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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 4 years ago

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Sorry but what exactly is up with the bad batch arc? I've heard people talk about the issues with echo's white skin but I haven't heard that many bad things about the arc itself? (ik you said you don't want to be negative on your blog so I would absolutely understand if you didn't answer this ask)

Oooooooooooh boy. Well I just had a long, long, LONG rant about it with someone, but I guess I’ve got an excuse to put all of my points onto a post and talk about it publicly now that I got an ask x) I’ll keep it under the cut so I don’t throw my salt in people’s face. I really don’t want to upset people who love that arc - it has redeeming qualities, but overall it pisses me off so much for so many reasons. So here:

The first issue is obviously two members of the Bad Batch (minus Echo) being being just about the furthest thing from maori no matter how much you're willing to stretch it.

Like... yeah, nah. I wouldn’t even accept Crosshair and Tech (grey haired guy and goggles guy) as Jango’s natural biological sons, nevermind as his clones.

The problem is that their different appearances are justified by them being described simply as clones with desirable mutations (i.e superpowers). But why the hell did the creators have to change their appearances for that to be a thing? How does that correlate? Sure, the concept of clones with different faces is interesting, except... no, no it’s not, and I’m gonna rant about it in a few secs. But basically it's like they thought giving them different faces would be a good substitute for having different personalities (another thing I’ll come back to). If they really wanted to have buff clones with super eyesight or whatnot they could have just done that, without making them lose what little melanin the lighting of the show had allowed the other Clones to keep.

But the gigantic problem is... showing that the "regular" clones have VERY distinct identities despite their identical faces has been one of the themes of the show from episode 1. Literally, the first episode of TCW has Yoda taking time out of a mission with galactic stakes to tell the three clones he’s with (who tell him they’re all the same because they have the same faces) that they’re wrong, and that they’re very different in the Force, that their appearance doesn’t matter, that they’re all equally unique and important, and he lists all of their individual skills, strengths and weaknesses.

And it’s not just me being bothered by that, here’s a post by @cacodaemonia saying the same thing.

Introducing the Bad Batch as "unique" clones who are "different" and "not like their brothers" because they have different faces and skills completely breaks that theme of the show!! Because the entire point of the Clones in TCW is that their faces don't matter, they ARE unique!

(Plus the Bad Batch’s character designs are so cliche and uninspired it’s just laughable to try and justify bleaching their freaking skin for the sake of visual diversity.

This took like 10 seconds. I found the first guy by literally googling “soldier movies,” and the other two are Team Fortress characters that look a LOT like Wrecker and Crosshair. One is “Heavy” and one is “Sniper” lmao.

And behold:

The above picture is a Team Fortress reference that I found just by looking up “bad batch clone wars,” so I’m not the only person who sees it.)

And the batchers don't even have personalities to justify calling them unique! They have no character traits beyond the most cliché american soldier tropes ever. We have a token loner sniper, a token "smart tech guy" who knows everything from xenoanthropology to biology to Separatist computers to sound waves to encryption, a token Badass Brooding Leader and a token “dumb muscle guy.”

I dare anyone to find more about their personalities than this: - Crosshair is the perpetually grumpy sniper who looks down on "regs,” - Wrecker likes to blow up stuff and doesn't like heights, - Hunter is the leader and is friends with Cody, - Tech is smart doesn't trust Echo.

That’s it, that’s literally it. Four episodes about them and that's all we get. These character tropes are literally the least inventive ever. FFS, Hunter even has a freaking KNIFE! Not a vibroblade, mind you, like in kriffing Star Wars. A knife. Against metal droids. Why. They couldn’t make this more of an american-war-movies cliché fest if they tried. (And sure, he can feel electromagnetic waves so maybe it does make sense for him not to carry a vibroblade and maybe this is nitpicking, but he looks like a ripoff of a Predator character and it pisses me off).

Another thing is that when you introduce characters you have to make them likable - and them despising the normal Clones is a terrible way to do that! And they don't even grow from that because at the end of the 4 episodes arc they just see Rex as not bad "for a reg" and they see Echo as no longer a reg, and both of these things are infuriating!

The worst thing imo is that Echo then becomes part of them (and irreparably loses his melanin in the process, uuuuuuuuugh) when there is nothing to justify this.

The dialogue goes like this:

ECHO: You coming? TECH: Not really our thing. CROSSHAIR: Accolades. WRECKER: Yeah, we're just in it for the thrill. Yo! HUNTER: You sure it's your thing? ECHO: What do you mean? HUNTER: Your path is different. Like ours. If you ever feel like you don't fit in with them, well, find us. (they leave) REX: Those are some of the finest troopers I've ever fought alongside. Echo. You and I go way back. If that's where you feel your place is, then that's where you belong.

Echo doesn't feel like he belongs anymore, okay, but why would he feel like he belongs with the assholes who up to the last five minutes of the mission thought he was probably a traitor, and also verbally expressed that he was not worth saving?? In all of the arc, Echo himself never voices that he feels he’s not ‘like the other Clones’ anymore and that he feels it’s a problem. His relationship with Rex immediately picks up where they left things off - the first thing he does upon being lucid again for the first in over a year is cracking a joke for Rex’s benefit.

Why would Echo feel like he doesn’t belong in the 501st anymore, when we don't even see him interacting with anyone from his past life except for Rex and Anakin (who are both extremely very supportive of him)?? If there had been one scene of a “regular” Clone (ugh) looking at him with horror and disgust or something, or just Kix and Jesse cracking jokes with Echo awkwardly standing by the side not getting it, I could forgive the show trying to make it feel like he has an identity crisis, but this was so shallow!

The only thing that makes Echo and the Bad Batch’s experiences similar is that they *look* different. It’s so against the themes of the Clones I’m seething just from thinking about it. And what the hell? Echo ALREADY didn’t fit in. That was the WHOLE POINT of Domino Squad. They didn’t fit in because they thought they were better than anyone else because they had trouble getting along with their brothers, so obviously it had to be their brothers’ fault (ahem, Bad Batch?). And you know what happened? Domino Squad OVERCAME that. And Echo and Fives still didn’t “fit in” because their personalities were unique and creative, and they became ARC Troopers because Cody, Rex and the Jedi VALUED THEM FOR PRECISELY THAT. Echo having new and unique skills and a modified appearance is the most bs justification for him feeling like he doesn’t belong!!

And that brings me to my biggest issue: Rex telling Echo the bad batch are some of the best troopers he's ever met. I'm sorry, based on WHAT? What Rex values above everything is loyalty and brotherhood, and the Bad Batch DOESN'T DISPLAY ANY OF THAT. We never see them even expressing concern for each other! Wrecker treats saving Cody’s life like a trivial issue, because it’s just ‘sO eAsY’ for him, and beyond that we never see them supporting each other or genuinely expressing affection for each other beyond boasting about each other’s skills...

Sure they can destroy a lot of droids, but they're dismissive of Rex's brothers, and the entire Umbara arc and this arc showed what he thought of that. They keep saying things like "not bad for a reg,” don't show any trust in Rex's skills or experience (even though they can't have been fighting in the war for more than a year and a half when he’s been there from the beginning, and he outranks all of them), they are essentially guerilla fighters which has only minimal value in a galactic war, and they never grow beyond their views of what regs are, and can and can’t do.

None of that should make them good troopers in Rex's book. Going back to Echo not fitting in, remember who taught the Domino Squad the importance of seeing all of your brothers as important and equally valuable? Shaak Ti, true, but more importantly? 99! The guy the Bad Batch are named after. He did have value and was important and was no less of a trooper than his brothers, even though his mutations made him LESS powerful, not more. (And btw, just from a writing standpoint, the batchers don’t have any weaknesses, which is shit.) Cody and Rex mourned 99 as a true soldier even though it wasn’t his sacrifice that brought them victory (which would have implied that he had value as a soldier and a brother because he saved them, as opposed to him having that value intrinsically), because that’s what a fine trooper is to them. A BROTHER first a foremost, someone altruistic, brave and loyal. The Bad Batch distort the meaning of 99's character with their behavior. They’re not altruistic, their bravery is mitigated by the fact that they’re freaking invincible, so of course they take risks (again, see Wrecker saving Cody without a care because it’s easy to him, as opposed to Rex being ready to run into a burning ship about to explode because his brother is in there, and having to be physically dragged away). The Bad Batch denigrate their brothers for being less skilled, thinking their own abilities make them unique somehow, when 99 could barely fight and was still the one who taught Hevy about being a good soldier.

And again the batchers don't grow from that. Which is all the more frustrating because the original ending didn’t have Echo joining them, from what I remember of the unfinished episodes, and the arc actually ended with them receiving their medals in front of regular troopers who cheer for them, as opposed to them smugly ostracizing themselves and dismissing the ceremony as trivial and meaningless. (original ending vs s7 ending: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab1eCfzKamw)

It’s so annoying. Do you know what characters never had an entire arc dedicated to them and still have far more personality and more interesting designs and more symbolic weight??

Jesse, for starters. Kix. Dogma. Cut. Slick. Keeli. Ponds. Rys, Jek and Thire. Commander Doom. Commander Fox. Wolffe. Hevy. Hardcase.

Cody was a more interesting character just in his RotS appearances.

Waxer and Boil had one episode about them and then only two cameos plus Waxer’s death, and they’re still some of the most memorable, beloved Clones of the whole show. And Boil was grouchy and prejudiced like Crosshair, but he has so much growth that we could make a whole thread about it.

I'd say the last problem with the Bad Batch is that it has cash grabbing money hungry vibes. Different faces are more marketable, cliché personalities are more toy-friendly, and it's basically a big ad for the Bad Batch series. And they throw Echo in the Batch at the end for bs reasons (again, it wasn’t in the original ep from what I remember) and they tease Cody in the show to make sure fans will still watch even if they notice the lack of soul. And less melanin sells more at Disney apparently.

So that’s my whole pissed rant.

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unwhitewashthebadbatch · 3 years ago

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Disney Email Draft 2

(going under a cut because it's much longer. Here is the Google Doc link for anyone who would like to comment directly)

Reminder that we are encouraging critiques and comments regarding this email!

To Bob Iger, Kathleen Kennedy, Dave Filoni, Jennifer Corbett, and the creative team of Star Wars: The Bad Batch:

We hope this email finds you all well. We are fans of color, disabled fans, neurodivergent fans, and Jewish fans writing out of concern for the portrayal of our communities in the Disney+ series Star Wars: The Bad Batch. For several months now, we have been campaigning on social media to spread awareness about these concerns through #UnwhitewashTBB, a movement we began to raise awareness about the ways in which the series has poorly represented several minoritized groups of people.

Just like the creators of Star Wars: The Bad Batch, all of the creators of #UnwhitewashTBB grew up with Star Wars as the backbones of their childhoods, and for many of us, Star Wars: The Clone Wars was crucial to our development as artists, writers, creators, and lifelong Star Wars fans. We are all firm believers in the phrase “Star Wars is for everyone”, and we would like to see Disney support that message by hearing our plea.

As fans of color, as disabled fans, as neurodivergent fans, and as Jewish fans, we’ve seen ourselves on screen in both good and bad ways, but recently it has been more the latter than the former. One such reason is Star Wars: The Bad Batch, a show whose premise piqued many fans’ interest, but whose main cast has left an increasingly sour taste in the mouths of those who watched.

The series follows an elite squad of clone troopers who have named themselves The Bad Batch, due in part to their series of mutations that gives them an edge over regular clones on the battlefield. These mutations drastically altered the appearance of each of the members to a generally lighter, more Caucasian appearance--one that is inconsistent with how the original Jango Fett actor Temuera Morisson looks. Fans take issue with the implications in the writing and design of The Bad Batch: that in order to be elite, special, and better than one’s contemporaries--in order to have a story worth telling--one must also be white or as close as possible.

Merriam-Webster defines whitewashing as “to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character” The #UnwhitewashTBB movement comes with two carrds explaining the grievances of the fans. A summary for each character is given below:

Sergeant Hunter, the leader, closely resembles Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo character, despite being a clone of a man of color. The importance of his character, the fatherliness he has with Omega, and his centrality to both their Season 7 appearance in The Clone Wars and the series itself sends the message that important people look

Wrecker is the demolitions expert, and he’s the only member of The Bad Batch with features similar to that of a Maori man’s, like Temuera Morrison/Jango Fett. He’s large with broad features, brown skin, and is a stereotype of men of color. His personality as first introduced to the audience was that of a loud, aggressive, impatient, slow man who called frequently for violence/destruction. He falls into the “Loveable Brute” trope, an observation that is supported by statements from supervising director Brad Rau and voice actor Dee Bradely Baker that Wrecker is like a little boy and has a heart of gold.

Crosshair is the sniper on the team, and he’s the most derisive of the “regs”--the regular clone troopers. Taken in conjunction with his appearance (inspired by Clint Eastwood), the various messages being sent by the writing and appearance of the other team members, and his comment about the regular troopers--the he and the Batch are superior and thus should join the Empire--his character pushes forth a message that there is superiority inherent in whitened or fully white features.

Tech, the technology specialist, has incredibly light skin and hair compared to the regular clones. His mutation made him a genius, with an IQ that outpaces that of any other clone in the Republic. Fans of color are upset that Tech’s genius mutation apparently also affected his skin color, as now this creates a direct link between intelligence and appearance/race. Contrast Tech with Wrecker, who is the exact opposite in every way, and this harm becomes only more apparent. In addition to this, many Autistic fans of The Bad Batch have noted that Tech, being “on the spectrum” (according to Dee Bradley Baker) is a popular stereotype of Autistic people: a nerdy-looking white man with a formal way of speaking who’s a genius but dismissive of others’ feelings. Baker also plays Tech with a British accent, further cementing the harmful message that intelligence is in some way connected to ethnicity.

Omega is the newest member of The Bad Batch. Despite being a pure Jango clone, she’s come out looking nothing like Boba Fett--she has lighter skin than he does, as well as blonde hair. Fans are concerned about the connection between genetic purity and light skin/blonde hair, as this is directly harmful to the people of color who don’t sport those features.

Echo is the ARC Trooper of the team, but many fans--disabled fans especially--fear that his series of disabilities have reduced him to the “droid sidekick”. Echo does not have a prosthetic, instead sporting a scomp-arm attachment that allows him to plug into computers but would otherwise hinder him greatly in daily tasks. He rarely is the focus of an episode, and the series has not given him as much attention as it has given characters like Hunter and Omega. Disabled fans worry about the lack of attention given to his medical trauma, and fans of color note that his skin color goes beyond what a brown man who’s been without sunlight for a few months would look like.

The issues do not stop here. Asian fans noticed and were harmed by a Tiananmen Square parallel in 1x10, “Common Ground”--a recreation that was led by an Eastern Asian-coded woman. Jewish fans are hurt by the antisemitic stereotype in Cid the broker, a greedy lizard woman who speaks with an accent commonly associated with New York Jews--and who is played by Jewish actress Rhea Perlman. Black fans were harmed by the whitewashing in Saw Gererra and the one other Black character in The Bad Batch being a Black woman who works for the Empire and burns civilians alive.

The full analyses can be found in the official #UnwhitewashTBB carrd: unwhitewashthebadbatch.carrd.co. We respectfully ask that you read this carrd and give a public statement in response to these criticisms.

Our movement has only gained traction since its inception on March 30th, 2021. A few months later, we wrote and released an open letter on Change.org to be signed by supporters of #UnwhitewashTBB, and every day it gains new signatures and draws nearer to the next milestone. A survey we released over a month ago has received over 1,100 responses and also continues to climb. The latter displays a range of opinions regarding The Bad Batch, but one sentiment stands out: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Omega, and Echo are written in stereotypical and actively harmful ways. Respondents were shocked at outdated portrayals of Autism, sickened by antisemitic stereotypes, and confused at how, in this current social and political climate, a family-friendly corporation like Disney could greenlight a series that sends a message that is the complete opposite of “Star Wars is for Everyone”. Some sample responses are below:

“I would just like to elaborate on the ableism aspect. As a amputee myself, I don’t like how Echo’s trauma has been ignored. The whole reason he is with the BB is because of what he went through. Losing one limb, never mind multiple, it’s extremely difficult. They made it seem like just because his prosthetic can be of use on missions, that means he isn’t grieving the loss of his actual hand. There is no healing or evolution. It also feels wrong to only address the fact that echo uses prosthetics for the sake of hacking into machinery. Prosthetics are so personal and become a real part of who you are as a person.” - Respondent 130

“...I can't believe Star Wars is still doing this, and that an entire team of animators with a huge budget can't get skin tone right. I didn't even know the clones were supposed to have a NZ Māori accent until a friend told me. That's a big deal, since I live in NZ and hear it every day…” - Respondent 209

“As someone who is neurodivergent myself, Tech and Wrecker just. sting, you know? in a “is that really what you think of us” kind of way. I grew up in an environment where intersectional equality was heavily discussed, and I can still miss things. Having Jewish friends does not mean that Cid’s antisemitic implications can’t go right over my head until someone points them out (thank you).” - Respondent 87

“As a fan of color, its irritating and painful to watch and be brushed off as "lighting issues" and see justifications made by white fans and producers...It also feels very bad to me that TCW spent 7 seasons with several arcs emphasizing that the clones were all as individual as a 'normal' person, but then undo all that with TBB, which centers a group of "special" clones (who are suspiciously white) and have them treat the "regs" as a homogeneous group who are lesser than them, and then expect us to find it within ourselves to put that aside to enjoy the MCs. The way the treat "regs" is very offputting and it made me dislike them since their introduction...Star Wars is no stranger to racist and antisemitic media, but I must say, the blantancy of Sid, a greedy lizard who essentially financially enslaves the protaganists, being Jewish-coded and being protrayed by a Jewish voice actress is really next-level even for Star Wars. As a Jewish fan, it really grates on me.” - Respondent 40

“I’m disabled and autistic, and the ableism is appalling to watch. Watching Echo be treated as subhuman for needing machinery to survive makes me feel like having implants to keep my spine from breaking itself would have me be the pitied member of any group. I am disgusted by the blatant antisemitism, as a fair number of my friends are Jewish and it hurts me to think that people can so easily hate others based on internalized stereotypes. Me and my friends have also critically analyzed the fact that, despite being clones of a character portrayed by Temuera Morrison, for some reason the bad batch look nothing like him in any way. No resemblance in any way: just a bunch of someone’s badly worked characters fraught with disgusting writing decisions and design choices that make no sense. It makes me angry to think that the writers for this show, and to an extent any modern writer, would believe that using harmful tropes to make a story is acceptable and someone brings in profit. I tried to watch it out of fact that my family likes Star Wars and we all grew up watching it, but all of these unhealthy assumptions and terrible choices in terms of writing and design leave a bitter and nauseating feeling.” - Respondent 605

In the survey, various questions were asked about fans’ feelings about The Bad Batch. Before reading the carrd, 34.7% of fans answered that writing was their least favorite aspect of the series, with the next being the main characters. Elaborations in the following free write made clear that the whitewashing and stereotypical writing were huge factors of these opinions. One a 1 to 5 satisfaction scale, 68.1% of respondents rated their satisfaction at a 3 or lower--again, due to the whitewashing and other issues respondents perceived in The Bad Batch. When asked to analyze pre-post carrd-reading feelings regarding the above issues, every category saw a marked increase in awareness of the issue at hand. The perceived prominence of the whitewashing went from 81.3% to 91.4% in respondents. The awareness of ableism jumped almost 30%, from 52.6% to 84.4%. The majority of respondents (59%) were not aware of the antisemitism in the series, but after reading the carrd, that statistic flipped to 80.5%, a near 60% increase from the original 26.7%. Regarding the other racist issues, the respondents went from 63.1% to 83.7%.

Fans of color, neurodivergent fans, disabled fans, and Jewish fans have been waiting for the day where we can see ourselves on screen a level of attention and care that makes us feel even more at home in the Star Wars community . If Disney’s message is truly family-friendly, if Star Wars is for everyone, then Disney needs to support these views with not just words, but with actions. Resolve the racism in Star Wars: The Bad Batch, take out the antisemitism, and treat your nonwhite, disabled, and neurodivergent characters--and fans--with the respect and dignity they deserve.

This will not be a benefit solely to the fans who are asking to be represented properly. In today’s time, popular media is facing a reckoning; media that is inclusive of and respectful towards minoritized groups ends up with leagues more popularity, high ratings, and good reviews than those that don’t. A recent and prominent example is Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, a movie for which the inclusion of Asian-Americans at nearly all levels of production boosted its image and aided in its successful box office release. Black Panther is another prominent example--a movie spearheaded by Black people that completed its box office run at more than five times its initial budget in total revenue. The proper representation of people of color is a two-fold benefit.

Star Wars: The Bad Batch already has beautiful animation that reminds many longtime Star Wars: The Clone Wars fans of their childhood.

It is our hope that you will take our concerns as well as the concerns of others into account, and address the issues that we have outlined in order to better reflect the Walt Disney Company’s commitment to inclusive, diverse entertainment for audiences of all ages. Thank you for your attention to this issue.

Respectfully,

Fans of The Bad Batch

#mod CH #email #disney #star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #unwhitewashtbb #swtbb #racism #antisemitism

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marisol993 · 3 years ago

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For some time now I've seen, over and over again, that the Qunari in the Dragon Age Universe are apparently some kind of racist caricature of black people, muslims and other types of poc's, bipoc's, minorities, ....

From a personal perspective I never saw them as such, but since a personal view of things isn't very objective and can be skewed by ones life-experiances I was completely willing to admit, that I might have been wrong about that and had an opportunity to learn something new here.

The more I thought about it and critically examined this statement though, the less I agreed with any of it. Especially since a lot of arguments in favor of this view seemed to boil down to "this person of [insert relevant minority here] said so". I.e. another "personal viewpoint".

