power and is given a lot of importance and yet no one in the EC seems to like him WHATSOEVER. Not because of his attitude, personality or lack of magic but because apparently Hunter, who walks around the castle without his mask ALL THE TIME, is known by literally no one in the EC because he's easily forgotten... Until Labyrinth Runners where every scout can now easily identify him immediately.

It makes it so that Frollo appears to genuinely have a conflicted nature... While Belos is just a bad man who is bad at his job and even worse at actually using his religious motivation to justify what he's doing because he's so inconsistent and seems to have no idea what he's actually doing. Like I said: Belos has no Hellfire in him because I never believe he's actually religious. Frollo on the other hand is shown from the first sequence to GENUINELY be God fearing. He uses God to also hurt but his convictions are real and that's part of what makes him so terrifying because only a moment like Hellfire could ever change things with him. Nothing else but his own piety could ever change how he treats the world because so long as he has that conviction of faith, he will never waver. This also makes him actually MUCH more cutting as far as religious critiques go because it's easy to point at the leaders of the Crusades and goes, "Those men were greedy assholes who wanted power." It's a lot harder to genuinely depict the TERROR of what holy motivation does to a person, like why the common soldiers of the Crusades were willing to go so far just for their faith and a chance to not end up damned for that which they were good at.

Meanwhile, I only say nothing could ever stop Belos' rage because that is simply his narrative role. Because he is just a conman who seems to do nothing, part of me assumes, honestly, that an Esmerelda coming into his life would actually make him turn native. He would chain her up and enslave her, sure, but all he wants is glory and praise. He wants a title, not moral superiority. As such... Why wouldn't he make the same choice his brother did if a hot enough witch offered up her ass? Maybe he just gets turned off by the pointy ears?

Like I can't tell you, besides rage about his brother for literally FOUR. HUNDRED. YEARS. why Belos goes to the extremes he does because for as extreme as his hypocrisy... He isn't extreme in action. He doesn't seem to mostly care about what's going on in the Isles, even as he has to wait FIFTY YEARS after coming to power to kill... Like 70% maybe of the population since apparently during that entire time, he never once thought about how he'd go about killing the kids.

It's not compelling and it's not interesting but this is one TOH's inherent issues. It knows really cool ideas and examples. Frollo is a great Disney villain for a reason (and also proof that Disney WILL theoretically let you tackle this subject matter and TOH didn't even do a tenth of what Hunchback did with its religious stuff. In fact, I need to do a blog on how I think the Titan actually reinforces Christian Fundamentalism.) But... TOH doesn't understand what makes the source material compelling. It's not willing to put in the work or the clever writing to really sell why these characters are the way they are. They're just instead character types and tropes that Tumblr and Twitter like thrown in because that's what's in a good story right?

And so we have shells of much better characters, just like Belos wears Frollo like a cheap skin.

======+++++======

I have admittedly not seen Hunchback of Notre Dame in SO. LONG. so this might not be 100% right and sorry about that.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

I mean. Don't let other people tell you what to think. Your reading is very valid that the Romani man DID try to help Jonathan.

Only one person truly contradicts this, and that person (Dracula) is a known manipulator and liar.

Oh trust me, as the years have gone by and I've learned more about all the xenophobic nonsense Stoker carried with him into his book I am willfully committing to the interpretation(s) that:

A) those guys had no idea Dracula was a vampire and thought they were helping this silly foreigner out B) Dracula somehow sniffed out the letters the head foreman/mover-guy/whatever-the-job-title-is was carrying and took them by force (or by lying and saying that they were meant for him) C) maybe these guys knew Dracula was a vampire, but when the vampire who's held the region in the grip of terror for centuries taps you on the shoulder and politely asks you to hand over a letter you're carrying from his prisoner guest, you wince and hand it over. Sorry mate, but I've got family at home, I'm not sticking my neck out for a complete stranger. Looks like you're on your own.

Anyway regardless of which interpretation you pick I will forever stand by the fact that those Roma gents had no malicious intent towards Harker (or non-fear-based allegiance towards Dracula) whatsoever. They're just a bunch of guys hired for a job and desperately telling themselves "not my circus, not my monkeys" while the Gothic horror happens around them. Any insinuations Stoker makes otherwise are strictly a product of his Victorian British prejudices.

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC 'EM

Chapter 1: Fetch

A/N: We're FINALLY ready to get started here! So excited to share my work with you guys after talking about it for so long. Each chapter will come with its own warnings, tags, etc. but the chapters are not stand-alone. It's... more just because I am a pantser and not a planner so lord knows what will happen in the future.

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, future M!OC x Tommy Shelby

Warnings: mentions of period accurate anti-Romani racism, mental health issues, generally just being a PB fic

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs a rat for the Grand National at Aintree Racecourse. Runaway lovers Samuel Lovell and Florence-Maria Lee need the money. It's a bulletproof plan, an easy job, and a chance to make things right with the Lee family... so what other choice does Sam have?

The other Lee girl was meant to meet him along the road halfway between Haydock and Collins Green just over twenty minutes ago, according to Tommy’s pocket watch. Esme had promised Tommy that Florence-Maria would make good on her word, but her lateness was beginning to wear on his resolve. Still, he had no choice but to wait, cigarette after cigarette burning down to embers at the tips of his fingers. Thomas Shelby was a man who valued the soldierly punctuality that would have been the difference between life and death on the Front. Esme’s sister or not, Florence was still an unknown variable, and the far travels of the Lee family could prove difficult if it came to tracking the young woman down. If she did not want to be found, she would not be found.

She certainly had her fair share of reasons to balk at their meeting. If Johnny Dogs’ story was to be believed, Florence was the first to object to the deal between the Shelbys and the Lees. The sisters were best friends, the closest in age of all of Zilpha’s children. Esme was Florence’s whole world. Strike one against the Shelbys, then, for taking Esme away. John’s account of the young woman was that she was skittish and not easily comforted by the promise of peace between the families. Tommy himself remembered seeing a girl roughly Esme’s age shying away from Cousin Nipper’s offer of a dance, flinching as though a touch from their accursed family could kill. Strike two. Most compelling of all was Esme’s own warning, delivered with the pride of an older sister: Florence does not take unnecessary risks. And Tommy was asking a very, very risky favor. Strike three.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke thick and acrid as he let the wind carry his sigh away. The prospect of making this deal work was too tempting to give up now. It kept Tommy leaning against his car, resolutely opposing the strong wind buffeting his side, the slightly-too-warm late spring sunlight beating down on his jacketed shoulders. If this plan went well, the Blinders could expand to Aintree Racecourse, taking the Grand National Steeplechase and cementing a reputation in Northwest England. While their security with Solomons and his Yiddishers meant they already had a place in booming London, the idea of staking a claim on Liverpool and Manchester was tempting. Tommy was nothing if not enterprising.