So let's get into a critical analysis of the Qunari and why I think that they are so very far removed from any kind of "minorty" (from a western point of view) coding that you couldn't even see it with the power of the Hubble and James Webb space-telescopes combined:

First of all, who are the Qunari? The Qunari are tall, medium to heavily built, horned (or unhorned, if you only played Origins) humanoids, that come in varying shades of grey skin, with whiteish hair. They are more intensly sexually dimorphic than the Dwarves, Elves and Humans of Thedas, with the males being sometimes nearly twice as wide (especially in the shoulders) and much more muscled than the females. They call themselves the Qunari as they are followers of the Qun (their guide to life and society), though the word is more of an umbrella-term, since anybody of any race is called a Qunari if they "convert" to the teachings of the Qun.

Here's a picture:

At this point some people might already remark, that the Qunari are very obviously "black-coded" since apparently nowadays any deviation from natural, real-life human skintones automatically has to mean, that the fantasy-race in question is meant to reflect black or brown people (even if they are green or bright purple), unless you literally give them a complete and utterly snow-white skintone. If that is the argument you want to go with, I would like to redirect your eyes to the picture above, as it already disproves this. As it is shown there (and in the DA:I Character-Creator), the Qunari can come in a complete spectrum of skintones (from very light grey to nearly ebony), just like all the different races of Thedas (even the dwarves for some reason, which doesn't make much sense for a race that lived underground for most of their history, but what can you do..). This basically means, that yes there are dark-skinned (or "black") Qunari, but there are also those that could be better described as "light-skinned", so the coding-qualifier goes away.

Then there are the people, who might want to say, that because they are tall and "burly", together with the unnatural skintone makes them "black-coded" which is something I never really understood, since the tallest people in the world by ethnicity are the Dutch and if you look at heights in correlation with body-weight the Russians take first place. Both countries not really know for their large populations of darkskinned-humanoids. Another coding-qualifier that goes away.

And then there are the people (who I would seriously suggest should maybe review their own "racial" views, if "black and brown people" is the first thing they think about when it comes to this), who say, that they are a stereotype of the "savages and natives", which is something that is actively contradicted in canon. One of the most prominent traits of the Qunari is that they are efficiant to a T, use every resorce at the disposal to it's maximum (including their people) and that they are more technically and scientifically advanced than many other race in Thedas (except maybe the dwarves) . This is shown through their mastery of gunpowder (which they call gaatlok) and the fact that they can use chemicals and drugs to literally warp the mind of people without needing magic. They are in no way presented as "savage" and if they are named such, it's usually by people who they are actively at war with, who want to insult them. They are also not "natives" of Thedas. Even their so called "homeland" in Thedas, which is called Par Vollen, was colonised by them, when they landed at it's shores in 6:30 Steel-Age and started converting the original population of Tevinter humans and elves, with whom they have been at war with ever since. Let me say that again: The Qunari are active colonisers and at war with the Tevinter-Imperium, who's people are the original population of the land. Not exactly a typical "native or black" stereotype in western media.

So who do I think the Qunari are actually modeled after?

Well let's summarise:

The Qunari came from across the ocean in their ships filled with cannons and guns, to colonise the land and convert the native population towards their beliefs. They are currently fighting a war against the Tevinter-Imperium, an old and powerful empire, that engages in widespread slavery and practices blood-magic by sacrificing said slaves, sometimes also to one of their many gods.

(If you can't guess who I think they are supposed to be modeled after by now, I would recommend to maybe picking up a 7th-grade history textbook again)

Yes, you can make a very strong case for the Qunari actually being these guys:

The Conquistadors (heck, if you cross out a few letters you can even anagram the word "Qunari" out of the word Conquistador). Who also came from across the sea with ships, cannons and guns to colonise the land (south- and middle-america) and convert the native population (to christianity) and fought an ancient and powerful empire with slaves and blood-sacrifices (the Aztec-Kingdoms).

So after pissing of one half of tumblr with that, let's start with the other half by talking about the apparent "muslim-coding" and how I disagree with that too.

Let's start with a rough definition of what a muslim is and how I think that that alone shows how the Qunari are in no way coded to be them:

I would define a muslim as somebody who is an active member of the religion of Islam. Islam is defined by it's holybook (the Qur'An), which was revealed to the prophet Muhammad by an all-knowing and omnipresent abrahamic god.

This in and of itself basically already disqualifies the Qunari from being "muslim-coded" since first and foremost the Qunari are not a religion. They do not have a god and they don't pray to any, the Qun is not a "holy-book" and Ashkaari Koslun (the guy who wrote it) was not a prophet, who wrote down the word of god, but a philosopher who basically crafted a "guide to life and society" with his works.

If you really wanted to find something that is slightly "muslim-coded" in the world of Thedas, you might actually have more luck with the chantry-stuff, since they do have a prophet (Andraste) who could talk to god (the Maker), they have a holy book based of her teachings (the Chant of Light) and they believe that the whole world should follow those teachings, so god will return to them (singing the Chant from all four corners of the world). They even have their own flavour of jihadist religious warfare with the Exhalted Marches (though all in all I do think that the Chantry can be better viewed as a take on christian religions since the split between the Imperial Chantry and the original one is similar to the split of the (western) christian church into catholics and protestants).

So what do I think is a better representation for the Qun in the real world?

Well lets look at it in the simplest way possible that the canon gives us:

The Qun is a guide for the life of the Qunari (the people of the Qun) that ecompasses everything from laws, legislative guides, too how society should be struktured and how everyone has to fit into and function in that society, from the most mundane and simplest tasks and jobs to it's highest administrative bodies. Everyone in this society is evaluated, so that they can be put into a position that is best suited to them and their skill-sets. There they will then each work according to their abilities and each be provided for according to their needs (see what I did there). Yes, the Qun can in my opinion be best described as a take on an authoritarian-socialist guide to life, written by somebody with a similar philosophie as Karl Marx.

So all in all, I don't think that the Qunari are in any way black-, brown-, bipoc- or muslim-coded, but a fantasy take on the Conquistadors, if instead of a bible they had all carried around "A Guide to Life, Luck and Community, written by Karl Marx (during one of his more productive weekends)", visually represented by giant Minotaur-People of many colours.

Also I find this obsession with finding every and any kind of reflexion of our real world in some random fantasy setting, by people who are most of the time actively looking to get offended by at least something and mostly every- and anything, quite contrived most of the time and that the day people on tumblr learned the word "codeing" a significant part of the internets critical-thinking skills and will just shrivelled up and died.

Thank you for coming to my TED-talk.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #qunari #the qun #thedas #tevinter imperium

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lunannex · 4 years ago

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Character Design of Latinos

by a Latina who is tired of y'all not doing your research.

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First of all, please keep in mind that I don't speak for anyone but myself. You should never stop at just one source of information, and I would honestly really advise you to listen to other Latinos —especially other Latinos of color— to hear their thoughts and perspectives as well. And second, please remember that Latino is not a race! I can't believe I even have to say this, but the term refers to anyone who is from Latin American or who has Latin American heritage or descent and should never be referenced as a race. Alright, now that that's out of the way, let's dive right into it!

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People don't seem to realize that Latinos can come in all shapes, colors and sizes. People like Sofia Vergara and Michael Peña shouldn't be your only source of reference when trying to figure out what you want your character to look like. As I mentioned here, Latinos are diverse not just in our cultures but also in our appearances and, contrary to popular belief, we're not a monolith of people that all look alike. Latin Americans, just like every other ethnic group, have an incredible amount of genetic diversity.

Don't believe me? Just look at all these people:

Now, what do they have in common? They're all Latinos. See how they all have different skin tones, facial structures, hair textures and body types? Yeah, they don't look the same to me.

A character's design can reflect their personality and give the audience a good idea of who they are as people. And just as whatever languages a Latino does or doesn't know shouldn't invalidate their identity, neither should their appearance.

The thing about character design when it comes to marginalized groups is that it goes hand-in-hand with all the stereotypes that are constantly perpetuated.

Why are Afro-Latinos only portrayed as maids, nannies or drug dealers? Why are the Latinos that look like Michael Peña portrayed as violent or lazy? Why are they always the comedic relief, immigrants or people with a lower-class status? Why are the Latinas that look like Sofia Vergara and JLo portrayed as spicy and exotic mistresses? I mean, we obviously know why, but I'm just saying, if that's what you think all Latinos are like then you are in desperate need of a wake up call.

There's this huge misunderstanding of the Latino identity. The misconception that we all have the same tanned skin tone, the same facial structures, body types, hair textures, personalities, etc. when that's...really not the case. Society has taught a lot of people that if our appearances don't fit in with this unrealistic ideal they have of us, our identities are therefore invalidated. And this misconception causes Black, Indigenous and Mixed Latinos to be underrepresented or entirely dismissed in media and society in general more often than not.

I want to add that while white Latinos' identities do get invalidated from time to time as well —I say this because one of my best friends is a white Latino but since he's, well, white, some people don't seem to believe him and just seem to think that he's joking—, it's not nearly to the same extent as the types of Latinos that I mentioned beforehand do. White Latinos still hold a lot of privilege in society despite this.

Also just an important note that you should keep in mind and take into consideration: just because a Latino is white doesn't mean that they don't or can't have features that are more frequently associated with their ethnicity.

It's alright to portray light-skinned Latinos. Like I said, we're very diverse. But you have to question your reason for making the character have that skin color. Remember, you are the creator. You're the one in control of all these decisions and if all of your characters are portrayed as light-skinned people then you really have to take a step back and reevaluate your decisions because that right there sounds a lot like colorism.

When you say you want more Latino representation, you should be referring to all kinds of Latinos. You shouldn't just mean the ones that you and the rest of society consider acceptable. And no, it's not exactly your responsibility to create diverse characters, but if you're preaching about diversity and sitting on your high horse then I sure do hope that you're willing to actually do something about it. Performative activism is harmful and, at the end of the day, does absolutely nothing if you're not willing to put the work into it.

Additionally, don't be afraid of implementing aspects of their culture into their design. Let them be proud of their culture, let them engage in it. However! Please don't take this as an excuse to center their entire personality around their culture. You may think you're doing something when, really, you aren't. You're just feeding into all the harmful stereotypes and not making any actual effort to add real depth to your character (looking at all the people that make celebrating Día de los Muertos, eating tacos, and liking "Gasolina" and "Despacito" their character's only defining personality traits).

Personally, I would love to see more of the following:

• A thin-lipped and curly-haired Latina.

• A Latino with freckles. This one may seem strange but most of the time I just see Latinos with moles, not that there's anything wrong with that (I have a lot of them myself), but it'd be nice to see some variation.

• For a Latina to be considered beautiful without being fetishized and objectified.

• A Latino who doesn't fit the "sexy macho" stereotype to be considered desirable.

• More LGBTQ+ Latinos, especially ones who are POC.

• Black, Indigenous, Asian and Mixed Latinos.

• Disabled Latinos.

• Jewish Latinos.

• Muslim Latinos.

• Latinos with different body types.

• Soft-spoken Latinos.

• Successful Latinos who are well-off.

• Latinos who are allowed to be emotionally vulnerable.

• Latinos with complex storylines and realistic flaws.

• Latinos at the center of the story instead of just existing in the background for the sake of "diversity".

• Just more positive and diverse representation overall.

There's not enough positive portrayals out there of us, and it's exhausting having to sit back and watch as my people get portrayed so negatively. Am I saying that there's no good representation out there for us? No, there absolutely is good representation (ex. In The Heights, On My Block, One Day at a Time, Coco, Miles Morales, Luz Noceda from The Owl House, the Molina family from Julie and the Phantoms, etc.), but that doesn't take away from the fact that a lot of the representation that we have throughout all types of media is, for a lack of better word, bad.

And you can't just say, "Oh, but at least you have representation, can't you be at least a little grateful? Why are you complaining so much?" because you don't get to decide what people are and aren't allowed to be upset about. Despite the positive representation that exists out there, it tends to be overshadowed seeing as a lot of people still view us through this negative lense that they've consistently been told to believe is true when it's really not.

All types of Latinos deserve to be represented in a positive light. So make sure the character you're portraying feels like an actual person as opposed to an offensive one-dimensional caricature because sometimes having bad representation is worse than having no representation at all.

#other latinos are free to add additional info btw!#i'm always a little hesitant to post these types of things but i really do feel like they're things that need to be said #anyway remember to drink your respect latinos juice please and thank you😌🔪💕#luna talks #latino #latine #latino representation #long post #diversity #character advice #writing advice #writing tips #important #also there's a reason as to why i don't personally use the term latinx but that's a topic for another day #i hope this ends up being helpful for some people and that i worded it all correctly lol #writing resources

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cyclicalaberration · 4 years ago

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Naught But A Fool In The Body Of A God

(Gore + existentialism warning) A foolish gamers... character study? I think?

Totems were funny things. Made of gold and emerald, looking both very much and not at all like their creator. You could go your entire life never seeing one of them. It is a rare person who needs to to face a powerful and dangerous raid, or to track down a mansion, all of which are filled to the brim with Illagers, just to get lucky and catch an Evoker off guard.

Totems are particular about who they save, seeming to despise their own holders. Evokers almost always held one, but they couldn’t seem to use them.

They seem almost heretical, as though Death herself is only tolerating their presence. She does not seem the type to let a method of escape slide. Though, she is simply a collector, and totems can only be used once. Perhaps she created them, to give some sense of hope as she waited at the finish line, merely extending the bridge into the void.

That is not the case, however. The creator was a young god then, full of spite and bloodlust. He carved them in his image, gave them to those who followed him through lava and storms, across oceans and land. He was not a god of death but a god of dying, a conglomerate of souls of those slaughtered in his name. He is of much the same stock as gods of war and blood, power growing from violence and destruction.

He was older, though. Older than the concept of war. War implies thought behind destruction, implies plans. Dying is a natural aspect of life. Everyone is dying, ever so slowly. He was an intermediary, an active force on the field of Death, who, for all those who fear her, is quite passive.

You, most likely, do not fear death. You cannot, for you do not know what awaits you in her loving embrace. You fear dying. Your last breath leaving your body, laying still, moving for the very last time, thinking your very last thought. You fear the unknown and the end, the change. You do not know what comes after death and that strikes fear into your heart. You do not know what it is like to take your last breath, and that haunts you.

This young god, so new and so primordial, hunted. If he stopped moving, stopped hunting, stopped killing, he’d fade away and die. He sent his followers to hunt, to pillage, his need for souls insatiable. They hunted, and they warped, skin greying and eyes darkening. They began to shift from human to something else, something other. Infused with his power, they hunted, leading groups to hunt down more sacrifices to their god.

He grew in power, grew in strength. Death herself watched, for he was just like his creations. He was a totem, serving a greater power. He was sculpted from gold, inlaid with emerald eyes, given the wings of all her favored creatures, and he engraved himself with stories of his past, his triumphs, his losses, things he wanted to hold close to him forever.

Blood runs through the canals of those engravings, a trident plunging into the chest of the next breathing mortal, and the god, whose name has been long since lost, laughs. Another one came for him, not learning the lesson of its companion, and a sword is driven through their heart, buried up to the hilt, freed moments later by the golden flames eating at its nervous system, reduced to ash in seconds. He brushes them away as one would brush away eraser shavings.

Bodies lay strewn across the field when he’s finished, a one-sided war, headed by a mortal he’s already forgotten, over some sin he no longer cares to remember.

A chuckle rings out from behind him, and he whirls, sword drawn. “That’s quite the display.”

They were half-buried in a fog, extremities concealed in the mist that he knows for a fact wasn’t there. Their eyes glow with hunger, with spite, with a thousand emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. It hurts to look them in the eyes too long.

“A lot of flair for some bodies nobody will even see. Nobody but me, of course.”

“What can I say, I’m an artist.”

“Or a zealot.”

“What’s the difference? You won’t have the breath to tell anyone.” He swings his sword, runes glowing. Whoever they are, they will soon be ash, soaked by their own fog, as fire eats them from the inside out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My father wouldn’t be happy, he’s not nearly as forgiving as me.” He whirls again, seeing white eyes and a ruffled shirt, mere feet from his face, leaning back against nothing. He gets the feeling that they’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he chokes, breaking his gaze away from swirling, dancing white, blank but never empty.

“How-”

“Foolish, that’s what you are. A fool.” The mortal- No, they are not mortal. No mortal stares a god in the eyes and calls him a fool. “Why do you fight?”

His companion smirks at him. He grins right back, rows of teeth glinting in the light of the enchanted blades. Centuries of fighting together made them a well practiced dance, a machine of blood and souls. Three arrows pierce the hearts of the guards, falling wordlessly from their towers. That’s all the warning they get. Before the night is out, blood flows so thick it sits for years, soaking the wood and drowning the now-ashen grass.

His companion’s footsteps wither and rot the wood on which they stand, warping it beyond recognition. They work their way to the center of the fortress, people charging to their deaths, impaled, sometimes, by naught but the thorny whips of their enchanted armor.

The stone crumbles beneath their feet, and the god would feel the effects, if he were not himself a statue, life breathed into him by the very goddess who steals it, made of pure gold, which doesn’t tarnish, doesn’t decay. Tapestries crumble to dust as his companion runs their hand along them. The god tosses a mortal to the side, its body lying crumpled, its soul buzzing as he adds it to his own. Another voice layered over his own, another voice to buzz with every angry word.

His companion grips a guard by their chin and laughs as it crumbles to dust beneath their hands.

The general of the army falls, and they dance in the blood of their enemies, spin in the blood of their victims. The hem of the smaller god’s dress sprays droplets of blood as they twirl, the god of dying laughing as his friend grabs his hands, dancing in victory, in elation, in completion. They propel themself into the air and spin him. They move as a unit, as they did in the heat of battle.

Later, the god will sit, stare at his companion, and say “You once asked me why I fight.” That day is not today. Today they will both fight, dance in the blood of their enemies, and move on, the fortress a shell of its former self, growing over with vines, breaking apart.

Two gods, a god of dying and a god of withering and ash, rest in a small village on the bank of a river. The withering god rests against a tree, long ago struck with lightning, telling a story to the village children, as the god of dying laughs, interrupting them with his own commentary on just how comically wrong they’re telling it.

It has been decades since they drew first blood, traveling for weeks at a time, collecting, remembering, rather than destroying. Fights found them, of course, mobs never learn, but fewer mortals have fallen to their stained hands in the past century than in their best year previous.

They still delight in the occasional bloodbath, if the chance arises, but as the world shifts towards calm, they drift away from senseless slaughter and towards traveling.

They pass by cities, or the ruins of what once were, and they ask themselves, “Was that our doing?” and they do not know, hundreds of civilizations having fallen to their blades, their arrows, and their fire.

But they sit, ancient, immortal warriors, telling stories to children, their hands still caked in more blood than these children will ever see.

Later, the god of dying will say to his companion: “I fight because destruction is control. Nothing exists that I cannot destroy, nothing exists that I cannot control,” but that day is not today. Today they laugh at incorrect accounts of tales they experienced, true histories lost, new memories formed. Today the god of withering and ash closes their eyes, and the god of dying makes the skies dance with light for the descendants of people they long-ago killed.

Later they will reflect. Today they will reminisce.

Two gods part ways, on a mission from Death. They will meet again, but it will not be the same. The god of dying, of storms, and of the ocean and all that that entails smiles down on his old friend, their white eyes glowing with hundreds of memories.

“I’ll see you soon, Old Pal.”

“See you soon.” They turn down different roads, one a path of explosions, of wars, of power-grabs and monarchies, and one down a path of self-reflection.

Their paths take them to the same destination: Redemption. Neither take the same road there, and neither path is straight, but it never is. And redemption is a place not easily found, but easily lost, easy to slip back into old ways for moments at a time, on a godly timescale.

The god of dying takes the name Foolish, a reminder of his past. He arrives in a strange land, full of holes and trauma and death. The place reeks of hubris. It makes him sick. It makes him hungry. The hunger curls in his stomach and the stench gives him a sickening headache, so he runs. Runs far away, and he builds.

Builds for control, builds for stability. Builds are his one constant, gigantic pyramids and sculptures and he can’t stop. His temple expands. A man, a man he has seen, a man who feels like too much and too little, too much in one body, a vacuum and a black hole, asks him for a kingdom. Simple enough. A child approaches him, telling him to build a mansion, a mansion larger than a country, for him, his husband and their son. He will be paid. He is not paid nearly enough.

A demon, a cat, and a not-quite-human man encroach on his summer home. They reek of vines and death, and Foolish loses his composure. They doubt his power. They threaten his home and he smiles with too many teeth and grows, grows to his full size. His eyes glow. They taunt him, threaten him.

“I’m a peaceful man, Ponk. But if I must defend myself, I can.”

“Defend yourself against this, then, Foolish.” Ponk hurls a trident at him, glancing off him, a mortal not strong enough to pierce his skin. He’s a fool, more a fool than the man who took it as his name. That is his weapon, carved of prismarine and ivory, more his domain than any other. For a moment, the god tastes blood.

“I may be a totem of undying, but in the past, I have been a totem of death.” He calls power to his fingertips, lightning in his eyes. “It’s not just one thing, Ponk. It's never just one thing. Have you ever tasted lightning? Smelt the ozone in the air, seen it dance across your skin before you black out from the pain?”

“Do you see where we are, Foolish?” In Ponk’s mind, the name is fitting. He has never seen a storm called from nothing before. Never seen a storm called at all, only harnessed. He disbelieves.

“It does not matter. A sunny day does not matter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me show you.” He smiles, rows of teeth bloodied with the lives of thousands, millions of mortal souls. His voice layers, thousands of voices, screaming to be heard. The crack of lighting lands mere feet from the three. “Now begone from this place, and I don’t ever want to see you here again, am I clear?”