A low snort alerted him to the presence of a stout black filly cresting the top of the hill before him, a petite woman astride her unsaddled back. There was no mistaking her: this was certainly Florence. Her resemblance to Esme was evident, from her upturned nose to the brunette curls brushing her shoulders. Even the way she carried herself was familiar, bearing the unmistakable poise and dignity of a daughter of Zilpha Lee. Her dismount from the horse was gentle, nearly soundless even with the oversized riding boots she wore. It wasn’t until Florence turned to face him that Tommy could see the slight curvature of her lower belly below the loose fabric of her dress. When she caught the direction of his gaze, she pulled her colorful shawl more tightly over her abdomen, frowning slightly. Ah. That certainly explained her sudden departure from the Lee family caravans. Her mother was a stern and practical woman. If Zilpha were to find out about her daughter’s pregnancy, she would likely have been married off immediately to save her girl and the family the embarrassment. Perhaps to someone she didn’t know, whom Zilpha would approve of far more than her man. Not unlike how she and I married off her sister, Tommy thought, not without a small pang of guilt.

“Thomas Shelby, then?” She called out to him from a distance, keeping herself close to her filly. God, she even sounded like her sister: birdlike and light, but with a sharp edge of wariness.

“Aye,” he responded. “Florence-Maria Lee?” She nodded, glancing over him suspiciously. Undoubtedly, she already knew about the razor blades tucked unobtrusively into the brim of his cap. That wouldn’t help matters. Slowly, Tommy removed the cap and lay it out on the hood of his car, palms raised placatingly. The tension in her shoulders unwound slightly, though there was still a stubbornness to her voice when she spoke.

“He told me this morning he didn’t want to see you,” she called out. “Said he didn’t want a part in the Peaky devils’ business.”

It wasn’t ideal, that. It was always a possibility, coming all the way out here only to be turned away by the man he’d been hoping to see. But he would be damned if he gave up now, when the North was so close to being his that he could practically taste the factory soot in the air. “What would it take to change his mind?” Florence tilted her head, silently scrutinizing some unknown detail on Tommy’s face as she brought up a hand to stroke the cheek of the little black filly. Tommy had seen this type of horse often, when he’d been young. Only broad, compact horses were strong enough to pull a vardo across miles of open plain without complaint. He wondered if this was the sort of creature that Florence’s man worked with often: sturdy, dependable, solid. Hardly the leggy, lean build of a pedigree racehorse, but it had a unique charm that was difficult to deny. Rough-hewn and efficient, they were all that was needed with none of the frills.

“She’s a beauty,” Tommy said, breaking the silence as he jutted his chin towards the horse. “What’s her name?”

Florence relaxed a bit further, allowing the little horse to press her velvety nose in the cup of her palm. “Fleet Ypres,” she responded proudly. “She’s practically his baby. Not for sale, nor barter. So don’t try.”

Tommy nodded, daring to approach the horse, who eagerly flared her nostrils to examine the newcomer. From his left jacket pocket he withdrew an envelope stuffed with money– Florence’s share of the payment for her share of the negotiating –handing it over so the woman could safely tuck it behind the plain neckline of her dress. From his right, he procured a small pink taffy, which he unwrapped and fed to the eager horse. “He fought in Belgium, then?”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead clicking her tongue at the filly so that she would sidestep closer to the wooden fence along the side of the road. Using the rails as leverage, she mounted Fleet Ypres carefully, a hand resting protectively on her small bump as she pulled herself upright and adjusted her shawl again.

“He’s in a bad way today,” she commented in lieu of an answer. “You were a soldier. You’d know how it is.”

All too well, Tommy thought bitterly, the phantom scent of thick, burnt-sweet opium smoke assaulting his nostrils at the memory of one too many sleepless nights ending in a drugged-out haze. “I’ve seen men behave in all manner of ways, coming home.”

Florence gave him a sympathetic wan smile. She held his gaze contemplatively, a furrow between her brows as another strong wind blew against her back, making Fleet Ypres shiver and shift her balance. Her comfort with silence struck Tommy as unusual. Growing up in a household as crowded and hectic as his own, it was difficult to develop the patience to be so still. Florence, despite her own large, close-quartered family, seemed to possess this affinity for quiet. He respected that; it took discipline and an even temperament. She was exactly the type of person Tommy could rely on to keep this negotiation running smoothly.

A creeping chill settled over them as a thick cloud blotted out the midday sun. In the overcast light, he could see where Florence had become different from her older sister. Where Esme’s defiant gaze was fueled by stubbornness and fire, the younger Lee girl held a quiet desperation behind her cautious dark eyes. Her cheeks were beginning to sharpen despite her youthfully round face, something he’d learned to recognize when food was scarce and his younger brothers were at risk of going hungry for too many nights in a row. The combination of these factors would have typically made him wary, like some sort of primordial survival instinct developed to recognize when a person was at their breaking point. Once again, the girl (consciously or not, Tommy wasn’t sure) protectively rested a hand on her lower belly. No, he thought, not a threat. Someone in her position wouldn’t risk ruining the offer he’d laid out for her.

Florence was the first to break the silence with a resigned huff and a shrug, the tips of her ears pinking with the confession: “Fine, let’s go then.”

Tommy blinked. “Pardon?”

“He’s waiting to speak to you. I needed to vet you out first.” Florence gave him another critical once-over, waiting on his reaction. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Shelby.”

It took a moment for Tommy to realize what Florence was saying. Then, half a second later, that she’d been misleading him on purpose. The mix between relief that the tension had broken and irritation that she’d outmaneuvered him must have shown on his face, judging by the slight cheeky smirk the Lee girl was struggling to suppress. Sorry my arse, he thought. You’ve been conducting this conversation to the exact tune you wanted. I just happened to sing in key. “Very well,” he sighed, turning towards his car and placing his hat neatly back on his head. “Alright. You have the money, now I’ll need the address.”

Florence scoffed, as if the very idea of such a thing was ridiculous. “There’s no address, Mr. Shelby.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She turned Ypres back down the road she’d rode in on, the horse’s long tail catching the breeze in an unexpectedly graceful about-face. “If you’re going to find Sam Lovell,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you’re going to need to think like Sam Lovell.” Fleet Ypres kicked up a cloud of dust behind her as she cantered off, leaving Tommy to hop into the driver’s seat and start the ignition on his Model-T.

Fuck’s sake. He knew enough about Sam to know exactly where she was headed. He would need to follow behind quickly and keep his eyes peeled for a little red vardo, the one that had gone missing from the Lee caravans just a few months ago. That was the last Zilpha had seen of her daughter, and the last anyone had seen of the elusive Samuel Lovell. From what Esme had said of him, perhaps that’s been for the best. With that thought in mind, he sped off down the dirt path, following Florence’s lead.

At a canter, the horse wasn’t overly fast, but she had a steady gait. That speed wouldn’t do on the track, Tommy reasoned, but it was well enough for a caravan horse. Certainly well enough for Florence, who rode at least ten lengths from the car without a second glance behind her or an ounce of concern for her delicate condition. Even with the rumble of the car engine just out of sight, something startling to a horse with little to no city experience to be heard of, the little filly kept her course without a hint of anxiety. Bomb-proof, he thought, and a wave of relief brought a smile to his face. A horse like that could only come from a handler of integrity, a man who understood mutual respect. The type of man Tommy could do business with and walk away from without sweating over the fear of a bullet in his back.

The path Florence took him down grew dusty and dotted with sparse patches of grass, leading them away from the main road to Haydock. Past here, only tip carts and sure-footed horses disturbed the dirt, the natural grooves in the earth rattling the chassis of the automobile as it sped carelessly over each bump. Tommy could just make out forked sticks left in the grass along the trail as patrin signs urging fellow travelers onward, indicating safe passage and friendly company up ahead.

Just as sunlight broke through the cloud cover, the road curved around a copse of thin trees to reveal their destination: a small, red vardo bedecked with hand-painted blue and yellow flowers. Outside sat a tent and cooking fire, and just before that was another horse tied to a stake in the ground. The chestnut gelding was snorting and pawing at the ground, ears tilted back in warning as a tall, dark-haired man stood patiently outside of kicking range. Florence slowed Fleet Ypres to a stop to dismount by the vardo, and Tommy pulled to the side of the road, closing the car door behind him as gently as he could so as not to unsettle the hotheaded gelding further.

Florence and the man– Sam, he presumed –conversed in hushed Angloromani, darting furtive glances back at Tommy as he approached. With one last reassurance that he was fine, that the state he’d woken in had passed, Sam kissed Florence’s forehead sweetly.

His eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed. Large and dove grey, they gave Sam a distinctly melancholy appearance, like the sky just before a downpour. The bruise-dark circles just below stuck out harshly against pale, sallow skin. Despite this, Tommy couldn’t find himself to be put off by his appearance. Sickly and unassuming as he seemed, he didn’t shy away from Tommy’s gaze. Call it simple intuition or call it recognition of a fellow soldier, but Tommy could tell that this man was not the same one who had enlisted. He must’ve been handsome before the war.

“Mr. Shelby,” Sam greeted, wiping his calloused palms on his farrier’s apron. Tommy removed his driving gloves, shaking his hand firmly. “Sam Lovell. Henry’s son.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel. Good to finally see the man I’ve been hearing of,” Tommy drawled, stepping back to take a look at the gelding as a whinny pierced the air. “And this is?”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. “Meska. Danny Lee’s new horse.” He rounded the gelding’s front and patted him firmly on the neck, despite the horse’s loud snorting. “He was sold with an abscess under the left back hoof. Danny-boy dropped him here a while ago to go, ah… have a word with the seller,” Sam looked askance at Tommy, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “And to deliver a message from the Peaky Blinders. But you knew that already.”

Tommy pulled out a cigarette for himself, offering one to Sam. He declined. Instead, the man reached into his back pocket and revealed two slices of dried red apple wrapped in a handkerchief, popping one in his mouth and letting the horse cautiously eat the other from the palm of his hand. “Gave up smokes after the war. Gives me the shakes.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trailing a hand along the gelding’s flank until he reached the troublesome hoof, bandaged and padded. “This’ll take some time. He’s got an attitude, won’t let me near without a fair bit of bribery. But he oughta be good for riding by the Appleby fair, God permitting.”

“You’re still a godly man after everything, Samuel?” Tommy lit his cigarette, letting it hang from his mouth as smoke curled around his head.

It was an innocent question, nothing more than a weak attempt at peeling back the layers of Sam’s guarded past, but it earned him a glare as cold and dead as still water in the trenches. Perhaps it was the change in light, the overcast above thickening as it cloaked the sun, but the circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker, deep and sunken. The man's lips were chapped and anxiously bitten to scabbing in places. It didn’t take a soldier’s experience to know that Sam was exhausted, laden with the kind of weight that didn’t shake with a good night’s sleep. If he could even manage such a thing, he thought. Tommy had seen men fall victim to their own minds with a lack of sleep in the Somme, going skittish and paranoid like cornered animals. Yet the look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t desperate, but fixed. Focused. It was a dizzying thing to be the subject of.

“You keep calling me Samuel,” he muttered, the ghost of a scouse accent coating his words as he stepped into Tommy’s space, breathing in his smoke. “God has heard, it means. D’you think God heard me in Ypres?” He leaned in close, right next to Tommy’s ear, lowering his voice to just a whisper. “Because I’ll tell you a secret, Tom. I did a lot of begging for it all to stop.”

Tommy steeled himself, slowed his breathing. It would do him no good to give in to the discomfort and back away, to put distance between himself and the war being stirred up in Sam’s brain. Whatever battle Sam had been fighting this morning had evidently not been won as easily as he’d told Florence it had. While Tommy did not come here looking for a confrontation, it was difficult to determine if Sam knew as much– or, rather, whether his mind could recognize the difference between friend and foe so far into this waking nightmare. The way he spat out God’s name felt like a provocation, tempting Tommy to fight back just to give Sam a reason to bite. Besides the fact that he and the heavens were no longer on speaking terms, Tommy knew better than to escalate. Knew that this was just the jagged edge the Western Front had left behind when it ripped Sam away from the safety of home. Something in the tension the other man held, an anticipatory rigor, told him that he had to keep playing his part in the verbal standoff if he wanted this conversation to go anywhere. He had to meet the soldier where he was at, even if that place was a trench only Sam could see. “And did God answer?”

Sam was the one to back up, hunching slightly to grin sardonically with that same ghostly eye contact. “Oh, yes. He sent me a bullet, right here,” He tapped a rib on his right side. “Nearly sent me up to my maker, it did. But the week I was due back on the front lines, the war ended. Lucky me.” He straightened up but didn’t move farther, just glared down at him like a priest at the pulpit. “So yeah, you could say that I’m a proper faithful man, Thomas.” Don’t fucking ask again, his tone said.