The vines must be resolved. The egg continues to hunger, but he has hope, hope that there is a piece of mortal soul left in them, a piece of morality that wishes to be free. He does not give up hope.

The gods’ paths cross again in a city, the totem and the king. A city drowning in red, twisting, oozing vines, calling out for blood. They spend hours weeding, burning red vines and laughing. His friend no longer flies, his friend hides their once-beautiful eyes, but they’re the same. They do not remember him, but they are the same.

“Foolish, have I ever shown you my eyes?” Of course they have, and he says as much. “I’m going to show you again, just in case.” Their eyes dance, with confusion and worries, and a deep-seated fear of rejection.

“Yeah, that’s the Eret I’m thinking of! The one with white eyes, the one with the netherite armor!” Foolish looks concerned, but this is nothing that they can’t fix. They’ve fought armies together, a few missing memories aren’t going to make him give up on them.

They attend a banquet. They dance for the first time in centuries, spinning in circles to the music played by that infernal catmaid. They attend a banquet and it goes south, hard, as all parties attended by gods do. It goes south and he makes use of his totem nature, wrapping around their heart, taking their place. They will not die to the monstrous egg before they get to dance together, and reminisce.

Soon, the god will say to his old friend, that he builds to replace. He builds to counteract the destruction he caused, and it will not replace the lives lost, but it adds something new, something beautiful to this harsh reality, but that is not the truth. The truth is, he creates for the same reason he destroyed.

Soon a mortal man in a cardboard mask will tell him that he let him die. Soon, he will be taunted by a mortal man, full of hubris, who says that his builds mean nothing, are nothing, bring nothing to the world, and a part of him will think the mortal man is right. A part of him whispers that he is selfish. That his ways are wrong. That he must pick up the sword once again, bleed mortals for their souls.

He will shove that part deep inside, and he will remind the man that no good comes of blood. He will tell the man that he too once believed that death was the answer, death would give control, but he will tell the man that he was wrong, and that he will be too.

You either die a monster, vengeful and wicked, or you grow. You adapt, you create, you reconcile. Some may never forgive, but many will. Mortals only get one lifetime, he must make the most of it.

He will not say that though. He will sit up against the side of his sphynx and sew hundreds of thousands of tiny dolls, breathing life into each one, giving each one a small hard hat and a job, so he will never be alone. He will build, children safe in the ender cradle, and he will give himself time to think. He will stop moving, for one moment, and he will not die. He may be the god of the seas, but he is not a shark. He keeps moving, a perpetual motion machine, purely out of fear of what his own thoughts bring, and he truly lives up to the name given to him so long ago. Foolish. For he is naught but a fool in the body of a god.

#Foolish Gamers #Foolish G #dsmp foolish #dream smp #dream smp fic #Foolish gamers fic #dsmp #dsmp eret #eret #Eternal duo #ponk #dsmp ponk #Anyway I'd love it if you could reblog? It'd make me really happy #and I love seeing y'all's comments #mic writes #< keep forgetting to use that tag f

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haloud · 3 years ago

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 11

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Jones lets Michael in on a secret.

Excerpt:

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

Thursday, 8:30 am

Wiping his hand across his forehead, Michael squinted down into the guts of the Acura that was his latest patient. An easy fix, the job should have been done half an hour ago, but Michael’s mind wandered mercilessly, pulling his eyes to empty space, turning his thoughts to white noise worse than the static on Sanders’s busted radio blaring out oldies from the office. With a final jerk of his wrench, he declared the Acura done and dropped the hood, pacing over to his water and taking a swig. The water did little to cool him off; he paced back to the next car of the day, popped it open, and immediately slammed it shut again with a frustrated sigh.

Fuck, he’d barely been here an hour; he had a backlog a dozen deep or more; what the fuck was wrong with him?

No breeze disturbed the air or lifted the heat, already heavy on the skin even in the early morning. On a normal day, Michael worked methodically in the peace, savoring the solitude, time slipping away under the satisfaction of skill applied and challenge met. No matter how much Sanders griped, Michael always got the job done and the customer satisfied, keeping the lights on, no matter how old and dusty they might be. But today, Michael couldn’t reach that meditative place; his skin crawled in the silence, and his teeth grit at every sound.

Walk. He needed to—walk, exercise off some of this nervous energy. He’d been cooped up after Jones, too long, his feet restless, buzzing all in his veins. It was too early for him to take a break without catching shit from Sanders, but he’d live; Michael would work late, maybe, after the strategy meeting, however long it took, to make up for it. Right now, he couldn’t stay, penned in by the junkyard fence, rattling around in it like a caged dog.

A mile in, Michael realized he had a direction. The buzzing inside him tuned to a frequency, and he followed it, a call sense-familiar, a call like the one that bound him to Max and Isobel and them to their pods, a full-body variation on the sensation of touching alien tech.

Shading his eyes, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed Isobel—nothing. No signal. Of course. With no way to know if this call resonated in Max and Isobel too, he couldn’t do anything but continue on into the desert, following a familiar heading. On foot, it might take hours. It might mean everyone coming to meet him and him not being there, everyone panicking, Alex, panicking. Could he really do that to them again? Reckless, irresponsible, selfish—but none of those thoughts penetrated past the ineffable signal, and Michael walked, to the source of it, the origin.

The cave, at least, dewed cool and refreshing, sheltered from the sun and sand. Michael’s lungs thanked it too, a sanctuary from the hot late morning filling them every step of his trek. Once inside, it was only a short distance to the pod chamber, where Michael stopped.

What the fuck? Like coming out of a trance, Michael whirled around to see the way he came, no memory of it but the body-memory of aching feet.

Nothing there. The pods shimmered on. They had no answers; they weren’t even asking him why he was there, though he asked them. Silence.

Michael crossed the cave and stood in the center of the triad. First, he touched the pod that held Isobel for their new life and held her against death, running his fingers along the cool, frictionless surface. Next, he caressed Max’s pod, and finally, he stood in front of his own, if he could call it a possession, and slid his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m here,” he said aloud. “What, did you need something? Spit it out.” He snorted.

“Michael?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, but turned on his heel as his mind caught up with his instinct.

“Max!” he called back. “Dude, what the fuck are we doing out here? Have you talked to Isobel—”

The entrance to the pod cave was short, barely a crevice in the rock that held this chamber, unlike the deeper mines and systems that dotted these hills. Sound traveled fast from the entrance, and so did feet.

It wasn’t Max.

“Michael,” Jones said solemnly, with a shake of his head and a cluck of his tongue. “It disappoints me to have to call you out like this. I thought, after the conviction you showed last time, that you’d return for another lesson.”

“Jones,” Michael replied, taking a step back.

“We could have walked here together; I have plenty of stories to tell to pass the time.”

“Why did we have to walk here at all?” Michael demanded.

“You may have experienced the joys of traversal, but it isn’t something to be done lightly. It takes a great deal of energy and mental focus and fortitude—”

“I’m not talking about walking,” Michael snapped, “I’m talking about here. Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Well, call me curious,” Jones replied pleasantly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to circle the trio of pods. “I had such a small sample of the woman’s handiwork to study during my confinement, I had to see her stasis pods for myself. The craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

He gave Max’s pod a condescending pat. Michael clenched his fists.

“Most pods have a tendency to decay or have a decaying effect on their inhabitants.” Jones continued his circuit of the pods, passing Isobel’s. Michael stepped to the side so they circled each other, unwilling to let him too close. “But the timed release on these specimens taught them to ration their energy, and here they are, close to a century after crash-landing. Remarkable.”

“Are you telling me my mother built our pods herself?”

“Built, engineered, programmed, grew…” Jones waved a hand. “All of the above. Don’t be so limited in your thinking; you know better than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I thought we were getting to know each other quite well. How has Max been lately?”

“Shut up,” Michael snarled.

Jones chuckled. “That’s no way to speak. I didn’t come just to monologue; I came to give you a gift.”

He stopped beside Michael’s pod, and Michael stopped when he did. The entrance to the cave was at Michael’s back; he should cut and run from this vantage and let Jones do whatever he wanted with the pods—but in the middle of the desert, where was he supposed to go? His phone still had no signal, and there was nothing for miles. It would be child’s play for Jones to catch him. Or Jones would wait until Michael was home, until he thought he was safe, and crawl inside his mind to pull him out again. Was anywhere safe? Could Michael be trusted now, or was Jones inside him, somewhere beneath his skin, a trigger buried beneath Michael’s jumbled memories of that day waiting to be tripped?

“When I first came to make my observations, something clever caught my eye.”

Laying a hand on the surface of the pod, Jones’s eyes gleamed as a symbol drew itself beneath his touch, the familiar three-pronged alien sigil.

“It was on the door to your cave,” Michael said. “We’ve seen it our whole lives. You know what it means?”

“Of course. But that can wait. Come closer.”

Michael stalked a few feet, still keeping a wide berth. As he approached, one side of the symbol burned brighter, a circle with a bold, askew cross within. Jones touched a few more symbols in sequence as they rose to the surface.

“If you had persevered through your ordeal instead of running straight to Max, you would be able to read this,” Jones said idly.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘gee, Michael, sorry for the attempted murder.’”

“Apologize?” Jones still didn’t look at him, face impassive, barely a flicker of irritation passing across it. If Michael didn’t know Max so well, he would know nothing about this man at all. “What good is an apology? I told you before—pain is an excellent teacher. Of course, there are those who disagree.”

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

“I hope you never hear this, darling,” Nora said. Or—she didn’t speak, but Michael heard her all the same.

She said, “I hope the journey goes smoothly and we land softly in a new life, and my attempts to find some kind of goodbye can just be deleted like a bad dream. But I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams, baby, and I can’t let this go without a contingency.” She huffed a short sigh. “So here I am.

“You’re sleeping in your room right now. You know its your last night in your little bed, but I’m not sure it’s sunk in exactly what that means. Is it wrong that I’m glad for it? I don’t want you to be afraid. I never want that.

“But if you’re seeing this, it means I’ve likely already failed on that front, so what is there to say except I’m sorry? I’m so sorry, baby, if you’re seeing this. I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you without holding you in my arms—these words, these feelings, they aren’t enough. Nothing I say could be enough. But baby, just know that you are the only thing in my heart. Your brilliant mind, your big heart, you are so wonderful, and having you in my life has been my life’s greatest blessing. No matter what, I know you’re out there—even if the worst comes to pass, even if you’re out there alone, even if you come to hate me for abandoning you, any word with you in it is worth saving, no matter what else has been destroyed.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, my son. I’ll love you even more tomorrow, for every day we’re together and every day we’re apart. Goodbye, and goodnight.”

Nora’s form reduced to gold once more, sinking back into the pod, and the silence that followed sucked everything in with it, sucked the air straight from Michael’s lungs. The whole world blurred behind his eyes, his left hand clawing over his chest, over his racing heart, his mouth working to find the words, words his mother hadn’t even known in the much more primal language of thought and emotion sown softly directly into his mind.

He'd felt, all these things, all those emotions she spoke of, hand to hand, through the grime and glass, condensed into one split-second, the atom before the bomb. The love, she’d poured it into him, a vessel too cracked and flawed to hold it. Would having words put to it help him understand? Lyrics to the harmony and melody?

“Touching,” Jones murmured.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael said, voice cracked to pieces.

“What? I mean it. A mother’s love. No force like it in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Jones began to circle again, approaching Michael.

“That love brought you here across the stars. Would you like to thank her? Or condemn her? She left you the burdens you bear, after all.”

“It’s not her fault the military locked her up and tortured her!” Michael shouted, a boom to his voice that shook the cave around them, shedding dust like the old days, when Michael’s rage moved furniture and shook art from the walls and moved minds to thoughts of hellfire.

“You really don’t hold a grudge? Not even in the slightest?”

“Why do you care? You hated her, right? Because she got one over on you, she got Max away from you. And she outsmarted you again here on Earth.”

At that, Jones sighed. He took a step closer, and this time Michael stood his ground, his mother-made pod at his back. Jones’s eyes shone glassy in the low, shifting light.

“Thank you, Michael, for that eloquent declaration of your loyalties. I’m disappointed in you, but it does uncomplicate things.”

He flicked his hand and Michael flew across the cave, head slamming sickly into the wall, like Michael had flung Jones when he fled from him the last time. As the world swam and a hot trickle wound down the back of Michael’s neck, Jones approached leisurely.

“See, for a sec, I thought the soft approach was working on you, Michael. I thought my charm was still good, even after all these years. You want to learn. You want the knowledge, the understanding. You want to stand in the light of the truth. Don’t you?”

Michael spat, and Jones ground him a few feet up the wall, his back scraping stone inch by jagged inch.

“So loyal. So dedicated. There is so damn much of that woman in you, no matter what kind of taint this rat-hole planet has left you with, human.”

The word oozed off his tongue like a slur.

A sneer on his face, Jones continued, “I hope it gives you solace while it can. I know it has a certain soothing effect on my own guilty conscience.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Michael gasped out. He flung his mind at every loose object around him, but nothing budged, his powers weak and fickle and inadequate.

In rage, they’d never failed him. But beneath his placid face, in Jones was something stronger than Michael, stronger than rage. But not stronger than Michael’s mother; not stronger than Nora Truman; not stronger than her by any other name she may have claimed in languages Michael would never speak.

Jones wasn’t stronger than her. So Michael would find a way. She sacrificed too much for him to give up now.

“Even on this life-forsaken psych-dumb wasteland planet, you have to understand that there are crimes and there are punishments,” Jones seethed. His composure was cracking, the man they’d first met in that cave pushing through the veneer he’d constructed over the months he’d been among them. He didn’t wait for Michael to respond, ranting on, “She stole from me. Ran from me, a fucking pirate! She stole my healer! My people! My heir. She had no right! And, not content in her flagrant audacity, she put me in a fucking hole in the ground! There are crimes and punishments. But she is beyond me now.”

Michael’s back lifted from the wall and slammed down again. He groaned as his vision went gray and his stomach heaved.

“She got what was coming to her. A fitting enough end, destroyed by the world she thought would hide her. But how can I be satisfied without a little vengeance of my own? Now that I’ve seen her message, my path at last is clear. You’ll do.”

The invisible iron bars pinning Michael six feet in the air disappeared, and he slumped to the hard-packed floor, air sawing through his chest, ribs screaming with every wheeze.

“Wouldn’t she be proud to see you now,” Jones murmured, and everything went dark.

When Michael came to, the world swam dim and gold into view, and squinting and wincing it took him a full minute to absorb his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground beneath the ladder of his workshop. Every bone and muscle ached; every breath seared inside him and ached its way back out.

“Michael! There you are. For a moment I was afraid in my excitement you’d gotten a little ahead of me,” Jones cried jubilant from across the room.

Staggering to his knees, Michael groaned, “Don’t fucking touch—how do you even—know this—”

“Either I plucked it out of your ripe mind when you offered it to me or I know someone who knows you,” Jones said. Something clanked as he tossed it. “Believe whichever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

He flung the tarp from Michael’s worktable, baring the console skeleton before his greedy eyes.

“This—” He laughed. “You truly are a marvel, you stupid boy. What I wouldn’t give for time and space to study you. Mold you. It’s almost a pity.”

“If Max is what you want, he’ll never forgive you if you kill me,” Michael slurred.

“Max is a piece of the puzzle. One piece,” Jones said. “And there have to be three. Or hasn’t anyone told you?”

Jones whirled away and went back to rifling through Michael’s papers, muttering to himself. Inching a little more upright, Michael craned his neck to look at the opening to the bunker, thrown wide, sunlight streaming down. He blinked in the sunlight piercing his pounding head, frantically trying to calculate the time. How close were they to crossing paths with everyone? Had Michael’s stupid wandering called the fox right in? Alex, Isobel, Max, Maria—

“I know, I know, no time to waste,” Jones said. “As entertaining as your little drawings are. We have things to be getting on with.”

With one hand, he seized the console, and with the other, he seized Michael, seized each of his organs in brutal turn, Michael sputtering and choking, writhing for relief that wouldn’t come, a beetle crushed beneath a boot.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

#malex fic #my fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #mr. jones

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plumrabbit · 4 years ago

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DA Fandom and moving forward - Calling In vs. Calling Out

Hi everyone,

As a PoC member of the DA fandom, I felt I have been quiet for long enough on the issues that have been presented recently. I am not here to argue against or on behalf of any individual or group, I am only here to present some information that I hope will be helpful moving forward. This is a long post, but it’s my hope that if you read it and want to help contribute to making this place better for everyone, then you will be willing to try to put what is said here into practice.

Since I am a relatively small blog, I wanted to start with a little personal introduction that will segue into the topic at hand. My name is Liz (you can call me Jade too, that’s part of my middle name), and I am a mixed race, “ambiguously brown”, aspec person from Canada. I grew up around mostly other immigrant families, attended predominantly non-white schools that were run by mostly white admins, and completed my degrees at a very white university in a field that does not have much racial diversity. I have experienced racism first-hand many times including, but not limited to, name-calling/slurs, fetishization/exotification, being followed by staff, people second-guessing my name, jokes about hurting/killing people of my race, etc. as well as witnessing racism directed at my friends and peers. I know exactly what it’s like to be exhausted and feel unsafe or othered. There is, however, one thing I need to point out about the multitude of instances of racism I’ve experienced - most of them were caused by ignorance, and not malice. Yes there are absolute assholes out there, but personally I can count those people I’ve encountered on one hand (I am not speaking for everyone, though). The vast majority of racism, bigotry and general harmful acts come from a place of ignorance, particularly on left-leaning tumblr (to clarify, this discussion is centered around well-meaning people and not the actual lost causes). When I say ignorance, I don’t mean a lack of education or intelligence, I mean not being able to see or understand an issue from another person’s perspective. It’s not quite the same as empathy either (where empathy means you are able to feel another person’s emotions), but fighting ignorance does require empathy. It also requires knowledge on the context of the specific situation, and that I believe is the crux of the problem. I think the main reason why this is issue is particularly prevalent in the DA fandom is a result of the too-close-to-reality-to-ignore inspirations that have been confirmed by the devs. Yes, it’s fiction, but there are also a lot of people that see themselves (mis)represented in the themes and characters. And what one person sees as disrespectful, another person may not see at all. This can come full circle, too, for example: one person sees themselves and their trauma represented in a character, another person sees their race misrepresented in the same character. Person 1 uses the character as a comfort character or coping strategy. Person 2 thinks using that character in certain situations is disrespectful. Neither one sees the other’s perspective. This is where intersectionality starts to come into play, and requires empathy and effort to address the intentions and emotions of the other person. Perhaps person 1 is LGBTQ+ and has been traumatized by being as such, and uses Dorian as a character to explore their trauma. Perhaps person 2 is Brown, and racism towards their people is their trigger, and thinks person 1 did not do Brown representation justice in their creative works. Looking at this more specifically, person 1 may have put Dorian in sexual situations. Person 2 feels that the way it was conveyed was fetishist or exotified. Person 2 doesn’t know person 1′s intentions. Person 1 is not aware of certain descriptions that are racist (e.g. using food to describe a PoC’s skin tone). Perhaps person 1 was self-inserting and wanted to feel desirable on their own terms, but this gave person 2 that squick factor. Now person 2 wants to address this issue, and I think this is where a call-in (not a call-out) would be appropriate. Here is a good infographic that compares the two:

(Original source)

Note that there is quite a large difference in the language used. Going back to the above example, person 2 could privately message person 1 asking them why they chose to represent Dorian the way they did, with specific examples, and using call-in language (and I’m going to get back to this in a minute).

The point of this post and infographic isn’t meant to tell marginalized groups how they should be bringing up issues (though it is a good guide if you are concerned about being polite, particularly to a first time offender), it’s intended to demonstrate to people unintentionally participating in harmful behaviour what a call-out vs. call-in looks like. For PoC and other marginalized groups, yes it does take emotional labour to use call-in language and to try to understand someone that wounded you (here is a good read that incorporates the concept of emotional labour for call-ins, and discusses asking yourself if you are ready to do so). For the people who have unintentionally hurt a marginalized individual or group, please understand that someone calling you in is not an attack, it’s a chance to explain why you expressed something the way you did.

That being said, we may have reached another hurdle. What if you call someone in, and the person called in does not want to discuss the fact that they were inserting their personal trauma? I think this is where things start to get a bit messy, but I am of the opinion that if you’ve unintentionally triggered someone else’s trauma through ignorance present in your work, you owe it to them to at the very least mention that you were inserting your trauma, without having to bring up specifics (anyone is allowed to set boundaries). From there, the discussion can be hopefully be opened up to learning from each other, and reaching a consensus. Sometimes that consensus requires the creator to edit or remove their work. As an addendum, if you are a creator that unintentionally hurt someone with your work that didn’t have an ulterior personal motivation, it’s your responsibility to understand why what you did was wrong, apologize, remove the work and do better next time. I know some people cherish their OCs, but you are allowed to change your perspective and make adjustments to your character without erasing them entirely. Now we’ve reached another potential obstacle - what if an offender doesn’t respond to your call-in? First of all, ask yourself, did you actually call them in, or did you attack them? Here is a good opinion piece from a Black professor on this matter. I’d like to clarify that I am not trying to tone police, I am speaking as someone that used to go ham on ignorant people on Facebook and Reddit, and has since changed their tactics and has even gotten through to Trump supporters (some of this stems from my spiritual growth as well, but that is not the point here). There is another issue to address here now as well - what if you have tried, repeatedly, to call someone in and they just don’t change their behaviour? Alright, then it’s probably time to call them out. But again, ask yourself, did you truly try to get through to them? If so, well, at the end of the day, some people are, unfortunately, lost causes. In summary, a call-in is meant to come from a place of wanting to help someone who has seemingly gone astray, because you are worried about their thoughts, feelings, and behaviours towards a marginalized group. You know that if they made a mistake it isn’t them, isn’t their heart, and you want them to be able to understand why what they did hurt others, and give them the chance to correct themselves. It comes from a place of love and acceptance, because you don’t want your friends to harbour negative beliefs. Finally, I want to give a real example of this in action. My cousin is a photographic artist, and was recently called in to discuss the nature of one of her pieces. Her subjects are usually people, and they come from a wide variety of backgrounds. To help support BLM (she does a lot of work to help fight racism in general), she auctioned off one of her pieces. The subject of the piece happened to be a Black woman. She was called in by Black members of her art community to discuss how people bidding on an art piece that featured a person from a marginalized group perpetuated the ogling and monetization of Black people. She gave a response that acknowledged that her piece did perpetuate this issue, because she wanted to raise awareness of this historical harm, and recognized that her intention was ignorant of this perspective. The Black community also acknowledged that the piece itself was not harmful in any way, only that the surrounding issue that they were painfully aware of needed to be brought to light. The auction went ahead, and the piece sold for ~$1000, all of which was donated to BLM. I think as a fandom we should be cognizant of when a work itself is harmful, or when the intention is harmful. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don’t. Both are talking points, and we should not be afraid to discuss them, but this requires respect from all parties. We also do need to be able to recognize what is strictly fiction, versus what has real-world impacts. My askbox is always open and my DMs are open to mutuals if you would like anything clarified or expanded upon. Or, if you’d just like to discuss a topic, vent, or have any questions about my own beliefs, you are welcome to reach out. I am happy to discuss anything, as long as there is mutual respect.