“Good.” Tommy looked him up and down slowly. Analytically. Waiting for the bite to follow his bark. “I like to see devotion.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, betraying his irritation that the older man would not stand down. He cut an imposing figure, Tommy had to admit. It was a shame how hard he tried to shrink into himself before this disruption, lean limbs pulled in and shoulders hunched as though he could hide in plain sight. This, in contrast, this…intensity was a force to be reckoned with. This was someone Tommy could use on his side. He had to teach him to harness that anger, refine him the same way he honed Arthur to a razor-sharp edge and wielded him like a weapon. Break him the way he might break a horse. Train him the way he might train a bloodhound. Their eye contact held until Florence stepped into his peripheral, a hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide him back gently. She whispered a question to him, inaudible over the sound of the gelding’s concerned huffs, to which he responded with a tight smile and slight shake of the head. The warm glow of Tommy’s cigarette quickly reached his lips, and he crushed the butt of it into the dirt with the heel of his shoe.

They didn’t have money, that much was clear. Between Sam’s unhealthy pallor and the frayed hem on Florence’s dress, they gave the impression of a couple working themselves ragged in an attempt to make ends meet. Tommy’s offer could get them out of the cold for the winter, put them up in a flat in the city where the factories could use a blacksmith. That wouldn’t appeal so much to someone like Sam, accustomed as he was to clean, fresh air and the sensitivities of horses, but it was work. Work meant food on the table. That realization must have reached Sam while he listened to Florence, because something like dread settled over his face as he took in the difference in their appearances: Tommy, clean-cut and offering him a job, and Sam, hunger gnawing behind his ribcage and no family left to take shelter with.

“Alright,” Sam returned to Tommy, the ice beginning to melt away from his pale eyes. “I’ll consider doing business with you, but it’ll be no tricks, aye? If I don’t like your plan, or if you change shit up on me day-of, I walk. Got a deal?”

Tommy nodded, emboldened by this show of trust. “Deal.”

Each man spat into his bare palm, and they shook on it.

Sam did not like Tommy. Not at first, at least. He carried himself as if he weren’t the upstart head of a Brummie street gang; an ill-fitting hand-me-down from his father that he had only just grown into, if he’d heard correctly. The tailored suit and shiny dress shoes were a poor fit for the dusty country road, as though he’d been planning to meet over crystal tumblers of gin and tonic at a fucking white tablecloth restaurant rather than the middle of a field miles from anything resembling a town. Sam had no such pretenses. Tommy knew he was just a farrier, knew he was the son of a farrier, knew he was dirt poor and barely scraping by even without the baby. But if Tommy wanted to flaunt his new status and play at the image of old money, he could go right on ahead. It cost him nothing when Sam knew he could see right through it.

Sam had to give him credit for one thing, though– he was a good businessman. The plan was solid, and the offer was just steep enough to be tempting while realistic enough to be trustworthy. He hardly had to act to fill the role he’d been set to play, just keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut at Aintree Racecourse. Tommy needed someone to integrate into the regular staff of farriers, veterinarians, trainers, and stableboys milling about the racecourse over the course of the two weeks leading up to the race, learning the ins and outs of the venue and discovering the weak points in security. After every few days he’d report to their go-between, Paul Knight– which he was sure was not the man’s real name –who was identifiable as a big bloke missing half a pinkie who would wait for him at the Queens Arms pub. But on Grand National day, his role would be the silent, inconspicuous observer posing as yet another nameless grunt in the stables, tracking the movements of every piece on the chessboard: the jockeys, the coppers, the bookies. Up until the minutes before the races start. From the bar, he’d create a distraction: a staged fight with another of the Blinders over something stupid and typical, like betting or women or offhand remarks. He’d involve others. Make a scene. And, with the Blinders’ help, their scuffle would escalate into an all-out pub brawl. The coppers would have no choice but to flood the scene just to untangle the whole mess, and Sam would flee. With no coppers and no eyes on the bookies, the Blinders could burn their permits and rob them of their earnings. A variation on the Epsom scheme, Tommy had said. A modus operandi in the making.

With the price Tommy was willing to pay for his cooperation, it was impossible to say no. He had a child on the way, a family to look after, a home to be the man of. There was already no other choice for him. The age of automobiles was upon him, and the type of people who could afford to pay good money for a good farrier were no longer the people who required his services. He wouldn’t be many clients’ first choice; it was easier to send the Rrom on his way and pay a higher price for someone whose parentage they respected. Anyone who wasn’t like him.

So there was no other choice. That’s what he told himself. It’s what he told Florence, later, when they were alone and settling in for the night. There was no other choice, and the money would be enough to keep them afloat, and she deserved to rest while he made things work. That he would take care of her. That he always did.

“Fia,” he whispered to her, fingers carding through her curls. Long ago, Florence-Maria became just Fia, and the name had stuck tighter than a burr in a wild colt’s mane. “Fia, listen. It’s just one job.”

She sighed, one heaping lungful of air saying more than words could. When it was just the two of them, words were hardly necessary anyway. “It’s always just one job with those men,” she muttered into his bare chest, “and then before you know it it’s just another job. And another. And a horse. And a few guns. And some cash. And a night in a cell.” And your big sister, he thought. It went unspoken.

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll just tell ‘em to fuck off.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just this time, I’ll do it. It’s not much effort, and a lot of money besides. The racecourse’ll pay me for the honest work on top of that. They’ll be none the wiser.”

She pouted. Sam couldn’t see it, but he could certainly feel it against his skin, the way her jaw tightened and her lower lip stuck out just slightly. He resisted the urge to poke that scowl, just to make her laugh. Something about this moment felt like no laughing matter.

After a moment of silence, she spoke up, her voice small and quiet: “I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn’t be seen from her angle. “He hardly did, Fia. Puffed himself up like a rooster and said the vaguest shit you ever did hear, then it was right to business.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at you, then,” she moved, propping herself up with a hand on her cheek so that her chin rested on his shoulder. “Like you were a horse at auction.”

Like a piece of meat, more like. He shuddered. “And what if you’re wrong, eh? What if I do my job and go on my way, and the Peaky Blinders just leave us be?”

Florence shrugged, still skeptical. “Well, if I’m proven wrong, then I’m wrong.”

“My Fia? Proven wrong?” Sam gaped at her, gasping dramatically. “Hell might freeze over before I hear you admit that.” “Wanker.” That, at least, provoked a snort and a poorly-restrained grin to break out over her face. She wriggled up until she was partially propped upright by the pillows behind her, then took Sam’s hand and placed it right over her bump. A flicker of sadness shone behind her eyes for half a second. “Just… don’t let them keep you from being her father, alright?”

Sam grinned, scooting so that they were close again. “Her? You’re convinced we’re having a girl?”

“Oh, we are.”

“Nah, we’re having a boy. I know because I prayed.” He pressed his palms together and looked skyward, “Oh please God, send me a son! Send me a son so that I’m not stuck being nagged by two mares and a daughter and a wife all at the same time–”

She cackled, leaning down and bumping their foreheads together. “Sam, you can’t just say I’m your wife!”

“Gotta say that to keep the Big Man happy, eh?” Sam rolled so that he was hovering over her, nose-to-nose. “How else am I gonna get my prayers answered? Not with sex out of wedlock and spiriting you away from home, that’s for sure.”

That golden smile of hers deflated slowly, turning bittersweet as she stroked an overgrown lock of black hair away from his forehead. Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Sam sat back on his heels, taking her slender, work-calloused hands between his own. “Hey. Hey,” he waited until she was focusing on him, brown eyes meeting grey. “It’ll be okay, Fia. Esme’s the one who had Danny bring you the letter, wasn’t she? And besides, he left his new horse here, yeah?”

She nodded slowly, eyes glistening.

“Right. And if she was angry with you, or if your mum was angry with you… do you think they’d go and do that?”

Florence sniffled, shaking her head vehemently. “They hold grudges.”

Sam smiled. “Reminds me of someone I know. Fia, if your mum holds grudges, and Esme holds grudges, and Danny– bless his little arse-kissing heart –was sent all the way up here just to draw us into the Shelby family nonsense and then ‘borrow’ your mare while I doctored his proud-cut devil of a horse… do you really think they’d be upset at hearing from you?”

Florence sighed, reluctantly shaking her head no. Sam was sympathetic to her anxieties. It was world-shaking for her, finding out she was pregnant so soon after her best friend and older sister left home with a gangster. Their decision to leave in a stolen vardo when her monthly was late was impulsive, but not terribly unexpected. She’d threatened as much a number of times when Zilpha had told her that under no circumstances was she to marry the troubled boy from the troubled family in Liverpool. If Zilpha only knew the truth, her answer might’ve been different, he thought ruefully. It aggravated him, to think that they couldn’t see the way that he cared for her. That he would protect her. Love her. Do anything for her. Would they see that, if they knew why they’d run?

“They’ll have to figure it out eventually. You know that, right?” He tried to control his tone, struggling to keep the accusation out of his voice. Will you tell Esme? Will you tell Danny? Will you tell your mother?

Are you ashamed of me? Should I be ashamed of myself?

Florence rolled onto her side, curling up protectively. “I don’t want to go on about it, Sam. Not right now. I don’t feel well.”

Please tell me you aren’t ashamed.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s okay,” he said instead, lying down to hold her back against his chest. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. I promise.”

The tension in Florence’s shoulders evened out as sleep overcame her. Sam stayed awake, watching her breathe until the sun rose.

[tobacconist]

another thing which everyone overlooks is how fucking easy it was to live outside of the law during feudal times (ie, the pre- and early medieval period ie the precursor to the later witch-hysteria). the law meant: local ruler decrees (law), if you are caught disobeying (law) within his realm you will be punished. and laws varied widely according to the whim of whoever was incharge. so before the development of the real established kingdom of england, it was very easy to make yourself a professional thief, or witch, or briggand, or to be a member some ethnic group or other¹ - so long as you had a lord who either tolerated or relied on you, and live secretly in the forest or even hold property on his lands. and if you lost favour with one ruler, you could always find another; the witch, the robber, etc, these are the stock characters we see throughout old english literature: along with the miller and the peasant and the bishop and the bawdy monk; because thats the world they saw. this wasnt easy of course, being made an outlaw was a punishment after all.

but it seems to me that living in in these remote places, either secretly or with license, a distinct kind of culture emerged, with many strange customs, hostile to the civilised christian world. youll notice that in the earliest tales about fairies, they are invariably portrayed as full sized humans, who live beyond society, capricious but sometimes helpful, who have strange powers but are easily tricked; and the role they play in these stories is closer to the role of the witch than our modern day idea of fairies. there are even still some people in ireland who claim descent from these lost peoples.

and this is even more evident in swedish/norwegian tales about trolls, which are clearly supposed to be caricatures of dispossessed pagan peoples driven further further back as christian society expanded. who are proud and ancient, but unable to reckon with superior civilisation.

¹yes i am partly talking about jews here but im only partially talking about the jews who settled amongst christians and were later (wrongfully) expelled. these jews would have been outcasts from both societies (but yes this is probably were the 'big nose dark hair speaks weird foreign spells' stereotype about witches comes from). im speaking primarily about (the remnants) of pagan peoples which would have mixed with various other immigrants including jews but would have created a culturally distinct community. also im clearly talking about medieval britain, please dont deliberately misunderstand what im trying to say. and in truth this is probably a factor in the english peoples persistent confusion about if the romani people came here from egypt.

[jennycalendar]

as a romani woman who's always felt hurt by how romani people are portrayed in canon and viewed in fandom, its so nice to see this kind of allyship from a gadhži. its incredibly frustrating having to know that to a lot of people in fandom we'll be nothing more than a Villain and im always so appreciative for those who work against it and talk about the racism towards us in both canon and fandom

oh gosh this means a lot to me? i am constantly feeling that i'm really doing the bare minimum here, so this ask is .... simultaneously really heart-warming and really Makes Me Wanna Kick Some Knees (the knees of the people causing these problems. to be clear). i literally got an ask within an hour of my response to that ask about angel going "i think that the fandom sees the romani as shortsighted, not evil" discounting the fact that i am a goddamn jenny calendar fic scholar who has read everything that she's in and has been keeping fucking track of the way people write her larger romani background.

i think one of the problems is also that jenny as a character is written so clearly as someone who is stepping away from old traditions and customs, and the romani in the buffyverse are portrayed as locked in the past and unable to progress (because, again, the show is egregiously racist towards romani), so of course in fic if you're not thinking about what you're doing you're going to go "well, she's not like her family :)" and kinda lean into that. i sometimes worry that my fic does that too sometimes. i know one of the things that meant the most to me as i was writing what you make was 1) presenting jenny as part of a romani family that is full of a lot of joy and community (nora and donovan!) and 2) introducing non-white-passing romani to the narrative (donovan and his kids!) sort of shifting the focus away from jenny's family being romani as the problem & towards the idea of jenny's IMMEDIATE family having a lot of complex generational trauma that motivates their approach towards angelus. like, enyos as someone whose immediate family was slaughtered by vampires and who has never been able to process that loss, yknow?

but yeah! it is horrible and disheartening to see all the ways that people will bend over backwards to go "there's no anti-romani sentiment in btvs OR in the fandom :) it's just that the romani were trapped in the past and not good at what they did and didn't understand that angel REALLY deserved to be redeemed, and also enyos got what he deserved and jenny was a lying [anti-romani slur] spy :)" like hglksdhglksd the number of times i've just seen that slur tossed around IN FIC, or by people who are talking POSITIVELY about jenny! there's been a shift away from it but it was still very present in fic from the mid to late 2000s! (and still also now in fic where jenny is a supporting character who the writer doesn't care about!)

thank you for this ask. to know that saying stuff about how fucking horrible this fandom is about this (and other things) is making other people feel better & safer here -- i am so glad that this has a tangible positive impact somewhere! yesterday felt a little like shouting into the void especially as i look at spuffy fandom, which is STEEPED in racism in a way that i rarely see white spike/spuffy fans interacting with or wanting to talk about. i am determined to carve out a corner of the internet that feels good for nonwhite btvs fans, because it is HARD OUT HERE.