#fandom critical #da fandom #da fandom critical #fandom racism #tw: racism #tw: trauma #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #call out culture

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horrorslashergirl · 3 years ago

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Marigold Baby Raquel Buchanan

Authors Note: It's me and Dallas Buchanan's ( @slashersins OC) Daughter!

Name: Marigold Baby Raquel Buchanan

Nicknames: Mari, Baby, Rocky, Eagle, Terra, Goldie Locks (Not advised to call her that), Columbiana (She loves that movie)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Demisexual and Bisexual

Nationality: American, Romanian, German, Hungarian

Languages: English, Romanian, Spanish, Italian, Russian

Voice: Marigold has a much classic American accent that could be described as a Californian one; her voice has a calm husky feminine tint, that tends to get deeper if she speaks passionately about certain opinions or believes. When her temper hits hard, her Romanian roots hit hard into the accent and her voice could be described then as the loud chirping of a mighty eagle before its hits their prey.

Occupation: Horse Riding Instructor and part-time independent Tattoo Artist

Hair: Her long blonde hair reached down to her hips, curly and wild, usually, most of the time its put into beautiful double dutch braids, but she also wears it from time to time in different styles. On some basis, she will wear flowers through her braids.

Eyes: Blue with a speak of greenish tint if you look closely, kind of like how the planet earth is viewed

Height: 5'5

Body: Slim Fit from Horse Riding. She may not have the biggest upper strength, but she does have quite the stamina. Also, her body (full-sleeve arms, hands, and legs) are covered in many tattoos; nature-based ones, ancient ones, quotes with deep meaning, and her most beloved tattoo is the one of Horus, an Egyptian God.

Clothing: Marigold loves warmer colors and likes ones of all shades of grey, pastel blue, white, light, or dark beige, maybe some baby pink accents, but she also loves to wear medieval-style clothing in darker shades of colors like black, dark brown or midnight blue, but she prefers the calmer colors. She likes comfortable and practical clothing; knitted sweaters or white turtle-necks, leggings or jeans, knitted cardigans, medieval-style boots, and warm UGGs. She also loves to wear pastel blue or grey jackets.

Weapons/Fighting style: Automatic Crossbow, Classic-style bow with arrows, bowie knife (she uses it mostly for woodcarving) but if times call for drastic measures she won't hesitate to use it, Judo-style fighting and combat fighting, Her Horse Lightning

Motive of killing: She is more of a creator than a destroyer, but that doesn't mean she will close her eyes when injustice has been done; like animal/child abusers or people who use nature for their selfish gains, along with outsiders who hurt her family

Preferred Method of Kill: Her favorite way of killing is definitely not a fast one; she will shot arrows through the knees of her victim, automatically incapacitating them, then she will ride with her horse, Lightning, to the said victim and stomp the person to death with her horse. Horses are powerful animals, heavy and strong legs, crushing the said person's bones and muscles with the hoves until they are nothing but a pile of flesh and bones.

Scent: Top notes tingle with fresh and sweet accords of bergamot and raspberry tea. A heart is floral and opulent with intensive, sweet, and pure Sambac jasmine, seductive Centifolia rose, freesia, and Cattleya orchid. Musk and patchouli in a base wrap her with an oriental scent, while its milky and powdery notes gently fondle her skin.

Personality:

Marigold is a calm, collected, and creative woman with a wild freedom edge, more so a creator than a destroyer.

Ever since she was little, she showed strong independent traits, not necessarily being antisocial, but more so independent by asking her father, Dallas, to teach her all sorts of stuff; from cooking to building all kinds of constructions (like a stable for her horse), teaching her woodcarving and how to handle and use a knife.

To the outsiders, she may seem very sarcastic, blunt, and brutally honest. If she has a certain opinion, she will make it known, she isn't the type to beat around the bush. To her family, friends, and close relatives she is warm and caring, and she will always be there to give them advice and to support them during hard times. If she will sense a non-right being down, she will be the first one to step in and correct it. She is the type of woman 'who fights for the rights of people' if you can say that.

Marigold is the type of woman that isn't bothered or afraid to get her hands dirty; most of her activities being archery, horse riding, exploring the nature and collecting all kind of things like pinecones and acorns for her arts and crafts. She is definitely an outside person and you will rarely see her inside, even if it's raining. You will see her entering the house all wet and muddy from riding her beloved horse into the rain.

She is a creative creature by nature; loving to create tattoo designs (she has shelves upon shelves in her bedroom with sketchbooks sorted by tattoo types), she also makes wooden roses and paints them (the shelves in her bedroom are adored by many bouquets she created), using pinecones, acorns, bells, and wires to create natural windchimes and let's not forget about woodcarving.

The blonde also beholds quite a dark bad temper that rarely explodes, but when it does, a rain of arrows shall fly. Usually, it happens when guys are flirting with her and she bluntly tells them to 'fuck off', only for them not to catch it, then she won't hesitate to pull out the heavy artillery.

She can be described as confident in her abilities, especially archery, but one thing she is insecure about is displaying her feelings for someone she likes/loves. She can get very shy and flustered around a guy she truly likes and will have a hard time trying to confess, but once the relationship is established, she will be loyal, caring, and absolutely devoted to said relationship. She may not display it through long speeches of love, but more so through actions. She is a woman of action.

Favorite Drink: Raspberry Lemonade (Non-Alcoholic), Funkwerks Raspberry Provincial 6 sour based beer infused with fresh raspberry puree, which gives the beer a tart, refreshing finish (Alcoholic)

Favorite Food: Texas-Style Barbecue and Raspberry Pie

Favorite Movies: Marigold has quite a taste for adventure movies along with the Disney movies she watched as a child and still does as an adult. Her favorite movie that brought her passion for archery is Brave; other favorite Disney movies being Mulan and Spirit, which brought her love for horses. She also enjoys the movie series Pirates of Caribbean, the action movie Columbiana. She also watches the Avengers, mostly because of the character Hawkeye, which she had a crush on in her earlier teenager-years.

Favorite Music Genre: Country-rock, Pop-Rock, Post-Grunge

Her relationship with her parents:

Her relationship with her parents it's one based on love, affection, and communication, always there to guide Marigold through her life when she needs it and spending as much time with her in forms of all kind of activities.

She has a special bond with her father, Dallas, always there to teach her all kinds of stuff; how to build stuff, how to cook, teaching her how to ride a horse. She may not ride bulls, but she does ride horses; the rider's gene running through her blood. She also adores when Dallas braids her long golden hair, and especially when he puts beautiful flowers through her braids.

Dallas is basically making all her wishes come true, but also making her responsible and work for what she loves. A prime example would be when Marigold stated that she wanted a horse; Dallas didn't say no, but he did tell her that they will build the stable together and she will have to take care of the horse because it's hers and her responsibility.

Both parents support and encourage her passions; horse riding, archery, tattooing. They want to see her glow in the most beautiful way through what she loves and they will always be her cheerleaders.

Marigold loves her parents dearly and will display it by giving them wooden bouquets of roses, spending time with them, and wanting to learn from them. As I said, she displays her love through actions.

Her father holds a special place in her heart.

Symbols:

Eagle- As a powerful animal, the Eagle is most frequently associated with wisdom and freedom, and Marigold values these things with her full heart. The feeling of freedom is something she enjoys each day, exploring and setting her passions out to display her skills. She can be quite a wise person, always telling someone if they are doing wrong, like a warning, to prevent the said person to get hurt (This mostly applies to family, friends, close relatives).

Horse- courage, and freedom are the main characteristics of the horse, and that only doubles Marigolds hunger for being free, seeing her ride her horse through a forest with targets, doing archery is something to take in and behold. Her courage is displayed through her honest and blunt demeanor because she is not afraid to speak her mind. This majestic animal is a being of power, independence, freedom, nobleness, endurance, confidence, triumph, heroism, and competition. Marigold can get quite competitive, especially when it comes to her primary skills, and most competitive with herself, with each day wanting through hard work to get better.

#marigold baby raquel buchanan #original characters #My and Dallas Baby Girl #Yes I have a daughter!#Dallas Buchanan

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formerprincess · 3 years ago

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A tale written with fangs and claws || Chapter 57

Chapters: 57/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Liam Dunbar, Theo Raeken, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant, Nolan (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Alpha Liam Dunbar, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Dunbar Pack, Bisexual Liam Dunbar, Werewolf Theo Raeken, Alpha Theo Raeken, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Mates, Liam and Theo are mates, Top Theo Raeken, Bottom Theo Raeken, Top Liam, Bottom Liam Dunbar Series: Part 1 of Morning Dew Pack

The pack learns that there are good supernatural beings out there, you just have to find them. And they get protection from such an unexpected source they barely can believe it.

_____________________________________________________________

"I swear, if you pull more I will fall flat on my face!" "Hey, it's not my fault I barely have room to move!" "Mike, you're standing on my toes! Ouch!" "Yank me one more time and I will kick you!" "You still have room to kick? How? Ugh, Lori, that's my foot, I'm sorry!" "Thank god our neighbors cannot see into our backyard and watch us standing there all chained up!" "We're not chained up. It's rope." "Nitpicker!... Mike, I swear!!" "You're cutting my blood flow off! Stop moving so much!!”

“Guys!" Liam raised his voice to be heard over his bickering Betas. To be fair, he kinda got them. They were all in the garden and all had some part of a big rope wrapped around their wrists or arms. Due to the rope, moving was restricted and as difficult as it could be. The loose ends swayed in the light breeze going on outside which also didn't help with the Betas' impatience. "I know this is difficult but Ever needs it for a spell, okay? Work with us here and it will be done in just a few minutes." He glanced at Ever. "Please, tell me it will only be a few minutes!" She looked up from where she was crouched next to Maya, a book on her lap. Her left hand was not bound on because she used it to turn the pages but her right arm was raised from where it was bound to Maya's arm. It looked uncomfortable and Liam felt sorry for her. For them all, honestly. He was the reason they were all playing tug-o-war with each other in their garden after all. Ever sighed. "I never cast such a large protection spell for a property before. But I asked around in my family and a few other witches and this one seems to be the best for the job. It really should just take a couple of minutes." Mason craned his head to get a look at her from his position in the crooked circle they had settled for. "How high are the chances we will be damned for all eternity?" Again she sighed and turned a page in her book. "Not very high. I think." He gave her a blank stare. "Let's see the bright side, we will be damned for all eternity together." Corey smiled sweetly at his husband. Not that it helped Mason for that matter but Liam appreciated the sentiment.

Ever now got to her feet, well tried to, but stumbled. Liam tried to grab her which in turn led to him pulling at Theo, Theo got dragged and dragged Brett with him, and to make things short, the whole pack stumbled a few steps to the left. Liam winced. "Sorry, guys!" "Is alright, alright. Just get it on with. I can't feel my hands from restricted blood flow", Maya complained. "Okay. So, Liam, give me the other end of the rope, I have my end here. Yeah, just let me grab them both with my free hand, that should work." "Great, let's move even closer together", Mike mumbled but when their Alpha moved they all had no other choice and kind of huddled together. Again, glad no neighbor could see them. Ever meanwhile exhaled loudly when she managed to get a hold of both ends. She looked up at the sky. It was already early evening but the spell had not been stated a specific time to get cast so she took some liberty with it. "I need you all to be quiet right now, okay? I need to concentrate. As I said, never worked such a spell before." "Ever, please don't take this the wrong way but that's not very comforting", Lori whispered and made a face when the rope cut into her upper arm. "I know, I know. Okay, I'm starting now. Sorry for the inconvenience, guys." "It's alright. If anybody's to blame it's me. I wanted you to cast such a spell." Liam would not let her feel guilty for an order of his. She gave him a soft smile and then looked back down at the book. Then she cleared her throat. "I'm calling to all good spirits out of sight, protect this home with all your might. Ancestors, ancient and old, ban the evils beings as you're told. As long as this rope is buried in the ground, keep our home safe and sound. Today we put a barrier in place for no foes to ever set a foot across." She held both ends of the rope up as good as she could and without making her fellow pack members fall over. "Protect this pack and all they hold dear, but don't let anybody sinister come near. Ancestors, spirits, I'm calling out to you."

She fell silent and they waited. Maybe for the wind to pick up, maybe for thunder or some other sign Ever's call had been answered but nada. Nothing happened. "Dammit!" Ever dropped one end of the rope and fiddled with the other one. "I was so sure it would work!" "Maybe it did work!" Liam hurried to console her while he also untied himself from the rope. "I think I saw the rope shimmering a little bit." "It did? I saw nothing", Theo muttered and gasped in the next moment when Liam's elbow collided with his stomach. "I mean, yeah, it shimmered. I thought you said something about the wind." He glared at his mate but Liam ignored him. "I am sure it worked, Ever. Just bury the rope and I'm sure it will do what it's supposed to do." Corey tried his best to make her feel better about this and gave her an affirmative smile. He believed in her. "No, I don't think it did anything. I mean, we can still bury the rope but I think I failed you guys. I just have so much to learn and can't be the witch this pack deserves." Ever was still insanely frustrated and started cutting the rope in pieces after every member had been untied. "Don't say that, Ever! You are awesome and already so strong!" Nolan also tried to reassure her. "I'll help you bury the pieces", Caden offered to his girlfriend and grabbed a shovel. "You will see, it works wonders once the first threat rolls around." And with other words of encouragement, the couple moved away from the group to bury all pieces of rope around the property. Brett trailed behind them shortly later, after he claimed that if two dug holes it would be way faster. Liam looked around and caught Mason's glance. "Do you really think it worked?" His best friend asked and Liam shrugged. "How the hell am I supposed to know that? I think I want to believe it did because after everything we've been through we deserve good nights of sleep knowing we are protected from things like hyenas and other critters. But I have no idea how to prove it worked. Guess we have to just believe." "Like fairies?" Mason joked and Liam huffed. "Fairies. are. real."

They walked inside with the others, it was time to start dinner anyway and then they would probably spend the night watching a movie or something. They liked to do it as a pack, as long as they could settle on something to watch. That alone took some time. Sadie and Lori jumped in the kitchen with Liam and helped him prepare the food. Since they moved into the new house, Liam had noticed he was never alone when he cooked. At least one Beta hung around, even if they did not help because Liam didn't necessarily need help, they talked with their Alpha. It had somehow become a nice little habit of the whole pack to unwind and recap their day. It felt nice, Liam would always admit to that. After everything, they've grown closer.

It went on for a while, the other members mingled around, watched tv, or talked quietly; Brett, Ever, and Caden joined in the living room after they were done burying every single piece of rope; a nice relaxed atmosphere in the house.

Once dinner was ready they all gathered around the big table and sat down to indulge. "It's fantastic as always!" Tim praised and wolfed down yet another fork of his food. "All thanks to Lori and Sadie, they helped a great deal", Liam praised the two women and they smiled proudly.

But suddenly Lori glanced outside and screamed on top of her lungs. Her fork fell on the carpet but she didn't even bother to pick it up, too busy slamming both hands over her mouth in shock. "There's something in the garden", she whispered. Liam spun around. The scream had made him jump from his seat but since his back had faced the windows, he didn't see anything. It was already darker outside, not pitch black but already evening, yet he didn't need werewolf vision to see wraithlike white things wavering in their garden. "What the fuck is that?" Mason exclaimed what probably everybody was thinking at this very moment. "We will soon find out." Liam stormed over to the patio door. A loud sound from a chair scraping over the floor sounded up behind him and he heard Theo's fast footsteps following. "Thought we had a deal about you barging headfirst into potential danger alone!" His mate scolded him when Liam flung the door open.

He took a sharp breath.

The white hazy things in their backyard were humans or, to be more specific, humans with translucent skin and a white glow surrounding them. Also, they barely touched the ground and seemed to float. And the garden of the pack house was full of them. Big, small, women, men, older and younger-looking, some in antiquated clothing, others more modern. Some swirled around the garden, others stood still and looked at the house, others talked quietly. "Excuse my french, but what the fuck???" Caden exclaimed, utterly overwhelmed by the display in front of them. He, like all other Betas, had followed the Alpha couple and now they stood on the patio and stared. "I second that", Liam muttered. Theo grabbed his arm, probably to keep him from moving any closer, and Liam was kind of happy about that. He was unsure how to pursue, what to do. What were those things?

"Uhm, hello?" His voice was shaky but who could blame him? "Excuse me? White floating thingies?"

Most of them turned their heads towards them and then they all hurried over. Liam felt himself stretching out both arms to keep his Betas behind him. It was a reflex, he wanted to protect his pack. Even Theo though he stubbornly refused to leave his side and this time, Liam let it slide. He stared at the things coming closer and closer until they all gathered in front of the porch. Suddenly he spotted a tall man with short hair, dressed in a fringed jacket and cowboy boots. "Hey, I know you. I mean, I saw a picture of you and Byron once. You're the Alpha before Byron!" "I am, I am." The man nodded and smiled brightly. His voice had a soft touch and you could almost hear a chuckle in it. He seemed like a sunny character. A woman with curly hair and in a dress full of flowers nodded proudly. "The best successor I could have ever asked for!" Her voice boomed, determined and strong. Despite this Liam could still not make sense of what was happening. "Wait! Are you guys ghosts?" "We surely are!" A lanky woman dressed in a high-necked dress and with pinned-up hair nodded. Her voice was a bit shriller and she reminded Liam of a teacher. Or one of those etiquette experts. "You called upon us if I recount correctly." "Well, she did." The curly-haired woman pointed at Ever. "Ever," Liam faced her, voice zealously calm, "what did you do?" "I didn't do anything!" She shook her head. "I mean, I cast a spell but I surely didn't call ghosts into our garden! "I guess, I can explain this." Another woman pushed through the group to get in front of them. She was young, not more than thirty, and wore a soft flowing dress and sandals. Her long hair was tied in a soft ponytail and despite her ghostly appearance, she looked friendly and as she belonged there. Her melodic voice only added to this. She looked at all of them but then returned her glace to Ever. "You don't have to be afraid, your spell worked exactly as you intended to. You called upon the ancestors and spirits to protect the pack and the home. So, here we are." "Wait!" Theo shook his head. "Stop and rewind: Just because Ever cast a protection spell for our home, you guys will from now on be hanging around in our garden?" "We will appear when there is danger, just like the spell asked us to do. But we're always there, in spirit, if you need us. We just appeared now because we needed to manifest once and see what we're actually protecting. The rules of the other side are complicated", the young woman explained again. "You don't need to fear us, we pose as no danger to you. You are our pack, we will protect you. And shall the day come you die, we will welcome you to the other side with open arms", Byron's predecessor added to the conversation. Mason still had a hard time wrapping his head around that. "It's just, I only know one person able to see ghosts and she's a banshee." "You can see us because the spell connected us and called upon us. You all were bound together by the rope so the magic transferred to all of you. That is what pack magic is about", the etiquette expert corrected. "It's a very powerful spell and you executed it perfectly." Ever's face lit up at the praise from the curly-haired woman. "Despite, why are you all acting surprised about ghosts? This one gets saved by Mckenna's wolf regularly." She jabbed her thumb in direction of Liam before looking over her shoulder. And there Mckenna stood in person (well in ghost) and nodded with a genuine smile on her face. Liam had seen her before but seeing her here with all the other ghosts seemed kind of surreal. He smiled shyly. "So, you all are former Alphas?" Corey inquired. "Former pack members from all eras. I'm a former shaman. My name is Bea", the woman who had explained Ever's spell introduced herself. "Ghosts are real, I still can't fully believe it. And yeah, I've lived in Beacon Hills, don't even start with me, but yeah. It's crazy." Nolan shook his head and sat down in a chair. "There are good and bad ghosts, just like there are good and bad werewolves and other beings. But we all are real." "Can we call upon you and ask you questions? That would really help us sometimes." Mason had switched into full research mode and wanted more information. Unfortunately, the ghosts shook their heads. "After tonight, we will disappear and only come when danger arises. But be assured, we are around, you just cannot see us. Sometimes the veil between the worlds thins but it never falls completely. Unless there is a disruption." A lot to take in. Ghosts were real and Liam had known this before but now he felt like he was in the Mulan Disney movie and he watched Mushu argue with the ancestors. Was he reassured now? Yes. They were safe because he believed it when the ghosts told them so. They all were one pack, alive or dead, and they all provided protection for one another. On the other hand, it made him realize there was still so much about the world of the supernatural he had no idea about. And he didn't expect Ever's spell to have this effect. But those were old pack mates, some of them were even Alphas and Liam wanted to ask questions. A lot of questions. He had the Alpha journal and he read it but having a talk face to face was something entirely different. He wanted to talk to Mckenna since he seemed to have some similarities with her. Maybe Byron's predecessor could give him some advice as well?