[canary0]

May 28 - Dracula 2023

I woke to the smell of cigarette smoke. I never expected to appreciate that acrid smell, but it’s a sign of other people. That the rest of the world hasn’t simply disappeared.

What looks like a group of movers have arrived in the castle courtyard. They’re dressed in parkas despite the lateness of the season to combat the cold mountain air, and have a bunch of ATVs with small trailers attached parked in the courtyard. Likely the only real way to get up here in a reasonable amount of time without the antiquated method the Count used. Not that I’m fully sure of how far we are from the road with how he drove. Now I understand that little excursion.

That aside, I feel some kinship with them. If they know their way to this castle, they’re probably in as dire straits in regard to the Count as I am. Knowing him as I do now, it’s hard to imagine the Count allowing anyone near he couldn’t control.

I’ve picked up some Romanian, and its allowed me to communicate with them somewhat and strike up an acquaintanceship.

I might be able to get a message home through them, but I’m not sure how just yet. It’s not like I have a code I can put them in to hide my intentions. I’ll have to think about it more.

–

I came up with something. It’s a vague warning, much like the snail mail, but perhaps it’s a warning that will reach Mina sooner than those terrible letters. I dropped my solar generator and the solar cells out through the bars of the window into the courtyard below as the men below watched. It broke, naturally.

One of them came up and picked up the largest piece, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “You seem to have dropped your equipment,” he called up.

I replied, “Oh no! How terrible. It belongs to someone else, though. If I give you the address and money, could you ship it to them?” It wasn’t exactly that – my Romanian isn’t great yet, but he seemed to get the idea, as he smiled and nodded.

“Sure. The post isn’t out of our way.”

With great relief, I grabbed an envelope, put some money (shipping and some extra), and the address in it, and tossed it down to them. He caught it and gathered the pieces, giving me a little salute.

Hopefully at the very least, Mina will understand that something has happened to me where I am. She knows that I was arranging a real estate transaction, so hopefully she will make the connection and know that the new owner is dangerous, and the reason I’m gone. It’s not much, but it’s something.

–

The Count came in. He sat down next to me and opened a bag – contained within were the pieces of my generator.

He spoke in a smooth tone, affecting a tone of regret. “The [Romani] outside has given me these. How tragic it is, my friend, that your item slipped from the window and fell. It seems to be quite broken,” he said, shaking his head. There was a gleam of triumph in his eyes at the lost of my last modern gadget. That meant he didn’t know I dropped it deliberately, then. God bless those men down there.

I sighed and shook my head. “Yes… I heard the crack and saw it broken. I had hoped they might send the remains on to its owner.” He stared at me very intently as I spoke. Perhaps he was trying to detect my lie. Perhaps he succeeded, given his next actions. Perhaps he simply didn’t trust me.

He rose, then and nodded. “Of course I will ensure its safe sending onward. Your letters are sacred to me, and thus will this also be. Will you not write down the address?” I did so in silence and handed it over. When he left, I heard the key turning in the lock, and the door wouldn’t open when I tested it.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, because I woke a little while later when the Count came in again. He very cheerfully said, “So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many labours to me; but you will sleep, I pray."

I went into my room, then, and went straight to bed, falling into a dreamless sleep quickly. I suppose when you feel this empty, there’s nothing to pull on for dreams.

(A/N: Fuck me, I got down to the wire on this one, didn't I? Dealing with Bram Stoker's era-standard racism against Romani people is something that takes a thoughtful approach, at least.

I accounted for that by incorporating some of the headcanons floating around about the original book, where they did intend to send it on. I also added a deliberate action to look after Jon - lying about how the generator came to them. Also the idea that they're in as sticky a situation in regard to Dracula as Jon is in a different way. It was also a good opportunity to address how Jon understood the Three Weed Smoking Roommates. Everyone around Dracula are just People Having a Rough Time.

Anyway, I also had to address the whole "Modern Jonathan doesn't know shorthand" thing. So... I did what I could. That's basically today's subtitle.

May 28: Birb Tried.)

[izabesworld]

Okay, first of all, thank you for sharing your knowledge and educating us on Romani culture. As soon as I saw your page on my dash I KNEW I had to give you a follow because I am writing a Peaky Blinders fanfiction and this is soooo helpful!

That being said, there is something I have been wanting to know since I finished the show! This is not related to my fanfiction, per say, but as someone who joined the fandom in April, I kind of want to find this out from a reliable source.

So, at the end of season 5 (or the beginning of season 6) Lizzie is on the phone with Tommy explaining Ruby's condition, and she tells him that she has been saying the words 'Tikno mora o beng o beng.' I have been trying to find out what these words translate to or the significance behind it and was wondering if you might provide some insight.

Once again, thank you for your advice!

Thank you so much for your kind words, I’m glad so far I can be helpful!!

The phrase used by Ruby isn’t actually a Romanichal phrase, instead it is Romanian. A common slip up in the show. It also doesn’t make much sense in Romanian - I grew up for a while in Romania!

Putting it together it means the devil is inside Ruby, it’s like a cryptic phrase used as a metaphor. The devil has taken over your daughter, your daughter is infused with the devil. Which links heavily to the idea of death so they’re saying your daughter will die because you’ve done devilish things.

It’s more so a warning to Tommy, because Tommy was a religious man. The people I’ve spoken to interpreted it as a warning from God rather than the devil himself. God is warning Tommy to save himself and his family, that is he doesn’t change his daughter will die.

It makes sense really, because Tommy wasn’t there for the death of his daughter. He didn’t take the warnings as serious as he should so his daughter in some evil way was taken away.

It all links back heavily to the religious imagery used and the Black Madonna. The Black Madonna is meant to be protection, but can’t save you if you’ve already been taken over by the devil.