"It's the time!" Bea announced and the ghosts formed a circle around the whole house. Well, Liam guessed it was around the whole house, he could not see all of them anymore but they stood there in line, holding hands, creating the barrier no foe was supposed to cross. "Oh, you already have to leave?" He asked disappointedly. "We are not able to manifest the whole night. For the spell to work, we now have to form the barrier", the curly-haired woman explained and just dropped the hand of Byron's predecessor to give him a thumbs up. "You will be fine." "Byron made the right call with you. Good choice", the man praised him. Liam smiled weakly. "Yeah? I'm still so young and have so much to learn." "You're growing, as a person and as an Alpha, that's the important part. Because you want to. Just some words of advice, don't forget you are a person as well. Don't be always just there for the pack. Be a little selfish every now and then. It's a good thing and recharges your energy." Liam huffed out a laugh. "It's hard sometimes. Easier said than done." "If it would be easy, son, everybody would be an Alpha." Liam shrugged. "I think becoming an Alpha is easy if you're coldblooded enough. So I'm not sure if this is helpful." "Becoming an Alpha may be easy but not everybody is cut out to be one. Don't forget that, son." The ghosts gave the living pack members one last smile and then they slowly faded away until nothing showed they ever were there before.

"That's some crazy shit", Mike put it into words. Corey scoffed. "Moments like this make me realize how bad Beacon Hills fucked us up. For real." "What do you mean?" Maya asked with a frown. "Beacon Hills had some good moments, yeah, but mostly it was all danger and dying and people being afraid, another danger lurking, people hunting everything left and right, things trying to kill you, dying once more. If you only experienced those things, believing in good supernatural things gets hard." Liam sat down on the steps leading from the deck to the garden. "It's normal, I think. Not really your fault. Besides, I also didn't expect actual ghosts to show up after Ever's spell. Ever? Did you think that would happen?" She squeaked. "No! Hard no! Like, I honestly thought the spell did nothing. It doesn't even say anything about ghosts in the book." "That woman said the spell was powerful and you executed it perfectly. So, congrats I guess." Mike patted her shoulder. Ever blushed and fiddled with the seam of her shirt. "I think it's you, guys. Witches get stronger when they're in a coven. Or, as in this case, in a pack. Your energy helps my magic." "This pack is quite good at this. Helping each other." Theo sat also on the steps and stretched out his legs while he leaned against the banister. "And to get back at what Corey said, maybe we have to unlearn the bad experiences. Be more open about good supernatural happenings. I myself am I cynical bastard but I have to admit even I start to think some magical fairytales might be true. Even fairies." "What?" Liam could not believe his ears and laughed. "I finally convinced you to entertain the idea of fairies?" "Maybe." Theo didn't want to set his mind yet. "We already have ghosts in our backyard. What's next? Nymphs?" "Don't make fun of nymphs, they might hear you", Sadie warned him.

****** Liam scurried through the streets, head ducked in a failed attempt to keep a little bit of his body dry. He had been out in the city running some errands when the skies opened and a summer rainstorm went down. Like, seriously, Liam was sure some streets had turned into rivers that much water was cascading down. The rain made even his heightened senses useless since Liam could barely see past the grey curtain of water all around him. He just needed to get to his car and drive home. If he could drive in this weather, that's it. But just sitting in a dry environment would be great at this point. He was already soaked but would still feel better.

Liam turned the corner of a street and hastened into a less busy road, hoping he had found a shortcut to his car. But just a few more steps forward and Liam tackled something solid. He lost his footing on the slippery ground and crashed down with what he now realized was a customer stopper. "Shit, shit, shit! Oh, fuck, sorry!" He apologized to the unmoving object and quickly got up from the ground to set up the stopper again. A door to his right opened. "Oh my, darling, have you hurt yourself? Geez, you're all wet. Why don't you come inside? I have towels there and you can check if you suffered any injuries", a soft female voice called out to him. Liam glanced up. The voice belonged to what he supposed was the owner or the cashier of the store the customer stopper belonged to. She was holding an umbrella to save herself from the rain which she now also held over Liam to shield him from the weather. He caught a whiff of chocolate and cinnamon from her and an even stronger scent of sweetness and chocolate from the open store door. The lights were turned on inside the store and altogether is was far more appealing than continuing to run through this downpour. "I am sorry about your customer stopper, Madam", he politely said. Ilona had raised nothing but a polite young man and she would hunt him for forever if he was rude to kind strangers. "It's alright, please don't worry. Nothing that can't be repaired if any. We will take a look at it once the rain stopped. Now, come inside, honey, you must be freezing. It's summer but it's not good to be that soaked." She ushered him inside and Liam leaned the stopper against the store window before he followed her.

The smell of chocolate and all things sweet was even stronger inside and he inhaled deeply. It smelled wonderful in here. Suddenly, he was a little kid again and his mother baked cookies on a Sunday. The whole house had smelled afterward and those Sundays were one of his favorite memories. The world had been perfectly fine on those Sundays. "I don't have fresh pants but I have some old shirt here from one of our promotions? Maybe you want to try it on? Here is a towel." She pushed the towel into his arms before she closed the door and put her umbrella in a small stand next to the door. "Thank you but it's alright. I don't get sick that easily." Liam ran the towel through his hair and over his face. When he lowered the towel he got the first good view of the nice woman. She was smaller than him, maybe 5' 6", with big grey streaks in her otherwise dark hair, framing her round face and dark brown eyes. Liam would have guessed her in her fifties but he was not that good with ages so he better kept his mouth shut. But he liked the summer dress she wore with little birds all over it in different colors. "Would you care for some tea, darling? I know it's warm outside but maybe it helps with the coolness? You must be freezing. Or a hot chocolate?" "No, please, I don't want to be an inconvenience. You're already so nice to invite me into your store after I ran over your customer stopper." "Oh, that old thing, don't mention it. Nothing materialistic is irreplaceable. If you want to change your shirt, there is a curtain in front of our back office." She shooed him in the direction and since his own shirt was sticking to his body, Liam gratefully took the suggestion.

The back office was just a small room with a desk, computer, and shelves filled with folders and papers. Nothing unusual but he still hurried to change and then join her in front of the store again.

Only when he pushed back the curtain and stepped behind the register again, Liam took a look at the store. Two floors and shelves made from high-polished wood filled with all kinds of candy and sweets. Lollipops, gummy bears, cookies, filled chocolates, Liam had found his own personal dreamland. Mouthwatering displays of sweets Liam didn't even know but he wanted to try everything. No wonder the woman and her store smelled so good. "Is this a candy store? A real one?" She giggled. "It is. I'm the fifth-generation owner, my family is very proud of this little nook. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Ellie. Well, actually Maybell but everyone calls me Ellie." "I'm Liam. Nice to meet you." He reached out to shake her hand and she beamed at him. "You members of the Morning Dew Pack are always so nice, I can only agree with others saying that." He was surprised. "You know the Morning Dew Pack? And how do you know I belong to them?" She pointed at his necklace hanging over the shirt she gave him. Liam reached up and touched the little pendant. "I recognized the symbol. Also, I was once on vacation at the lake. Incredibly nice people. Oh, and the magical community is full of gossipers. I heard you got a new Alpha. Are they nice? Heard they're young." "Yeah. The Alpha is me. I'm the Alpha", Liam revealed slowly. Ellie's eyes sparkled and she clasped her hands together. "Oh, how wonderful. Such a polite Alpha for such a polite pack. A marvelous match." Liam was a bit slow to take everything in. "Wait, you said the magical community is full of gossipers. What are you? You're not a werewolf, are you?" Ellie shook her head with a laugh. "I'm an elf." Both of his eyebrows shot towards his hairline. "Elf as in Christmas elf?" "Those are our cousins." "Seriously?" Liam had to laugh. He could not fully believe that. "Is that a joke?" "No." She wiggled her fingers and silver glitter started dancing around the air and floated around. A small magic trick but Liam liked it and it convinced him. "I'm sorry. I'm just not good with all those types of supernatural beings. Evil ones I know a few but when it comes to other beings I barely have any knowledge. There weren't that many in Beacon Hills." "Beacon Hills? That means Scott McCall, the True Alpha, right? Wait, does that make you Liam Dunbar? The Beta?" And again Liam was surprised. "You know who I am? Why?" "As I said, gossip. The first bitten Beta of a True Alpha is worth a word or two. And now you're an Alpha yourself, quite a career." "How should I picture this? Do you guys have a newsletter or a magazine? How did you hear from Scott?" "You know, the spirit tells the witch, the witch tells the nymph, nymphs love to gossip and they tell the gnomes and pixies and elves. It gets around. Obviously rarely in Beacon Hills. A horrible, horrible place." "Why?" Liam tilted his head. Ellie sighed. "Powerful magical mediums as the Nementon create a pull of power for all kinds of beings. But us good magical beings, we feel the darkness in this power and it sucks the life out of us. Take us elves. We love to make people happy so we stick to happy places. We work in all kinds of professions, my race brought up the best clowns in history, wherever we can make people happy. The only thing the people need is a good heart. The energy of the Nementon can cloud those good hearts and we are not strong enough to break the spell. Hence why we avoid such places. No offense." "None taken." Liam shook his head. "But back to the topic ahead, I wasn't aware people know about me. I mean, I'm just me. Liam. Nothing too special. I don't even have that much experience. Don't know what you can gossip about that." Ellie reached out and poked the tip of his nose. "It's not what you have that determines who you are, but what you do with what you have. The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have. Vince Lombardi. Nobody knows everything but you don't need to if you make good decisions. Need to utilize what you already got and make the best of it. I know a bit of your pack so I am positive if they made you the new Alpha, you are making good decisions."

Maybe she was right, Liam needed one look at his pack to know he made the right decision. But he also doubted himself sometimes. Maybe this was normal. "Thanks, Ellie", he still said gratefully. After all, she was nice to him. And then another question came to mind: "Do fairies exist as well?" "Never met one but sure. They're small, barely able to be seen with the naked eye. You can mostly encounter them in gardens or forests. They enjoy beautiful flowers and juicy fruits." "Can I call my best friend and you tell him that too? Mason will love you. You're like a walking lexicon of good magical beings." Liam was in awe. Ellie laughed. "I'll do my best. You can bring all your friends here. I like making people happy with my candy. Want some?" She opened a jar of toffees and held it for Liam to take from it. He kindly accepted and grabbed one. Once he tasted it, he groaned. Such a creamy, delicious taste. "Oh, Ellie, they're amazing. Did you make them yourself?" She happily nodded. "All of the candy you see here is made by me and my husband. It goes perfectly with the elves' need to make people happy and our candy-making skill. Why not use it to bring joy into the world?" "I love candy. If I weren't a werewolf, I probably would be round as a ball." She laughed again. "Say, Liam, do you have a job? I'm currently looking for help for the store but never found somebody whose love for candy can rival mine. Would you be interested?" "Uhm." Liam had not seen that coming. "I'm a college student but looking for a job on the side. So yeah, I'd like to work for you." "Wonderful. We can work out all the details now if you want. I'm happy."

****** Liam closed the door behind him and carried his loot in the kitchen. He had spent time with Ellie and helped her in the shop until the rainstorm passed and then she had insisted he left the store with a huge bag filled with basically every type of candy in the store. For him and his Betas to enjoy. Liam already knew which one Theo would like the best.

Theo was coincidentally the first he encountered in the kitchen. He looked up from his phone. "What you got there?" "Candy. Catch!" Liam pushed his hand in the bag and pulled out some licorice stick. "I have a new job at a candy store." Theo caught the candy Liam tossed him and unwrapped it. He took a bite. "A new job at a candy store? How did that happen? Uh, that once's nice. Is that coffee?" "Thought you might like it." Liam grabbed a bowl and poured everything from the bag inside. "And you won't believe what the owner is."

He launched himself into telling Theo the whole story. Mason walked into the kitchen at one point and listened to his best friend while munching on some peppermint candy. "And seemingly the magical world knows about Scott and Beacon Hills and the pack, I don't know. I cannot help myself but imagine the newspaper from Harry Potter so everybody knows what the talk is about. But how surreal is that? Elves, real elves." "Is she tiny?" Mason asked. "Smaller than me. Not much tho. Why?" "Aren't elves generally quite small? Anyway, I have to meet this woman. She can tell me so much and I can add it to the Bestiary. Kind of telling only dark beings exist in this book." "Maybe because it's called Bestiary? Maybe a book about good ones is called...I don't know....Lightiary?" Theo suggested and grabbed another licorice stick. "Smartass. I think this is really interesting. Even more to know why so many good beings avoid Beacon Hills. Can you imagine there are more of those mediums in the world and no good one comes near them?" "There were good ones there, in Beacon Hills. Us for example", Liam added for consideration and unwrapped a chocolate bonbon. "You were already there, that doesn't count", Mason deflected. "Theo also came back to Beacon Hills, just to name one example." "Why do I have to be the example? You're right but why? I didn't do anything now." "If you had not come back to Beacon Hills, you wouldn't have met Liam and you both wouldn't have this against all odds romance." "Says the one already being married", Liam mumbled.

Caden rushed into the kitchen. "LIAM! We need you!" "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Caden hummed. "Not really. I mean, no, I'm not hurt. Tim, however, is...not hurt...You have to see for yourself. Just come with me."

The three men in the kitchen gave each other a look but then followed Caden outside. He led them down the stairs and over the grass towards the beginning of the woods. Sadie stood there, one arm crossed and the other hand under the chin. "Looks like Liam was actually right." Maya next to her also had her arms crossed. "Yeah, but why Tim? What did he do?" "I think I stepped on one of them. I am sorry! Ouch! That stings!" Tim wailed. Liam stepped next to Maya and found Tim on the ground and a shiny pink orb in front of his face while three other orbs in green, orange, and yellow floated around him. The one in front of him flew back and forth and when it collided with Tim's nose he once again complained about stinging. "What the fuck is going on here? And really, I hear this question quite often this week in our garden."

The orb from Tim's face floated upwards towards Liam and now hovered in front of him. So close Liam could see the tiny chubby man with fluttering wings, in a noble robe and with a tiny crown on his head. His eyes were roundly shaped but right now squinted shut in an angry grimace and he stared at Liam while furiously waving a tiny sword. To be honest, Liam was afraid he would cut off his bulbous nose with it.

"I am Peridot Tulipfly, the king of this proud tribe of fairies. How dare you intrude in our territory? Just because you're bigger? I will show you bigger! Are you their king? I challenge you to a duel." "Jesus fucking Christ!" Mason mumbled behind Liam. "Lee, I don't know what you're doing this week but you're a magnet for magical beings. Seriously." "Look how tiny they are", Sadie said in awe. "I am so sorry we didn't believe you, Liam." "Liam, is this your name? Liam, be a man and fight me!" Peridot Tulipfly screamed and his voice became hysterically high. Frankly, Liam was now afraid he would explode in sheer rage. Or swallow his tongue. "Listen, your highness? Is that the correct way? Anyway, your highness, I think there is a mistake. My friends and I were not intruding anywhere." "Lies and slander!!! We have your subordinate. You want him to live, you will best me in combat! Or are you a coward?? Shall I find victory over you because you refuse to battle me?" "Hey, nobody battles him! You're so tiny, I could crush you with one hand!" Theo snapped. Liam loved his boyfriend but that probably was not the best way. Peridot now started screaming even louder and called them all kinds of nasty things. But then again, Liam had never been called a cow stealing weed before, so there's that.

He rubbed his nose when the king's tiny sword poked it. "Hey! Watch it, that can hurt people!" Peridot lunged forward again but then an angry voice from the woods reached them. "Peridot Ingenius Tulipfly, I can't believe you! How dare you pestering those lovely, lovely people!" A pale blue orb shot towards them and stopped between Liam and Peridot. A female fairy also in a noble robe and tiny crown but her hair was in a long braided ponytail and she was thinner than the king. "But, honeydrop, they intruded in our territory. I had to challenge him to a duel." Perditot sounded not as angry as before, more a little contritely. "THOSE NICE PEOPLE ARE LEAVING FRUITS FOR US AND YOU WANT TO FIGHT THEM!!! HOW DARE YOU??? I CANNOT LEAVE YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT OR YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!!! HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT THEY COULD DO TO US??? HOW DISRESPECTFUL!! THOSE ARE OUR NEIGHBORS!!!" She was now full-on yelling at her husband and he ducked his head in shame. "I didn't know that, honeydrop. I thought they wanted to attack." "WELL, NEXT TIME YOU THINK TELL ME SO I CAN TELL YOU TO STOP THINKING!" She turned to face Liam. Her face was small and her nose quite petite. She smiled. "I have to apologize for my imbecile husband. He can be hot-headed and get irritated, I hope you don't mind. You were not intruding in our territory, don't listen to a word he says. I am Mari Tulipfly and I hope you can forgive us for this ridiculous display. We are a nice, peaceful tribe. Most of the time." She gave her husband a sharp glare. "Honeydrop, I am sorry." "YOU SHOULD BE SORRY! TELL THAT THEM!!!" She pointed at Liam and his pack. Maya had helped Tim to his feet again and the king slowly flew over to him. "I deeply apologize for my mistake. As a king, I have to protect, and maybe I did a mistake." "Maybe??" Mari shrieked and Peridot shuddered. "I sure made a mistake but I'm owning up to it. Here, take my sword as a sign of my apology." "Oh, no, that's fine. I don't need your sword." Tim shook his head. "I'm not a swords kind of guy." Peridot floated to Liam. "And you take my crown to show you my apologies. I promise it will never happen again." "Keep your crown. You actually helped me tonight. So, you're fairies? Some of my friends didn't want to believe you're real but I knew it. So you kind of proved my point. I have to say thank you." Mari floated up to him again and bowed mid-air. "You are too kind. I promise something like this will never happen again. We live in the woods near your garden and sometimes like to float around. I understand if you ban us from there." "No no, don't worry. Nobody was hurt, I think we can chalk it up to a simple mistake." Liam really didn't want to banish the fairies. They were kind of cute. And they genuinely seemed sorry. "You are a very noble man. Mind telling me your name?" The queen asked curiously. "I'm Liam. These are Theo, Mason, Caden, Sadie, Maya, and Tim. We're part of a werewolf pack living in this house. I'm the one always leaving fruit out for you. You're welcome to still get it." Mari poked her husband between his rips. "See? This is how you solve conflicts. Not with a sword and without talking." "I know, honeydrop, I know." He really seemed ashamed and Liam felt sorry for him. He held out his index finger. "From one leader to the other, peace? You are welcome to visit our territory and we are welcome to visit your territory. What do you say?" Peridot grabbed the tip of his finger with both hands and tried to shake it. Since he was so tiny, he moved up and down but Liam's finger stayed in place. Until Liam moved it himself. "Should you ever need us, just sent a messenger and we will know. We will come to your aid as you are now friends of our tribe. Thus shall it be!" Peridot declared solemnly. His wife sighed and then bid them goodbye before she dragged her husband back to the woods, followed by the other orbs.

"Ghosts, elves, fairies. If we keep that speed up, I don't know how Mason will manage to archive anything in the Bestiary" Theo said. "Wait, when did we meet an elf?" Maya asked confused. "We didn't, Liam did." And Liam was prompted to tell them all the story again on how he met Ellie. "Maybe it's some sort of law of attraction. We're in a good spot after the hardships now so maybe we attract good things?" Tim pondered. Liam had the same train of thoughts. "I'm done with demons, crazy witches, or brutal Alphas. So if I can choose between those and some combative fairies, I'll take the fairies any day", he confessed. "Those I can handle and they don't hurt anyone. There's some of Ellie's candy in the kitchen. Take some if you want."

His Betas hurried away, only Theo stayed back with him. "You're worried those good times won't last, right?" Theo knew Liam so it was more fact than a question. He pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and waited for Liam to answer still. "I want us to enjoy our lives. But yeah, maybe Beacon Hills did fuck me up as well in this regard but I don't think the good times will last forever. So we should make the most of it. I am reassured we are protected by this ghostly barrier and it's kind of nice to know there are good fairies and elves around but the worry will probably never go away. I had it even before I became an Alpha", Liam confessed. Theo put his arm around Liam's shoulders. "Whatever happens, we will take it as a pack. Maybe Tim's right, right now only good things are happening and we all deserve this. And us from Beacon Hills, we have some credit in the Karma bank as well." Liam laughed. "I guess you could say that." "It will be fine, Liam. Worry is good, it stops you from being careless. Just don't worry too much, okay?" "Promise. I just want some peace after a year where everything crazy happened. Right now, this is nice." "It is." Theo pulled him in and kissed him gently. Liam wrapped his arms around Theo's waist and returned the kiss.

#thiam #A tale written with fangs and claws #alpha!liam #Morning Dew Pack series #My writing

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tams-writeblr · 4 years ago

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Once I’m gone

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: major character death

Category: F/M (main couple), Multi (side characters)

Fandom: Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin

Relationship: Mikasa Ackermann / Eren Jaeger | various side couples

Characters: Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin Arlelt, Zeke Jaeger, Hange Zoe, Floch Forster, Ymir, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger, Historia Reiss, several others will make a cameo

Additional Tags: Modern AU | established relationship | toxic behaviour | Eren suffers from Huntington’s disease and tries to settle his matters before he dies | suicial blockhead Eren | aged up characters (by ten years) | suicide tw | depression tw | mental diseases tw | deathly diseases tw | this is clearly not write what you know, but I’m giving my very best to representate the topics as good as I can | this all basically came to me as a fever dream | you remember Thirteen from House, M.D.? I still have a huge crush on her so this version of Eren is greatly inspired by her <3

Language: English (not native, I’m trying my best you guys)

Stats: ongoing - Chapter 1/15 - Part 2/4 - 1507 of 3652 words

Summary: Eren Jaeger knew for years that he inherited Huntington’s disease from his late mother. When he first notices symptoms on him, his long protected plan, to end his life before reaching the critical state of his illness, awakes. But there is still Mikasa, his girlfriend and the only person in the world he cares about more than about himself, and he can’t leave her alone and grieving. It’s time to find a substitute for when Eren is gone. With the help of a new friend Eren tries to scare away Mikasa while driving her into the arms of someone new.

__________________________________________________

Charlatans and Pills - Part 2/4

<<previous

“Hey Mama”, the small, dark haired boy said and pulled his hand towards the woman that sat sunk down on an uncomfortable looking chair.

She didn’t directly look at him, only giving his pulled out hand a small, arbitrary glance and looked up towards the man, standing behind Eren.

“But Carla, Dear”, Eren's father said with a cheerful tone. “Shake at least our Eren’s hand. Aren’t you happy that we are visiting you?”

A thin lipped smile crawled over Carla’s face and her light brown eyes finally found Eren’s glance. “Eren”, she sighed recognizing and rather than just taking his hand, she slipped down her chair and tightly hugged him.

Tighter than Eren would have liked it. He looked up to his father, seeking help, insecure how to behave. She still was his mother, the one that always loved him and guessed every wish from his eyes.

Eren had found out that she was sick, three years ago. Back then they also told him, he eventually would get the same sickness. She often dropped things and so she did on his eleventh birthday with a knife to cut his cake. It fell right on her foot and she had to go to the hospital. After this incident, she never returned to her old self. She behaved strangely ever so often, screaming at his dad for obviously no reason.

But the strangest was when Eren came home from school one day. His father was still at work, he had a small practice in the middle of town, and usually a delicious lunch was waiting for him when he returned home from school. But on this day nothing smelled nice through the house, on the contrary it stank horribly of burned food and everything was full with smoke. Eren found his mother in the upstairs bathroom, her hands were dripping with blood, he had found shards in the kitchen.

“What do you want?”, his mother screamed and held her blood stained hands in front of her face. “Get out! I have to hide from the smoke!”

Puzzled Eren neared his mother. “But Mama, you have to turn off the oven or else whatever's on there will burn even more. Did you cut yourself? Do you need a bandaid?”

“Get our!”, Carla yelled again. “Who the hell are you, how did you get into my house?”

Helpless tears wobbled out of big, green child’s eyes. “Mama”, he whined and ducked away under a roll of toilet paper his mother threw at him. Desperately the boy backed out of the bathroom and ran back to the kitchen where he pulled all knobs of the oven until the red control light went off, then he remembered what his father always had hammered inside his little head: to call him at work, when something was wrong with Mum.

“The number is pinned on the fridge”, he had told him again and again. “I’ll be with you within 15 minutes.” If not at this moment, when should he bother his father at work? Quickly the boy looked for the phone around the smoke filled house, luckily he found it in the living room and not like so often in his parents bedroom. He wouldn’t have dared to walk past the upper bathroom in which he still suspected his mother.

His father indeed arrived within minutes. He found Carla beneath the toilet, sunk down and asleep and immediately called an ambulance. “I’m so sorry”, he murmured again and again while pressing the sobbing and crying Eren against him. “You’ll never have to be alone with her again. Everything will be alright.”

His mother didn’t return home after this incident. His father explained to him that she would now live somewhere, where people could look after her more appropriately. There no knife would fall on her food ever again and she wouldn’t burn any more pans.

But Eren found the place where they brought her simply terrifying. There were only old people. Not old people like his father but really old, probably older than his grandparents. It always smelled strangely and scary sounds came from some chambers.

Eren curled out of his mother’s embrace and his father came to help him.

“There, there Carla, not so fiercely”, he laughed and directed her gently back towards her chair. Then he took place across from her and placed a hand on her knee. “Well my Dear, how are you feeling today?”

Carla looked at him for a long time with a stoic face. At that her left arm twitched permanently. It hit against her thigh and the seating of the chair.

Eren watched the movement hypnotized and flinched when his mother took a deep, loud breath.

“Grisha”, she said with unmistakable joy in her voice. her twitching arm raised and her hand landed accurately on her husband’s. A smile crept towards her lips. “My Dear…” Suddenly she was once again his mother, the pretty woman with light brown eyes and dark hair, sun kissed skin and the most beautiful smile in the world.

Eren felt lighter than before and placed his small child’s hand above his mother’s. She only looked at him briefly, out of the corner of her eyes, before taxing Grisha again. The three of them stayed like this for a while in total silence. Only a far away, old and male voice asked when it was finally time for dinner.

The clearing of a throat crushed the family idly and Eren and his mother heavily flinched.

Carla’s head shot high to look at the creator of the noice’s face. Her own one suddenly started to twitch wildly.

“Mr. Jäger, can I please talk to you for a moment?”, a man in a white coat said. From his father Eren knew that doctors dressed like that.

Grisha got up and agreed with a dark look on his face. “Eren, sit down for so long. I’ll be right back.”

“You are a doctor?”, Eren heard the other man ask when he walked away with his father. The latter didn’t answer, maybe he had only nodded. “Then you must know about the condition your wife is in.”

Eren couldn’t hear more from the conversation. But from the look on his mother’s face, he could tell that her glance followed them.

He didn’t want to turn out like her. What was that for a life? Eren still couldn’t quite understand what was wrong with his mother, but he knew she always forgot things, sometimes even him or his father and that she always flapped around her arms. He didn’t want that, especially not the thing with forgetting. Carefully he took her hand between both of his. “I’m not gonna forget you, Mama”, he said tenderly and patted her hand that was gaunt and wiry. “I promise.”

Carla looked at her boy dumbfounded before pulling her eyebrows into a painful grimace. “Oh Eren, my little baby,” she cried and thick tears wobbled out of her eyes. Fragile and smaller as he remembered her she sat on that horribly uncomfortable chair, her hand between the small palms of her son.

Scared by her sudden burst of emotion Eren pulled his hands away. Two faces, so similar to each other that everyone would see their connection, looked at each other with a mixture of horror and hurt.

When his father returned, Eren asked him to leave.

“Come back soon!”, he heard his mother say softly when Grisha leaned down to her and kissed her.

He promised they would, of course he did. And of course they kept their promise. Eren couldn’t say how many hours of his youth he had spent in that foster home that cared for his mother. The doctors and nurses there did a wonderful job, they deeply cared for his mother, who visibly crumpled infront of her small family’s eyes. She got thinner and thinner and ever more erratic. Until she neither recognized Grisha nor Eren. Sometimes she remembered to have a son called Eren but in her memory he was still a ten-years-old that had broken his arm while wrestling with his friends. That the handsome young man infront of her was her small Eren, she wouldn’t get the idea despite their striking resemblance.

Finally her spasticies became so bad that it became too dangerous to let her eat solid food and she got a feeding tube. From this moment on, things went continuously down hill for Carla Jäger, whose husband was a doctor himself who slowly broke down by looking at her.

Almost exactly ten years after moving to the foster home and a little over 13 years after her diagnosis Carla died on a stormy fall evening. She hadn’t seen her son in four month, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

But losing his mother had broken something deep inside of Eren. Now a full grown man, he knew which fate his mother had handed down to him. But he also knew back than, how he would be reacting towards it, when his time came.

>>next

__________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Hey, thank you for coming back to me! I hope you don’t mind when long flashbacks like this are all in Italics, I know they can be hard to read. Just for Context: Carla was 30 when she had Eren in this story and she dies at 51. Can’t have a main character without a tragic family backstory, can we? See you for the next part!

#attack on titan fanfiction #aot ff #eremika #eren jaeger #carla jaeger #grisha jaeger #once i'm gone #once i'm gone chap 1 #once i'm gone chap 1 part 2 #eren jaeger x mikasa ackerman #grisha jaeger x carla jaeger #writers on tumblr #fanfiction on tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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aworldofyou · 4 years ago

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🔥

SENT FOR UNPOPULAR OPINION / never denying the salt @martyrsaiint

WHITEWASHING. Okay, are you ready? is the dash ready? Blacklists on? this is going to be one of my REALLY BIG HOT TAKES. This isn’t a thing. And then it’s entirely accidental. I remember when this term started going around it was used as an excuse for the known bullies to go after duplicates that they didn’t like writing the same character as them. Yes, recall how this term wasn’t a thing before the year 2017? 2018? Yeah cause this wasn’t a thing until these GENUINE PROBLEMATIC PEOPLE BULLYING OTHERS used an excuse to go and call some poor soul a racist over a lighting mistake that happened on the producers part of whatever show was there.

Anyone who says that ‘lighting is a piss poor excuse’ have never genuinely dealt with horrid lighting when it comes to a show. And if an rper accidentally makes someones skin a little lighter than what they are or have, guess what? It’s genuinely an accident, I HATE that people right now are calling other rpers ‘racist’ for some dumb lighting and PSD that they don’t agree with. I repeat, these are not cases of racism. I guarantee you that if any of these people politely and civilly approach someone there would likely be a kind apologetic discussion had because 10/10 times, it’s never an intended thing. It’s like people use the term racist so readily here, as someone who actually deals with these things I’m starting to feel like the weight behind it is starting to lose what it’s meant to be. Racist means someone who is acting out against a person or group of people for the color of their skin, not ‘this person on this blog, who has a different opinion than me’

And I mean that, this isn’t a thing. Because it’s worse when it comes to content creators and the ethnicity of their own creations. AGAIN. THIS IS NOT A THING. I CAN’T TAKE THIS TERM SEROIUSLY ESPECIALLY IN TERMS OF CANON CONTENT AND CONTENT CREATORS. There are no white washed characters in Dragon Age, because the canon is based out of ancient Europe, the Dalish Elves are- get this, BASED OUT OF CELTIC HISTORY. And yes, I have a whole big ass article of the creators talking about the creation process of Dragon Age to back this up (and actual source, not some opinion blog that went into the mechanics of DA Origins and picks up the color palette numbers of a TAN.) The characters that Tumblr is so up in arms about? Guess what? The writers put so much work into their appearance (Morrigan, Alistair, Duncan etc.), that how they appear in all canons? Is PRECISELY how they are meant to look The same applies to LORD OF THE RINGS. Frozen 2? Guess what? ELSA AND ANNA AREN’T POC. THEIR TRIBES ARE BASED OUT OF NORWAY, RUSSIA, AND SWEDEN. Canon creators, can’t whitewash their own content.

I repeat, A CANON CREATOR, CANNOT WHITE WASH THEIR OWN CHARACTERS.

To put it into better perspective, imagine an OC, your OC. And you made your OC into whatever ethnicity you wanted. It’s your right? Your creation, a piece of you, that you’ve poured your heart and soul into, you’ve done your research, you’ve did everything right. And then you have a dozen people, STRANGERS, waltz up to you and tell you ‘no you’re wrong, because your canon character that you created is being handled wrong, so I’m taking them and making them into the OTHER culture, and taking them from you because I helped birth them because I SAID.’ Yeah, no, not cool. Because fuck that, right? See that’s what tumblr does to canon creators so-

Yeah no, do your research people.

#[ out of character. ] answered #[ out of character. ] salt time. hold my hot cheetos.#martyrsaiint

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lumau · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 4/7 Fandom: The Invisible Library - Genevieve Cogman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Irene (The Invisible Library), Kai (The Invisible Library), Peregrine Vale, catherine (the invisible library), Lord Silver (The Invisible Library), Li Ming (Invisible Library), Ao Shun (Invisible Library) Additional Tags: ilcharacterweek, Angst, Some Humor, Some Romance, all a bit trippy, but it'll make sense, potentially additional tags per chapter, minor spoilers for the dark archive and all other books Summary: 7 chapters, each focussing on one of the main / favorite characters (written for 2021 Invisible Library Character Appreciation Week)

Chapter 4 - Catherine & Silver

Please note that this chapter could be spoilery if you haven't read The Dark Archive, although it's almost fully based on my own ideas and theories about Silver's involvement in Catherine's upbringing.

You can simply skip this chapter and continue with the next one if you want.

╳

“Don’t you even want to see her?”

“My dear Adele, why should I? I have a singular interest in babies,” Silver drawled, wrinkling his nose in a mildly disgusted expression, “and that is to prevent them from coming to existence in the first place. Aliment disputes are such a bore. Now, don’t waste my time.”

He noted how his sharp remark made his niece flinch and recoil a little. Every time he had the displeasure of having to deal with his family, he was reminded rather quickly of why he had no interest in keeping anything but the most basic contact, if at all necessary. Or, at least, that was how he liked to think of it.

“You know I’m a very busy man, so... ”, Silver trailed off and let his gaze sweep from his cocktail glass to the chaise longue by the french window, overlooking the vast, private park. It was a mild, sunny day in Schaan, and the light breeze blowing in through the open window would feel simply heavenly on his bare skin. Together with a pair of hands, or maybe two - two pairs of hands, and soft, warm lips and…

“Uncle, I understand that you don’t want to get involved. You don’t have stakes in the conflict personally, and I accept that.” Adele had pulled herself together, and the fresh firmness in her voice made Silver look back to her, “I know that you are interested in what I have to offer though. Or you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me.”

Silver sighed.

“And what do I get for inviting you to my summer house? A wasted hour on the most beautiful day of the season so far. I am not a family man, and unless you do finally tell me what it is you have to discuss, my darling, I will consider my duty towards you as my relative to be fulfilled, and wish you a very pleasant journey back home.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he rose to turn his back on Adele. There was a pause, during which to his chagrin she did not stomp out of the room and leave him to his much more pleasant company waiting in the salon.

Instead, she pulled a folder from her bag. Silver was cunning enough not to immediately turn around and check if it really was what he thought it might be. If these were the papers, and it was not that unlikely - after all, they had been passed down to Adele - then it meant two things. First, that he would at least listen to what she wanted to ask him, and second, that she was desperate.

“This is what I offer you,” she said bleakly, “together with the relief of all formal obligations you have towards me.”

Silver turned back to face her, leaning his weight forward on the table. His interest was piqued now.

“And in return?”

“In return, I ask you for a favor.”

Silver sat down in his chair again, downing the last of his drink.

“Why so vague? With you so willingly throwing the highest triumph your family line has to offer me on the table, I suppose it must be something rather unpleasant.”

“You said I should not waste your time,” Adele snapped, “so don’t complain about me being blunt in this negotiation. What I want from you in return, is your protection.”

“Aah!” Silver drew the word out, while a servant hastened to refill the glass he held out. “My dear Adele, don’t bore me with those petty little feuds that your side of the family is so fond of. As far as I can tell, you are capable enough to take care of yourself. Why would you need my protection?”

“There have been recent developments that make me suspect that the conflict is about to escalate. I don’t want your protection for me,” Adele said, her voice softer now, “I want it for her.”

Silver snorted. While he had a good understanding for self-preservation and the lengths people would go for it, compassion and genuine care for others were plain weaknesses. And if Adele thought that he would play the good Uncle if only she paid him well enough? She certainly had come to the wrong person.

“You are the most powerful living member of our family, Uncle Silver.” Silver frowned in mild disgust at the familiar address, but Adele continued, “I implore you to swear on your name that you will protect her. In return, I give you everything that I have to offer.”

She opened the folder in front of her. It was dark green and visibly old, decorated with both the family crest and the Liechtenstein emblem. She slowly began leafing through the papers inside, so that Silver could see its contents. His eyes flashed gold for a moment, hungrily eying the documents. It was generations since he had been disinherited by this line of the family, and while they were not highly influential and he had done well for himself without the legacy, this would allow him to broaden his reach even further, making him quite possibly the most powerful man in Liechtenstein.

Adele looked up, saw his expression and snapped the folder shut.

“So, will you do it?” she asked curtly.

Silver rolled his eyes and sipped his drink, all indifferent nonchalance again.

“My darling, while flashing this bait might be a temptation, the other side of the deal still needs to be defined. You don’t really think I’d agree to such a sweeping concession.”

“Fine. You will swear by your name that you will protect her life at whatever cost or risk for your own, until she has grown powerful enough to commit herself to a patron who accepts her as a student. In case anything should happen to me and Francisco, you will oversee her education and provide for her in a way that allows her to grow up happily and in safety.”

Silver leaned back to sprawl in his chair, and considered for a long moment. Then, he shrugged.

“I accept.”

He stretched his hand out for the folder. Adele gave him a weak laugh.

“Uncle, you’ll have to swear first. I am not that stupid.”

Silver shrugged.

“Worth a try. Now. I swear by my name and nature, …”

But Adele cut in, raising her hand.

“No. No, not to me. You must swear it to her. I want you to bind yourself to her life, not to mine.”

Silver’s eyes gleamed, his expression sombring. What a shame. That would have been the easy way out of course. He could still back out. But now that he had tasted blood, he was hooked. He yawned and waved a lazy hand at Adele.

“Sure, whatever. Just get this done with, I have more important matters to see to.”

And then Adele was standing in front of him, a small, squealing bundle of white cloth in her arms. Of course the baby had to wake up just now and start making these annoying gurgling sounds. Her mother looked down at her like the most precious thing in all the worlds, and Silver had a sudden feeling of pity for her. She could have asked for anything, really, for her own protection, that of her husband, or even for him to take out her opponents. But all she had been able to think of was the safety of this tiny person. Well, Silver would not dispute the deal. He knew that his win from the bargain was a golden lottery ticket, and fulfilling his side - well, he did not personally have to get involved with his niece, he’d only have to make sure she was taken care of.

“I swear by my name and nature, that I will protect your life at whatever cost or risk for my own, until you have grown powerful enough to commit yourself to a patron who accepts you as a student. Should anything happen to your parents, I will oversee your education and provide for you in a way that will allow you to grow up happily and in safety.”

The air had hummed in that moment, and the baby had looked up at him with her drowsy, dark eyes. Silver had felt the bond he had made with her form around them, like a physical link and now, over a decade later, he felt it again.

It was about to strangulate him. He helplessly clutched at his throat, losing his breath, as the invisible string pulled tight. He had failed Catherine, he had not been able to protect her. After all these years, he had almost been sure he’d made it. But it had not been enough, in the end, now, his bargain caught up with him. ╳

#the invisible library #lord silver #catherine #ilcharacterweek #look how I sneakily combined the two of them now #the dark archive

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megastarstriker · 4 years ago

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{𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫}

~Nikki Sixx x reader~

======================

★Prologue★

“Pilot: When L.A. Burns”

Part 2

====================================

< Prologue (Part 1)

Warnings: Cussing, suggestive jokes, slight angst and mention of violence

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Nikki Sixx x Female Reader

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩:

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: When her step-brother and ex-roommate ,Casey Jensen(Cage), decides to leave home to go to L.A. and form a band. Although hesitant, she decides to take his invitation to go with him to escape her alone and pain-in the-ass life behind. Looking back as she leaves, she wonders if she made the right decision or if she should go back.( I don’t own Mötley Crüe or the actors used in this story, I only own the plot and the band characters I made up. This book and maybe for the entirety of it, will be based off and detailed from the books the Dirt and the Heroin Diaries. Some lines are used from the movie the Dirt, all of these books or movie lines that I mentioned that I will use for the story belong to their creators.)

Taglist: @leatherandheels @xxqueencolourxx @suranne-doesstuff @littlemisscare-all , @niksixx, @nikkisiexx, @nikki-fucking-sixx @prettyyoungandbored @matchaandhoney @savannahgrace98, @metalheartofgold, @dustnbones , @sikinikx, @seventieshead-modernlover, @tbonelee, @mrsixx, @queen-crue, @mikaiya1313, @ginny-rose-sixx, @bus-jackson,

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED TO THIS STORY WITH AN ASK MESSAGE 💕

𝙆𝙚𝙮𝙨:

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(S/C) - Skin Color

(E/C) - Eye Color

(H/C) - Hair Color

(H/L) - Hair Length

(F/S) - Favorite Shirt

(F/F) - Favorite Food

(F/D) - Favorite Drink

(L/C) - Lipstick Color

(F/A) - Favorite Animal

Characters:

BEN HARDY as CASEY CAGE

MÖTLEY CRÜE as THEMSELVES

WILLIAM FICHTNER as ROBERT JENSEN

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1978, L.A. - Whiskey -a- Go Go, Backstage.

“You’re out of the band”, The man said simply as he was holding a cigarette to his lips as he looked at a young man with messy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Holding the guitar in his hand, he gripped tightly as he looked at the guy who gave him the news as he stood there, still smoking his cigarette,” You’re obviously not cut out for this. Too slow and too much of a waste if we kept you.”

Casey stood there with a shocked, yet pissed look at the man as the sharp and hurting words reached his ears. He turned his attention to the other members who didn’t speak up or anything and simply just minded their own business.” So this is how it is then.”, Casey said as he looked down, trying so hard not to punch the asshole that took him off the band he formed,” Alright. I see. If you’re gonna seriously take someone of the band it should be yourself you fucking asshole.”

“We don’t need you anymore. We already found another guitarist.”

“Look if you’re gonna whine like a baby. Do it outside.”, The other man, with brunette hair and who was next to the guy said in a pissed manner as he approached him. Holding his hands out as he shoved and pushed him away in a rude manner.,” Back off.”

Casey took this as offense and punched him in the center of his face. When this occurred the brunette and him started to fight each other punch after punch and kick after kick, as the others were alerted immediately and tried to get them from each others claws and from killing each other.

As they separated the brunette from the blonde on the floor, Casey’s lip had a tear, that started drip with blood and the side of his eye had an ugly bruise, but it wasn’t any prettier for the guy standing above him who was being restrained by two other men. His nose was busted, and blood was slowly trailing from underneath it towards his lips as it reached down his chin, in a brutal manner.