I’ve waffled a lot there but I do hope that helps! <3

[enbeemagical]

TSATS teasers again :3 last of the year! It's a long one tho

so remember how Loki went poof?

needless to say, Aaravos is worried

and looking for them

Loki is incredibly unconcerned

and somewhat put out

Aaravos is still worried and searching

Terry my beloved <3

Terrance, not Terrestrius

Aaravos learns about the Avengers from a probably underpaid cashier in London

Hi Wanda

she is Romani and Jewish here, as she's meant to be <3

Going from London to New York is easy when you can teleport

Loki wants to know why Tony calls them Reindeer Games, so it's movie night now

until Aary comes in guns blazing and runes ready

oh my goodness poor Avengers XD so panicky

Xadia doesn't have hot cocoa yet

Hawkeye has questions

Loki has answers

Aaravos has kisses

"As am who now?" <- I like this line shfjf

Loki: Thanos can track infinity stones

Aaravos: WE ARE OUT OF HERE RIGHT TF NOW

Loki: please darling relax he's way far away

Aaravos: :( *okay* but at the FIRST SIGN of him...

Twilight Sparkle XD

PETER my beloved

CHEESY *throws pillow at Aaravos* CORNY

*yeets pillow at Loki also* CHEESYYYYY

Natasha decided Loki is not a threat. Aaravos's response: kill murder kill death am I banned from tiktok yet

Chanukiyah :D

Hanukkah x Christmas x Yule equals fun for everyone here and also Aaravos has no idea what any of this is supposed to be like

Happy Janice

mistletoe

is not Loki's favorite tradition

Storytime

Hunting time! *blows horn*

wait whoops not yet first two more partygoers and an explanation

and then threats time

and bragging time

and NOW it's hunting time

Magic fight!

(that was not gonna happen except we got a comment. those matter!)

(and now we have two of them)

Celestiale and what may or may not be underage drinking. Depends on your universe, I suppose

Vis!

Siblings :D

PRESENT TIME

I love present time

for multiple reasons

aieeeeeeeeee *flappy hands from cute*

@alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice @shiniestcrow @perlelas @iabandonedmybois @13-secret-poems @worstloki @awesomecass2000 @indigo--montoya @flyingbooks42 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @panromantic-frog1

[doueverwonder]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you'd like to know better!

@betty-bourgeoisie awwww thanks for the tag!

What book are you currently reading?

The Librarian of Auschwitz by Antonio Iturbe, it's a 'based off true events' about a prisoner in Auschwitz named Dita Kraus, who was in charge of hiding the few books they had snuck into the family camp. On top of obviously awareness of what it was like in the concentration camps for the Jewish prisoners, it also pays attention to the LGBTQ+, Mentally disabled, and Romani, groups I feel are usually overlooked when talking about WW2.

What's your favorite movie you saw in theaters this years?

uhhh I only saw 2, but ngl that Everything Everywhere All At Once was pretty damn good.

What do you usually wear?

Jeans and a t-shirt with a button up or hoodie over top. And Converse everyday lol I own like eight pairs right now, I wear them everywhere. (I also have my grandma sweater collection but I haven't been able to wear them much this year)

How tall are you?

5'6-ish

What's your star sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event?

I'm a cancer, I got a full thing from one of my friends once but tbh I don't remember what it said and I don't feel like digging through my texts to find it.

I share a birthday with Michael Phelps, in 1936 on my birthday Gone With The Wind was published. (if you meant year had to match too then nothing happened lol)

Do you go by your name or a nick-name?

Well, my name is Theodore but I got by Theo, does that count?

Did you grow up to be become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

Well uhhh,,, I'm sixteen haha. But actually yeah, I've wanted to be a lawyer since I was eleven, but before that I really wanted to work in a bakery and as of right now I work in a bakery. So technically yeah.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one?

eyyyy this applies to my username; so if you read my description it says Lotus is my girlfriend. That's not actually correct, I'm aroace; and Lotus is technically my best friend, but we're like rlly rlly close and have both admitted 'hey you're the only person I could see spending my life with' so we like referring to each other as more then friends. So yes, but no?

What's something you're good at vs. something you're bad at?

I am good at buying the right presents for people, I'm terrible at baking cakes. (Yes. I am aware I just said I work in a bakery, I work up front)

Dogs or Cats?

Not to be that person, but neither, rats.

What's something you would like to create content for?

Fun fact I am in literally zero fandoms besides Hetalia, so uh nothing.

What's something you're currently obsessed with?

The Germanic peoples. I watched 1 video in second grade about the Anglo-Saxons and my brain went ohohohohohoh you are never going to be able to let this go. And it was right.

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

getting my GED, it's less 'getting it was disappointing' and more 'I'm disappointed bc the government makes it insanely hard to even find info on so I literally can't get it and that makes me sad bc I was excited about starting college in January'

Are you religious?

Yes, I'm Christian. Don't ask denomination bc I as a statement don't like the idea of denominations I don't think Jesus would have liked them either.

What's something you wish to have at this moment?

More tea, I had tea, I drank it all, I want more.

@helv-ete & @queen-adelheid

sorry if one of you two have done it already!

[writingwithcolor]

what are some things I shld be careful of when writing jewish-coded magical characters? One of them is a romani jewish necromancer and the other is a russian jewish ice-magic witch. Their universes dont have western christianity, only judaism, islam & eastern orthodox christianity. Magic is normal and widespread and considered part of nature. Are there any stereotypes i shld be aware of avoiding when writing them? especially since the necromancer is meant to be morally grey (but def not evil)?

Witches: Romani Jewish Necromancer, Russian Jewish ice-magic witch

From a Romani perspective, a necromancer would be problematic as most Romani people have very strict traditions and superstitions regarding death and the dead. A Romani person with any ties to their culture would never be a necromancer; additionally, making them morally grey is a bit concerning to me as this is dangerously close to stereotypical. 

-Mod Tess

One thing you will need to decide is if your ice mage’s powers come from secular magic or from, like, prayers. I chose to go with secular magic in my fantasy series because the most important magical character is sometimes morally gray while the totally nonmagical protagonist (Queen Shulamit) is fairly moral and devout. But there is also Jewish folklore where magic is being used by a rabbi to do holy things, so that’s really a writing decision on your part. Since you also have a morally gray character doing magic, you may want to go the same route I did.

There is probably Talmud and stuff about necromancy (it’s probably forbidden but I am not familiar myself and I’m hoping one of the other Jewish mods will know. The ice mage will be easier to handle as far as representation. I’d say with Jewish witches avoid any connection with the Western image of the witch with the exaggeratedly hooked nose, avoid the idea that kids (especially gentile kids) are an ingredient in her portions, and avoid magic that somehow invokes pop Christianity/demonology aesthetically. 

Here’s an older post of mine about writing Jewish witches: Jewish Witch Characters

-- Shira

I agree that the ice mage is the easier answer: the only other example I can think of of Jewish representation in fantasy with regard to ice magic is Naomi Novik’s Spinning Silver, which is a masterpiece of positive Eastern-European Jewish fantasy representation and also doesn’t on its own constitute a representational trend. 

As far as the other character, I’m not sufficiently educated on Romani culture to understand how and in what ways it would mix with Jewish culture for any individual, and it looks like Tess is advising against that aspect of their background, so let’s just talk about necromancy and Jewishness. 

As is often the case when discussing practices we now consider to be magic, attitudes toward necromancy in Jewish writings are all over the map. 

Torah forbids it outright. Talmud restricts that prohibition to certain methods and situations. Medieval writers have opinions on methodology, while historical folk practice has a variety of practical suggestions. Welcome to the history of the Jews. 

Necromancy in the sources I was able to find for this answer seems to refer to questioning the dead, a form of fortune-telling or advice-seeking. I didn’t find any mentions of animating the dead for tasks other than conversation. If your Jewish necromancer has other uses for corpses, you’re going to have to extrapolate. 

In Torah, the prohibitions on consulting spirits and mediums come as part of longer lists, alongside cultural-identity laws like observing shabbat, banned religious practices such as human sacrifice and self-harm, and societal norms such as deference to elders and fairness to immigrants. Scripture clearly has no doubt that necromancy works, however, since it makes much of King Saul’s hypocrisy when he consults a medium after making the practice illegal and driving its practitioners out of his borders or into secrecy: the ghost himself has harsh words for the king and offers no comfort. 

The Talmud mentions a variety of examples of people consulting the dead, whether invoking a spiritual apparition or reanimating a corpse to consult with. In medieval writings, there’s an argument that being called to the living world is a hardship for the dead, and that the reason for the prohibition is out of compassion. Medieval literature also offers gleanings such as that the deceased can only be interrogated within the first year, after which the soul is no longer within reach, and that the dead observe shabbat and therefore cannot be invoked between Friday evening and Saturday night. This last one raises the fascinating question of what time zone is it in the World to Come, but that’s a Talmud-style question for another day. Interestingly, the Talmud does specify that humans don’t have jurisdiction to punish necromancers: that offense is between the individual and God.

The upshot of all this seems to be that your morally-gray Jewish necromancer is transgressing a Jewish law by practicing their skills, but that the transgression is not more severe than more mundane transgressions such as eating pork or shellfish, except in that it is unpleasant for the deceased. 

In a Jewish context, the word for the soul or animating spirit of a human is the same as the word for breath. If your character’s necromancy doesn’t restore the deceased’s consciousness, maybe all of the above is irrelevant, and the sin they’re guilty of instead is desecration of a corpse; since the character is intentionally dark, having them wonder which category of sin they are committing would be a valid dialogue choice. 

As always, I would warn you against having your Jewish character commit murder themselves, especially of a child, consume blood in any context, or act with a motivation of xenophobia or greed for wealth or power. A morally-gray Jewish character with a complex relationship to their Jewishness can have the potential to be interesting, but not if they reinforce existing negative portrayals. 

I hope this small-scale tour of Jewish writing and thought on the subject has helped you imagine how your Jewish characters might approach the relationship between their abilities and their backgrounds, and that you had fun following me on this journey. Good luck!

-Meir

Hi, Meir did a lot of external research with sources for this one so I’m gonna toss his Ko-fi link in, in case anyone feels like tipping him for this since we’re all unpaid volunteers. 

https://ko-fi.com/meirmakesstuff

-- Shira

[twst-discourse-bot]

Well i found this article by kotaku

https : // kotaku . com / disney - twisted-wonderland-frollo-hunchback-ios-android-1849694445

Thanks very much Anon!

I took a look at the article and others are free to do so as well, I have to say I didn't run into any tweets like the ones shown there when scrolling through Twitter myself, even though I was actually trying to find them. They were probably already drowned out by fans who were overly excited for the event.

I have to say, I agree that people are allowed to be uncomfortable. I myself am not super crazy about the idea of a Frollo character, as I said before. But, there are a couple of points I want to bring up.

I don't think his inclusion is very different from the inclusion of Scarabia, as in people should not be reacting much more strongly to him than the dorm. I think that the controversy and people's reaction to the use of Aladdin to center a dorm around was quite valid, and I hope that my previous words on this blog can back that up. The movie itself was controversial for its portrayal of middle eastern people, still enforcing eurocentric beauty and behavioral standards as the norm or what is good, and everything that came after it as a result of misinformation from the movie.

Using Frollo is in the same vein, it's just very controversial and could have been done without, but it's done so now we have to talk about it. I doubt anyone is going to look at the statue of Frollo and wonder who he is, and even if they've never seen the movie they know the premise of the game, so by using logic they can gather he's probably another villain. A particularly bad one, but yeah. They can do their own research if they really don't know.

The point I'm trying (and I feel I'm kinda failing to get across) if that people absolutely have a right to be uncomfortable about the use of a truly heinous villain in the game.

I myself have experiences that directly resulted from the very present racism against Romani people.

But the game is not condoning his actions, nor saying the actual Frollo ever was a good person. Until we get answers as to why the game world's history is so different from the Disney movies, there's no clear explanation as to what caused the characters to be viewed so differently and we can only theorize.

The way I look at it right now, his inclusion in the game at all is iffy, no doubt about it. But, the TWST character, Rollo, is essentially a caricature of a caricature of a fictional villainous character. In-universe, think of it like this: if he does not turn out to be a racist prick like the Claude Frollo from the movie and he is simply meant to have a design that takes inspiration from him, that would mean that he is just like all the other characters who are somehow tied to the other Disney villains. If he looks up to the TWST version of Frollo, that admiration is highly misguided and based on a history that has been super sanitized and, at a glance and without knowing the "truth" (based on the films and flashbacks), is actually not that bad of a moral compass.

Even the quote that the rat clown (incorrectly) used that were apparently pulled from the game itself, all they say is that Frollo was very fair and a great man, that he saved his city from being taken over by villains. If that's all the people of Twisted Wonderland know, obviously they're going to think he's a cool guy. How much of the history that we know today has this same issue? We'll likely never know unless we dedicate ourselves to digging for the truth and even then, so much is lost to time that we may never discover.

Also, I saw it mentioned that Frollo was supposedly based on a real person, but a quick internet search only tells me that he was an entirely fictional creation of Victor Hugo, the original author of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now, that's to say that he likely was created to embody the very real racist sentiments expressed by people like him in history and Disney did not fail to make that very clear in their adaptation of the book.

Aside from the meta talk, if he does turn out to be a super racist, he's very much going to be the antagonist of the event, meaning the player and the other characters are going to be...fighting racism, essentially. Which I hope is a plot people can get behind. If not, then again, he's just like all the other characters and was a victim of falsified history. The discussion of whether a person can truly be blamed for their beliefs and actions under an oppressive regime or resulting from fake facts is a whole discussion that I believe is worth having, but this post is already way too long as is so I'm cutting it here.

Thanks again for the link, Anon :)