Casey then stood up from the ground, slightly wincing in pain as he held his side, looking at the men with a furious gaze. If looks could kill those men would be dead in the most gruesome way possible, like a tiger ripping a part its prey. “ What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, one of the members shouted at him.

He stood up as he tried his best to not limp, looking at the members, his brows still furrowed at them as he looked at his bruised knuckles.” I’ll tell you what’s fucking wrong. I quit!! ”

He then took the strap of his guitar and swung it to the wall, smashing and breaking it in half. He then threw the broken neck of the guitar that was still in his hands and threw it above the group.

“So Fuck you and go to hell with you all!!”

“Because you’ve just lost yourself a musician who can actually play unlike the rest of you cunts.”

He then looked at the lead singer who was behind the guy with the broken nose.

“Just so were clear....”

He then took a glass cup with a few drops of whiskey and threw it at the guy a few inches away from him. Smashing at the wall behind him with a clear shatter.

“Your singing sucks balls!”

He then exited the room before taking the bottle of Jack Daniels with him and leaved the area outside. It was cold and dark, neon lights illuminating the streets, with crowds of people in every corner in the Sunset Strip. There was many people around him doing a load of crazy sort of things. Whether it was smoking, doing drugs, drinking, or having sex it didn’t matter. He was now busy in trying to figure out how to tell (Y/N) about the fact that he was out of the band.

“Shit, I seriously fucked up now. Didn’t I?”, He said under his breath as the wind flew past him, brushing few of his messy strands to the side of his face.,” Fuck!”

He grabbed at his hair in frustration as he cursed at himself. He thought about how you would feel about all of this. If she would be angry or sad? or worse? He was supposed to be the responsible sibling and friend. Yet, here he was messing everything up for the both of you. Ever since that day... when they both made that deal. He promised himself and mainly to her, he would try his best to make a living together, and never break it. He didn’t want her to leave back to they’re parents. They were bad people. He knew it and he knows she knew it too. But she was very sympathetic, always ignoring the bad and trying to change it for the good. That’s how she managed to even befriend him.

Thinking about you now that the show was finished, Casey then decided to enter the bar once again as he finished getting his stuff packed. Not wasting, anytime he finished the beer he took from the backstage and threw it on the ground, disposing of it. He knew you were waiting in there, as he saw you watching the gig at a distance swaying a bit to the music. So that’s what he did, he went inside the bar and just like that....

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“Get the hell off of me!”, I yelled at the guy who was obviously shitfaced from too many drinks. I tried my best to be polite to the guy and told him I wasn’t interested, but he wasn’t having any of it apparently. So here I was in the most horrible situation any girl could ever be in.” Let me go, Damnit!”

I said as I repeatedly slapped his gripping hand from mine, only to figure out it only made him grip it much tighter. Knowing it wasn’t working I took the opportunity and used the heel on my boot and with whatever force I could muster brought it down to his foot and squished it.

“You Little Bitch!”, The man shouted in a groan filled with pain from the impact on his foot I gave him. In one swift movement he slapped me with his free hand, causing me to stumble and fall on the floor as I held my burning cheek that stung, making me wince by just touching it. “Now you’re really gonna get it.”, He said in a menacing tone as he stood above and towered over me, making me feel cornered with no way out. I ,of course, started to panic and without thinking I quickly kicked him in the groin. Causing him to bend down and grab it in pain, I tried scooting myself away from him and try to stand up. But as soon as I did, the guy just grabbed me by my neck and propped me against the wall. Alarmed and extremely anxious, I started to breath heavily as tears started to brink at my eyes. I tried clawing at his hand that was gripping slowly at my neck. “P-please stop!”, I said loudly and a bit out of breath from the pressure at my throat.

“Listen here. You can cry and shout all you want girly, but no ones gonna hear ya. Got it.”, He whispered lowly and uncomfortably next to my ear, causing me to gag at the strong smell of booze coming from him,” So why don’t you be good girl and shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“The hell’s going on here?”, A voice said from nearby, from a slight glimpse I could see a young lean and tallish man with long, brown and slightly curly hair, wearing a leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt with leopard printed pants that looked a bit small on him. The guy had this look of suspicion, but then changed as he saw what really was going on. “Hey! Back off you’re hurting her!”, the guy said.

But the man didn’t do anything I looked at the young brown-haired guy with a pleading look as tears stained my reddish cheeks. “ I said let her go you jackass!”

Suddenly, as if a miracle just happened I caught a glimpse of blonde hair rushing behind the drunk man who was gripping my neck harshly, and felt his weight pressed against me disappear as he was pulled and ripped away from me. I then fell on the floor as his hand lost its grip and coughed a bit violently as I breathed the air heavily. I then noticed someone else punching one of the men who assaulted me, along with the blonde guy who had the shitfaced guy pressed up against the wall.

Casey...

“Is that how you treat a chick you fucking asshole”, Casey sneered at the guy as he kicked the guy on his side. The guy that was being brutally kicked and punched by him shuffled away from him as Casey panted.

Slowly, I started having a panic attack as tears started to drip from my eyes, I then felt two hands grip my shoulders softly, and as I traced them they belonged to the guy who tried helping me. My (E/C) irises locked with soft hazel ones as they traced my terrified and teary eyed ones in concern. He then put his hands on my face gently and gingerly, causing me to flinch at the contact, not only because it was from a complete stranger, but because of the bruise I had that lingered on my cheek.

“H-Hey, are you okay.”, He asked me as he looked at my face, a bit out of breath as he scanned my face to look for any injuries. He then noticed me wince as he made little pressure with his soft hands on my cheek. He then left his hands of my face as he held them up slightly in defense and mumbled a little ‘sorry’ that sounded genuine and quite sheepish. “ I just want to make sure you’re okay, Dude. I’m not gonna hurt you like that shit-faced guy did, Okay.”

I nodded silently and whispered an ‘okay’ completely trusting him as I was still quite traumatized and panicked with what just happened. I then saw Casey from the corner of my eyes as he looked at me. His baby blue eyes that were fused with rage and anger turning into concern and worrisome as he rushed over towards me before turning to the other guy.

“Are you another one of those assholes!”, He shouted at him as he raised his fist up his whole body leaning over his sitting figure.

“Woah, Chill man! I didn’t try to do anything to her I swear, Dude.”, He replied as he held his hands up slightly to tell him that he wasn’t part of the almost sex assault that just happened,” I just saw the chick getting strangled by the guy and sort of kicked his ass for it, but that’s it!”

Casey then as he still held his fist to the guy, turned his eyes to me for confirmation and I slowly nodded a ‘yes’ towards him. He then lowered his fist and backed away slowly from my ‘savior’. Casey then went to my side and reached over to look at my face and noticed the marks on my neck and cheek,” That fucker.” he muttered harshly under his breath with furrowed brows as he gulped slowly at the lump in his throat.

“Thank you”, I told the guy as he looked between me and Casey.

“Its cool, someone had to step in to teach those men a lesson, and with the many punches we gave to those dickhead’s....”, He replied as he made a punching motion as if he were boxing in a comedic manner, ”They’ll never wanna come back now and mess with us.”

I laughed a bit with a wince as he did that.” You’re not a boxer.”

“Whose to say that? You never know what’s under these fucking fists.” He replied with a grin as he held his fist up in a fighting stance.

I chuckled again at his goofy manner as he joined in along with my brother who was trying so hard to keep a bold hard face, but couldn’t from how ridiculous the guy was being and so he joined in the laughter.

“Name’s Tommy Bass, but my friend’s call me Tommy”, the guy said as he held his hand out in a greeting and friendly fashion.

“(Y/N)”, I answered as I held his hand shaking it softly. The guy named Tommy seemed very enthusiastic and excited in his own childish but cute way.

He then looked to my brother over my shoulder while he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, sitting next to me in the ground.” Casey Cage, but Casey is just fine.”, Casey simply said followed with a sigh.

“Rad name. You were also pretty fucking hardcore, by the way when you kicked that guy in the nuts, you really showed him.”, Tommy complimented with a happy smile as he then went to fumble something on his pocket and took it out to reveal a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. My brother in return just shrug his shoulders, like he didn’t really care whether he thought it was cool or not, but the smile on his face proved he was kind of happy to hear it.,

We all talked for a few hours making me feel more calm and relaxed and a whole lot stressed from what just happened a few moments ago.

“ Look I know we just got out of some messed up shit, but I was thinking maybe we could all go down to the diner down the street and hang out there. It’ll cool things down, lighten the mood Y’know. They’ve got some killer pancakes too. That’s if you dudes are cool with it.”

I laughed softly at Tommy’s adorable behavior, and thought about what he said for a moment. To be honest, it was a great idea. The last thing I wanted to think about was getting almost raped and my virginity away by those bastards. It’ll calm me down from my anxious and shocked state. Besides, Casey being there it will make me feel safer. His suggestion was all for good intentions too and he did save my life it was the least I could do. Plus, he seemed pretty friendly, and I want to get to know him better. After all, he did just comfort me and beat the guy’s ass and teeth off.” Well, I am kind of hungry and I think you are pretty cool. Sure. Lead the way.”

“Okay then, Let’s go.”, Tommy cheered as he stood up and took the cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, letting the smoke leave his rosy lips, before putting it back on his mouth, giving me a tight-lipped smile that adorned his face very nicely, the sense of its comfort making me smile as well.

Casey gave me and Tommy a face that read “seriously” to us both, as he raised an eyebrow.

“What?”, Tommy and I said in unison as we looked at him in confusion, as we started to walk away from the cramped and dark alleyway, that had barely any light.

“Nothing.”, Casey replied as he shook his head in disbelief as he uncrossed his arms, letting them fall gently at his side, as he let his back scoot away from the wall and walked towards us, dusting his pants of as he did. Following Tommy, we walked side by side all three of us on the sidewalk of the street.

A few moments passed and it was somewhat quite. Awfully quiet. I thought of asking Casey about his broken lip and his bruised eye, but I somehow decided against it. I knew it couldn’t have been from the fight, being that he didn’t get punched rather he was the one who attacked first.’ Did something happen to him while he was backstage?’ I thought as I pondered a bit over that fact. I knew he was perfectly fine with defending himself and standing strong, being that he did just punched that bastard and he has been in many fight in the past. But as his closest friend and only sibling, I couldn’t help but feel a bit worried about him. Sure he was sometimes a jerk and all, he sometimes got himself into trouble, but still...

“So, what kind of music do you like?”, Tommy asked breaking me from my thoughts and the ice that was growing between us as we walked quietly, his bright eyes met mine,” Rock ‘N’ Roll?”

“Yeah, we listen to rock n roll. Both of us.”, I answered with a sweet smile as I gestured to Casey who was walking silently beside us both, his shoes grazing the pavement beneath him with each step, limping slightly as he did.

“Really?! Sick!”, He replied as he held a rock sign on his hand with a joyful grin on his lips, ”What bands do you listen to?”

“We listen to AC/DC, Kiss, Queen, Black Sabbath, The Rolling Stones, and a whole lot more than I can count.”, I laughed a bit as I listed.

“Nice, What’s your favorite. Mine’s is KISS, their music is fucking fire.”, He said in a almost awed manner as he talked about them.

“Well, I think every band has their own charm and flaw that makes them unique and a favorite to everyone. But since you asked, I love AC/DC.”

“Not Bad, babes. I think their pretty sweet too.”, He said as he glanced out at me through the corner of his eye, as he smoked his cigarette.

As we were approaching the diner up ahead, a few drops of what appear to be rain came to fall from the late midnight sky, wetting my jacket a bit. Tommy and Casey noticed it too as they felt the raindrops that turned into almost pouring water to fall on their dry heads.

“Last one to the diner is an old chicken!”, Tommy yelled as he ran his fast legs carrying him to the diner. His hair flying behind him as he ran like crazy as if his life depended on it.

“No fair! You got a head start.”, I yelled as I laughed a bit, running behind Tommy, as Casey started to run beside me, the rain pouring down to the grown and underneath our feet each second.

“Slowpoke!”, He yelled back as he kept running at a fast pace, reaching the diner’s doors. He held his arms wide in the air, as he released two rock signs on both of his hands.

I then stopped running as I stood in front of Tommy, Casey right beside me, holding his mouth as he tried not to laugh at my tired expression.

“Finally, for a second I thought you were gonna be last!”, Tommy laughed out as he held the door to the diner.

“What is that suppose to mean?”, I asked in a sassy remark with my arms crossed as I furrowed my brows.

“Ooh, Cocky are we?”, He replied as he held the door for me with a grin,” Ladies first.”

“Asshole”, I muttered lowly but a bit louder enough so he can hear me, as I tried to suppress a growing grin on my face.

Looking at inside the diner, it was pretty much packed with a lot of people in different booths. Luckily there was an empty one from between a couple of ones that were full. We took a seat on the empty booth, Casey went on the front, inside as I followed and entered on the edge of the seat, Tommy sitting across from us both and waited until the waitress came to take our order.

The place was loud and filled with chattering as the people around us talked, the only ones quiet and waiting patiently was us. Tommy was impatiently tapping his foot on the ground like a little kid waiting for the school bell to ring for the end of school, while Casey with a bored look took a napkin from the tabletop napkin holder, rolled it up a bit. As he held his nose with one hand, leaning his head back, and with the other placed the rolled up napkin inside, as hints of blood started to drip from underneath his bruised nose.

“Damn, that nose looks seriously fucked up. Did you get into a fight with someone?”, Tommy asked directly at Casey as he looked at my brother’s wound on his lip, nose, and on the side of his eye, hissing at the sight. Casey simply turned his head away as he dabbed the napkin into his lip holding it in place to stop the bleeding, ignoring his comment as he simply didn’t want to talk about it, avoiding his question. Tommy took this as away to not lead that conversation forward and simply dismiss it, as he leaned his upper half body on the table, both of his arms standing and laying on it for support as he scratched his head, while his head was turned away to look at something else.

Then as if it were a miracle, the waitress came and stood before us. Tommy instantaneously sat up as he looked at the young attractive waitress that was holding a small notepad and pen in her hand. “May I take your order?”

“I’ll have Blueberry Pancakes, please and maybe something a little extra...”, He replied to the waitress as he flirted with her. Getting the message, the waitress simply rolled her eyes at him and looked towards the both of us, awaiting our order so she can write it down.

“Umm..”, I tried to think as I looked at the menu that was placed in front of me,” a (F/F) and (F/D) would be nice.”

Then the lady looked towards my brother, in which in return he stared at her, while she tapped her foot at the outside corner of the table.

“I’ll have a Jack-”Casey managed to say, before I stomped his foot that was next to mine from underneath the table, not letting him finish his sentence at all.

“A coke, please.”, I replied sweetly as I turned to Casey, who was pissed at me for not letting him speak to the lady and order what he really wanted.

The lady then nodded to us as she then flipped the page on her notepad and wrote, what I assumed was our orders.

“Your order will be out shortly.”, She said as she placed the pencil to her ear with a hand on her hip, as she finished writing and closed the notepad,” In the meantime, I’ll bring you guys some water while you wait.”

“Thank You.”, I said to her as she hummed in response as she left the table.

Once she was out of ear shot, Casey then spoke out,” What the hell was that for?”

“You’re not drinking. Especially, when you are gonna be the one driving the van.”, I whispered-shouted at him.

He then rolled his eyes at me and simply answered,” I wasn’t gonna get wasted like that.”

“I know, but still...”, I told him as I looked down at my lap fiddling with my fingers and my hands.

I then pressed the jacket closer to my neck trying to cover the slightly marked bruise spot there, so no one can get the wrong idea of one of the boys hurting me in any way. The world seem around us seem to move on, except for us three who where still sitting in awkward silence.

“Here”, The woman who was first attending us brought us our water,” I’ll come again when your order is ready.”

Placing the tray in front of us and then putting the glasses of water in front, she then left as she took the tray along with her.

Casey then took the water as he drank from it. I on the other hand played around with the straw inside the glass. While Tommy, was surprisingly quiet this whole time, probably feeling a bit awkward. Who am I kidding? This was awkward. We were all feeling awkward.

“So...”, Tommy started to say as he drummed his fingers on the table, pursing his lips as he tried to think of something to say, with slightly wide eyes as he looked at the table as if it were the only interesting thing right now.,” Are you guys....like a thing?”

Casey as he heard that choked on the water that he was drinking, that was brought to us on the table by the waitress as we waited for our food, and holding the napkin he had on his nose that was keeping it from bleeding in surprise, making him cough as he tried to compose his fit, his eyes watering and wide as he covered his mouth with his left arm.

“You okay?”, He asked worriedly as he watched him coughing. I looked at him as well, a hand resting on his shoulder as I tapped it gently.

Casey then in a raspy voice managed to say ‘I’m good’ as he let out a few coughs, before he finally finished.

“We...aren’t a couple.”, I responded Tommy’s question,” We’re related to each other” .In which he let out an ‘Oh’ in response, as he realized.

“Sorry, It’s just. You guys fight like an old married couple. It sorta gave me the idea you both were hooking up or dating, some shit like that.”, Tommy said laughing a bit, as he said that.

“No we are not.”, I said as I laughed a bit too, nervously.,” But you do have the arguing part, down right.”

I then looked around the place of the diner a bit as I watched people eating or just talking.

“This place is really nice, I didn’t think there was a diner near the bar we were just at.”, I said with a smile as I looked at Tommy.

“I know, right. I usually come here often after I watch a few of the gigs down at that bar,. Speaking of which...Care to tell me what a pretty chick like you was doing in a place like that?”, Tommy asked out of nowhere curiously, as he sat across me from the both we were in, trying to be flirty but at the same time to not be awkward.

“Umm, I was seeing him play, his gig, at.. the bar ,‘Whiskey-a-Go Go’.”, I replied nervously, pointing at Casey as I stared at Casey through the corner of my eyes and explained to Tommy,” He invited me to come see his show.”

“Oh, Now that you mention it....Wait a minute! I think I’ve seen you before”, Tommy said as he looked at my brother with furrowed brows, squinting his eyes and pointing at him as he tried remembering something,” No fucking way! You’re the dude that played that rad guitar solo onstage at the Whiskey.”

“Yeah, So?”, He asked slightly annoyed and defensive, I elbowed him gently as I glared at him at the corner of my eyes, trying to remind him to be nice.

“What you did onstage was so awesome. You had the whole audience begging on their fucking knees for more!.”, He said followed with a laugh as he finished his sentence.

“Well, some of them didn’t think so. Those crackheads kicked me out of their shit-show. We’re done and over with. Couldn’t be more happier about it.”, He replied lowly, mumbling the last sentence to himself, as he looked down at the napkin that he pressed on his lip, that was stained with dried blood as it trickled a bit from his torn lip.

“Dude! That’s definitely their damn loss, they are seriously gonna miss out on your skills. What you did was pretty badass. The show, not the nose, but...the Nose looks pretty badass too.”

“Yeah, the singer was such an ass.”, Casey replied in a muffle as he held the blood stained napkin in his fingers, pressed against his mouth and nose.

“Yeah I saw the banter that happened onstage. Hey, fuck him, though. He deserved it. Besides, he wasn’t much of a good one any ways.”, He said with sincerity as he looked towards my brother and then to me.

“He is right, you know. You were pretty good up there.”, I said

I nodded at him with a smile, as Casey looked towards Tommy a small smile starting to reach on his lips, but silently dismissed it as he downed more of the clear liquid from his glass of water and turned his head away from him.

“Do you play in a band?”, I asked Tommy as I drank from my still full water on the table.

“Not at the moment, But I’m planning on joining a band called ‘Suite 19′. I’m gonna be their new drummer.”, He said taking out from his belt, in what looked like to be drumsticks,” That’s when the guys decide to kick the other guy out. I talked to them about it too, But I don’t know. They are still kind of thinking about it.”

Casey then looked at him with furrowed brows as he saw the drumsticks he was carrying.” Do you carry those with you, everywhere you go?”

“Yeah.”, He said as he began to play around with his drumstick in his hand, twirling them around in a very fast motion, without making a mistake as to drop it.

“That’s great. Casey also knows how to play the drums.”, I said as he kept twirling them at a quick pace keeping his gaze at us.

“Nice. Does that mean you can do stuff like this?”, He said as he began to do many twirls around his fingers with the drumstick, in different movements all in one hand. Only for him to drop them by accident as he made the drumsticks stop turning around and rested them on his hand. Leaning down to pick them up from the ground as he muttered ‘shit’ under his breath silently.

“Huh. Not bad. Where’d you learn to do that?”, Casey asked Tommy as he kept twirling his drumsticks between his fingers.

“I’ve been practicing since I was three. Also, High school marching band. ”, He said with a sigh and laugh as he stopped twirling his drumsticks, letting them fall on the table gently, as he gave us a tight lipped smile.,” Hey, but I rock too.”

Casey looked down at the table shaking his head as he let out a chuckle to escape his mouth followed by a smirk.” Yeah, I can see that.”

Then from a distance the woman held a tray of our order towards us. She held it down on the table. and passed each of our plates in front of us. Afterwards, she placed an icepack right next to me and my food on the table. I then looked towards her only for her to respond, “Its for the bruise. It will help with the swelling. Enjoy the food, hon.”

She then left leaving me shocked and a bit happy as I thanked her shyly for the ice pack, I then placed the small ice pack around my neck, tensing at the coldness of it coming into contact with my stinging skin that still hurt quite a bit from earlier. A few moments later though I relaxed as I adjusted to the feeling.

“You seriously eat that at this time?”, I heard Casey asked Tommy from beside me.

“Yeah, I mean its Pancakes. Nothing is late ”, He said as he started to take a bite of the delicious and warm stack of pancakes.

“I know that, but Don’t you think its a bit late for that?”, I asked him with a laugh.

“Hey, food isn’t late for anything, especially Pancakes. Besides, they taste fucking amazing.”, He said a bit muffled as he started eating his Pancakes with a smile, like a kid eating a sweet treat.

“Yes, we fucking now that by now. Now can we please just eat, right now”, Casey said as he laughed afterwards a small smile on his face.

“Okay, Geez....”, I replied with a tiny laugh.

We all three laugh together, as we talked and talked, while we ate. The mood was comfortable and relaxing. Everyone was having a good time, even Casey surprisingly as well. But then it was already time to go as we finished eating our food and I checked the time on my watch.

“Anything else, you want?”, The lady prior to coming at our table with our orders said, as she stood in front of us.

“No just the check. I’ll pay”, Casey spoke as he looked at the lady in front of us taking out his wallet from his jacket’s pocket.

She nodded and went to the cash register at the front, passing around a group of people behind it. We then left the booth, and approached the register as Casey paid for the food. Afterwards, we left the place walking on the streets.

“So, what did you guys think?”, He asked as he walked beside us.

“It was nice. you’re pretty cool and you aren’t so bad at all.”, I responded a bit shyly and Casey replied with a simple ‘yeah’ as he walked to the right side of me.

“Thanks, you dudes are pretty cool too.”, He said with a laugh as we both walked towards the parking lot, where our van was parked right next to the ‘Whiskey-a- go go’. “ Do you come to this place often?”

I nodded with a yes and a small giggle,” Usually, to see bands play.”

” Guess we will be running into each other a lot, huh.” Tommy said as he put his hands in his jacket’s pockets

“Yeah, I guess so.”, I then said as I moved towards Casey.

From there, we parted ways and said goodbye to Tommy, hoping to meet again tomorrow at the same time and place for the last day of the weekend.

Entering the car and pulling away from the parking lot that was next to the bar as we drove away back to our house. It was pretty quiet. Too quiet. I wanted to talk to him about the situation about how he got fired from his band, but I new that was a very strong subject, especially since he was more calmer now then ever.

The rest of the way home was quieter than ever as a random song from the radio was playing in the car. He then parked away next to our place. and just stood there.

“I can’t believe that fucking happen to you.”, He told me all of a sudden as he kept his eyes on the wheel, making my hand pull away from the car’s doorknob as I was ready to leave the car and into the house.

“T-tommy was there when it happen and h-he saved me from that, I-its ok-, ”, I mustered to say as I kept my eyes down, and sunk my body deeper in to the passenger seat.

“No its not fucking okay, those fucking creeps could’ve raped you, because of me!”, He said guiltily with anger as he gripped the wheel a bit tighter and yelled at me,” What if- what if he wasn’t there at all! Damnit”

“Casey!”, I yelled at him so he could hear what I had to say, as he scolded himself for leaving me,” I’m fine, and that’s what matters. Stop blaming yourself for it, It wasn’t your fault. None of it, Okay. You were there too, and you prevented it from happening. Those bastard got what he deserved. I’m safe right now, because of you. You’re a good brother. And a good friend”

He looked at me from the corner of his eyes before leaving his gripping hands away from the wheel and wrapped them around me. He hugged me.

“I know. I’m just afraid that one day I’ll mess up and fail.”, He said his voice cracking by just a bit as he sucked in a breath, trying to hold his emotions together.

The grip he had on me was strong but not too tight either as he buried his face on my neck, embracing me. It startled me at first, but then I let my arms wrap around his strong frame.

“You won’t”, I reassured him with sincerity as I soothed him by rubbing his back gently. Burying my face on his firm shoulder.,” You never did.”

We stayed there for a few moments that almost lasted forever, before he moved himself away from me giving me my space.

“How can you say that. How do you know for sure?”, He said almost as a question as he stared at me softly.

“I just know.”, I told him as I held his hand in mine gently,” Trust me.”

He nodded silently at me as his blue eyes soften as he stared at mine.

We held hands and walked towards the house. As soon as Casey opened the door and turned on the lights to the house, I rushed to my room and to my bathroom. Looking at the bruise more clearly, it wasn’t that bad but it was a bit noticeable. Laying down the icepack that I carried all the way from the diner on the pale sink. Quickly, I went to the bedroom and took my midnight clothes. Then I moved on to the bathroom and closed it behind me taking my clothes off and ready to take a shower. Letting the warmth of the water above me soothe my skin and bruises, as I let my brain and thoughts relax and escape.

....

A few minutes after I got dressed and dried my damp,(H/L); (H/C) hair, I opened the cabinet underneath and pulled out a cream that helped with the mark. I applied it gently onto my skin, careful not to press or put pressure on it too much so it wouldn’t sting. Afterwards, I laid down on my bed wandering what I should do now. I thought writing in my diary or lyrics in my notebook could help. That and there is also my sketchbook in which I spend many ours drawing. As my feet came into contact with the floor, I made my way towards the closet and, reached my hands to the top it, where a bunch of boxes were resting in along with my composition books. Taking the books out from above the box, I accidentally stepped on a shoe as I backed away, causing me to slip from having to stand on my tippy-toes from how high the books were in the closet. Groaning, I stood up and looked at the box that was now opened and had a bunch of photos scattered around in the floor along with the three books. The sound of clatter caused my brother to yell.” Are you okay?!”, He asked from his room as I heard his voice through the thin walls with a yell. “Yeah! I just tripped.”, I yelled back letting him know I was fine. I then gazed towards the photos in the floor, ‘Shit..’, I thought in my head as I looked at the mess,’ Better clean it up.’

As I brought the box on my neatly made bed, I then leaned down to pick the photos each one catching my eye. I then stopped to look at them, sitting on the bed. There was a boy with blonde hair and bright eyes in the picture as he smiled with a toothy grin, one of his front baby teeth being lost, as he held a large hockey stick and wore a warm uniform in the snow. The young boy looked a lot like Casey as he had the same eyes and growing blonde hair. ‘This was Casey!..”, I thought in my head as the young boy in the photo looked exactly like him, examining further as I realized it.

I then brought my attention to the box next to me looking inside and taking the top of it, placing it gingerly to the side. Inside the box, was a photo album. Taking it out and fixing it as it was all messy from the fall and impact, I looked at the photos inside it all being the same boy; sometimes younger or a bit more older and sometimes with a moan, presumably his father, along with other people I didn’t recognize or know of.’ Was this his photo album?’, I thought as I focused on some baby pictures with the same boy, having short blonde strands on his feeble head, looking curiously at the camera in pure adorableness, as he stared with a big and cute smile on his face, that made my heart melt in awe gushingly.

Flipping through the pages, I found one that caught my sight through the corner of my eye. Stopping my actions to look at it, I inspected the photo. It wasn’t just him in the photo. There was an older yet young blonde boy wearing a light blue puffed jacket with a beanie made out of wool and jeans along with dark blue gloves, and a small girl wearing a sweater underneath her warm and big jacket along with warm gloves on her tiny hands, holding a stuffed bear as they stood in the snowy winter behind them. Staring at the camera with serious yet warm expressions in their faces. It was a photo of Casey and me.

What made it more shocking was that I remembered this day that it was taken, despite how young I was. Because it stuck to me for a very long time. It was very important to me.

========================================

1974, L.A. - New York (During Winter)

I was playing around in the snow as I was giggling happily at the sight of it. Aunt Donna was standing beside the car as she stared at me with a warm smile. Grandma was on the porch in her chair on the left side of the porch,

Then I saw Uncle Robert in his brown coat and bored look on his face, as he lit a cigarette on the right side, and Casey standing a few feet away from him leaning on the side of the door.

I then looked towards Auntie and rushed towards her with my tiny feet up the stairs until I reached her on the porch.

“What is it, sweetie?”, Aunt Janet asked as she saw me approach her with a sweet smile.

“Can I, please, go to the park?”, I asked her as I held the stuffed bear close to me.

“Of course.”, She said with a giggle as she walked towards me and leaned down to my level,” I won’t be able to. But I’ll ask Casey to take you.”

She then called Casey over to her, as he stood they’re groaning approaching Aunt Donna as he rolled his eyes, coming down the few set of stairs only to hit the snowy ground to stand right in front of her.

“I need you to take (Y/N) to the park, while I go to the store to pick some things.”, Aunt Janet told him as she then gave him money,” I’m trusting you to watch over her. Buy yourself and her a treat on the way here, Okay.”

She then ruffled my head and Casey’s and went towards the front of the car as she closed the door behind her, starting the car. Pulling away, she waved at me in which in return I did slowly with a gloomy face,” I’ll be back soon.”

Casey and I stood there in the road as she drove away. I went to take Casey’s hand in mine, but he then tugged it away from me rudely, giving me a mean look. I timidly looked down as he did that a bit afraid of him, cowering in fear.” C’mon dork, Let’s go.”, He said as he released a heavy sigh that turned to smoke from the cold, walking away from me.

Walking towards the park nearby, I started to rush towards the swings happily. Playing around the park, I started to look around for Casey only to realize he wasn’t there. This wasn’t the first time he has left me though. Back in school when we would leave after the school rang, we were both supposed to walk to the house together that way I was safe, but he ended up leaving me to walk alone all by myself to the house, not caring what Aunt Janet said about it, even though sometimes she herself would pick us up sometimes from school after work. Once she found out about it, she started to yell at him for doing that and grounded him. But he later sneaked away a couple of times, but I didn’t tell anything to her about it though, because Casey threaten me sometimes.

That didn’t help me from feeling sad and lonely, though, since I was always alone most of the time. I started to walk towards the direction to the house only to be stopped by four boys around 12.

“Looks like, we meet again crybaby.”, Tyler ,One of the boys said as he looked at me, noticing I didn’t say anything back to him,” What not gonna say anything about it?”

He then snatched my teddy bear away from me.

“Aren’t you too old to be playing with toys?”, Tyler mocked as he raised it high above me.

“G-give it back.”, I stuttered silently as tears started to prick at my eyes, trying to act tough and remembering something Casey would say when they messed with him from a few fights I have seen him in at school.” or e-else.”

“Or else what?”, He said his face contorting to anger.

Those boys were the bullies at my school. They made fun of me for liking rock music, plus many other things and would embarrass me in front of the whole class with they’re stupid and cruel pranks, they would also harass me constantly nonstop afterschool. They would push me or fight me a bunch of times. No one knew about it though, because I was scared and just weak. Sometimes, I would come to school with bruises on my knees or arms or I would wet myself on the bed because of how panicked I was, even my Aunt notice it and ask me about it. But I would brush it off as a nightmare or that I accidentally tripped on my. There was one person who did though, Casey. I knew because the fights were always after school and he would just stand there from a distance watching me as he drank from a bottle of booze that if Auntie saw he would get punished for it.

“Hey! Did you hear me, you little bitch.”, He shouted at me as he grabbed me by my shoulders shaking me violently.

“L-let me go.”, I told him as he gripped my arms tightly,” Y-you’re hurting me.”

He then shoved me hard on the floor as he then stood above me.” Ouch!”, I yelled as he kicked me making me tear up from the pain.

“Aww, the little baby’s gonna cry.”, One of the boys said as the other two chuckled cruelly at me.

Tyler then snatched my hair as my back was towards him on the ground, then pressing my head against the ground.

The other boys then started to gang up on me and surround me as I felt small beneath their gaze.

They all started kick me, each impact of their feet making me tear up and suffer much worse. It didn’t help it either that they were wearing shoes. I begged them with tears in my eyes to stop, but they only kept kicking me and mocked me for being weak.

I begged and cried I then scooted away from them with as much force as I could to my already throbbing legs, I then felt my leg being grabbed. As reflex and defense, I used my other leg to kick the person hard in the face causing them to let go of my leg and grab at their face, groaning. I then leaned both of my arms as I looked at the person that snatched my leg ,Tyler, in shock at what I did.

As he let his hand fall away from his face I notice his lip begin to drip with something red as he spit some on the ground, tainting the pure white snow with it. He then looked at his hand as hand that had a few drops of them and stared at me with a steely look that could kill anyone.

“I-i’m sorry.”, I whimpered out as I sniffed out, still scooting away from him as I laid at my side, looking at him with tears in my eyes, my nose red from the cold and from crying too much in agony.

“You are so dead.”, He said with a dark stare as he angrily approached me. Tyler then snatched my hair as my back was towards him on the ground, then pressing my head against the ground., ” No one is gonna fucking hear you, because you are the annoying, fat , weak, freaky ,little crybaby that you are. You hear me!”

Hearing these words made me tear up even more making my cheeks red and damp as he kicked me with each word said in my ear, it also got me thinking if whether that was true or not. If I was really alone right now, that no one was gonna help me. I then laid my head down as I kept crying silently, giving up.

The boys kept kicking me of course, as I begged them to stop. Then suddenly I heard someone yell.

“What the fuc-!”, Before they were cut off.

Tyler’s grip on my hair loosened as he watch the scene, giving me the perfect time to quietly escape from his grasp. Hissing and groaning slightly from the suffering that was inflicting my body. I tried to crawl away from the scene. I then looked over my shoulders to see a boy with blonde hair on top of someone punching Tyler’s face over and over again. Only to stop and get off of them. The boy then turned around to look at me only for their face to be recognized. It was Casey, who’s nose was dripping red with blood. He then rushed towards me and leaned down, with his eyes wide and sucking a breath as he saw my state. He then looked towards the boys who were helping Tyler out from the floor. Breathing heavily in the middle of a panic attack, I curled into a ball crying silently.

“Do you need a fucking hint?”, Casey yelled at them his eyes pissed with furiousness in them as he pierced them with his intense stare.,” Fuck off!”

The boys as soon as they heard that dashed away, dragging Tyler along with them.

Casey ignoring them and looking at my traumatized face, with guilt and regret.

“Fuck!”, He said as he looked at my legs and arms.

“Y-you’re hurt.”, I whimpered out as I was still curled into a ball looking at him.

“What.”, He said as he looked at me with worry.

“You got hurt because of me! I’m sorry!”, I cried out as I closed my eyes letting my tears to fall down my already puffed and red cheeks. Casey seeing this panicked and held my shoulders gently. “No no no no It’s not okay. Forget about the fucked up nose. I’m fine. Okay.”

He then extended his hand towards me which I took in mine with a tremble. Helping out from the snow.

He then hugged me tightly all of a sudden, catching me by surprise and making me flinch but later I, with shaking and feeble arms in pain, embraced him back, as I sniffled. Calming down from the embrace, Casey softly and slowly released me letting his hands to fall on my shoulders. “You wanna go on the swings.”

I then nodded sadly as I sniffled, he then grabbed my hand gently, not letting it go or shooing it away. I in return gripped it tightly, afraid that it would soon disappear from my hands as I stuck closely by him shaken a bit still from what happened.

We then walked silently towards the park again. I couldn’t help but look at his nose in shame as it kept dripping, staining his shirt.

“Y-you’re nose. its red.”, I told him in a whisper only for him to look towards me.

“What?”, He asked as he kept walking, his feet scrunching beneath the snowy white ground.

“Y-you’re nose is red.”, I commented this time a little louder so he could hear me clearly.

“Yeah, No shit sherlock.”, He said sarcastically as he looked ahead, making me looked down sadly. Casey noticed this and muttered a small ‘sorry’ to me

We spend the rest of the day, on the park hanging on the swings. Casey sitting on one of them next to me, and I on the other as we both held hands, afraid to say any words or to let go.

“Casey....” I spoke quietly not looking at him.

“Yeah...”, He said as he didn’t look at me as well.

“Do you think I’m annoying and a freak?”, I asked weakly as casted my eyes down sadly at the white and pale snow on the ground.

“Well.....no.”, He said as he turned his head away,” I think you are a whole lot more than those things.”

“You mean it.”, I said as I looked at him with wide eyes.

“Yes I do. Trust me.”, He said as he squeezed my tiny hand into his large warm one for comfort and to reassure me.

“What if those bullies come back?”, I asked worriedly as my hand and body stiffened at the thought, suddenly unmoving.

“They won’t”, He said with confidence as he looked towards me with soft eyes.

“How do you know for sure?”, I asked him not convinced with his answer or trusting his words, filling my mind with doubt.

“Because, I will kick their asses again if they do.”, He said firmly as he held my hand in his tightly and softly as he squeezed them.,” and I- I will always be there for you....”

“I promise”

========================

{AUTHOR’S NOTE}

Hello again dear reader’s this is the last part of the prologue. We finally met our adorable and crazy Tommy in this one. I hope I wrote his personality and his character as I accurate as I can. This took me a lot to write too. Anyways, thanks for anyone who reads this and loves it as much as I do. Sorry for any one who was awaiting a lot for it. Comment your thoughts about it if you liked it. Hope to see you again on the next update. Love you guys and Hoped you Enjoyed it!

{LIKE AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKED IT 💕}

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #the dirt #motley crue #tommy lee #vincent neil #mick mars #rock n roll #heavy metal #80's rock #motley crue fanfic #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx fanfic #motley crue x reader

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rotationalsymmetry · 4 years ago

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Ok, I may regret this.

I’ve noticed a sort of ... thing on tumblr (not so much offline, at least not with the people I hang with) where stuff is either Good or Problematic, with the implication that if something is Problematic but you still engage with it, you have to justify this engagement by invoking the concept of criticism. Like, you’re engaging with it “critically” so it’s ok.

Everything is problematic. Everything. There is nothing which, if you’re watching/reading critically, you can’t find something to bitch about. (Maybe extremely short short stories, maybe.)

If you consider absence of representation an issue, and you should, then there’s definitely no exceptions, because no work covers every marginalized group and every intersection it’s possible to cover.

This is ok, because the point of critically engaging with media isn’t to redeem your problematic faves. The point is to see and understand patterns in media as a whole. Patterns of how different genders are represented and different orientations and different cultures and races and what narratives support colonialism and what narratives support the police etc. it’s not, it never has been, about splitting works into categories of good and bad.

And part of that means: if there’s a thing you like, you don’t have to treat every episode or rewatch like a final exam. You can just watch it, and if you don’t catch everything you might be “critical” about that’s ok. It’s Ok to turn off the critical awareness sometimes, if that is in fact something you’re capable of doing.

Leisure is a biological and psychological necessity. People do in fact need to be able to engage in leisure activities without doing a bunch of extra emotional labor (which is what critical engagement is) some of the time.

So, if you don’t need to “engage critically” all of the time, what should you do?

Engage critically — some of the time. So that you can see general patterns of things like... police being presented in a positive vs negative light, police breaking the law being presented in a positive or negative light, patterns in what kind of person is shown as villainous, patterns in what kind of person is put in a comic relief role, narratives that could be used to justify wars of aggression, narratives that real life rapists could find plausible deniability in, etc etc. You don’t need to do this all of the time, and you shouldn’t only do this on works that someone else has pointed out to you as problematic. (This doesn’t just apply to TV shows etc by the way. Who’s shown in ads and how? Magazine covers? Is that bra being sold as “nude” as though there’s one universal skin color? How are male politicians talked about differently than female politicians? Which tumblr posts get more reblogs and which get fewer?)

If someone else doesn’t want to watch a thing, or talk about it with you, they don’t have to and you shouldn’t pressure them to, regardless of reason. Specifically? Don’t argue if someone cites a social justice reason, and don’t argue if they don’t (because often people would rather avoid conflict by saying “eh, it’s just not my thing” than to say “I’m not watching that because of how they treat a character I identify with.”) Just live and let live.

Be alert to nonverbal body language, if that’s a thing you’re capable of: sometimes people won’t say “I don’t want to talk about this” but will go quiet and look uncomfortable.

Do some of the many, many, many other everyday things that fight issues like white supremacy, patriarchy, ableism, etc. For instance: people often choose what to watch next by word of mouth, so you can talk to people offline or online about shows, books, webcomics etc that have good rep or are by marginalized creators. In particular, when you can send cash marginalized people’s way, do so.

Problems like white supremacy and patriarchy and transphobia and imperialism/colonialism are huge problems and when you live in a society, you’re inevitably going to be contributing to them in some way, knowingly or not. Aiming for personal purity in terms of never watching the wrong thing is...not an achievable goal. There’s always a million small things you can do to push the world a bit closer to justice, cutting out a problematic show from your life or resolving to only watch it critically and never just as something that speaks to your heart or comforts you, might occasionally be worth it, but most of the time there’s definitely something better you can do with your limited attention and intention.

One thing that you do notice if you engage critically some of the time, is things tend to be a mix of good in bad. One thing helps some trans people figure themselves out and is horrifically offensive to others. One thing is viscerally painful to watch for one person, and transmits a concept that’s positively life-saving to someone else. It’s all tangled up. (And I hope I got across the idea that not all good/bad aspects of things have to line up with a clearly understood oppression issue to be important.) Sometimes it makes sense to take a stand and go “this thing is just too problematic to be in my life” even as you also see the good in it. Or to advocate that other people do the same, which should be a higher bar. (Like. You won’t see me bitching about a few Dr Seuss books going out of print.) Other times... other times it’s not worth it. And it’s not like there’s a shortage of other things that do need to be done.

#political #discourse #purity culture #representation in media #counter-oppression #commenting on without reblogging #this is in response to a post about the rocky horror picture show #show #which was a fine post except it implied that it’s only ok to watch this movie #that is culturally so important to the queer community #and especially the trans community #if you’re engaging with it critically #is it problematic #sure of course #no shit #but also...problematic isn’t the same as utterly without vitally important positive qualities #long post

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thehellcatcroons · 4 years ago

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An Ordinary Woman

Summary: Left alone for the weekend while Dante takes a job out of town, Trish gets a call from Lady inviting her over for dinner. This short story explores Trish’s thoughts and feelings as she wrestles with her identity and the idea of friendship.

The idea for this kind of loosely came from an episode of Inuyasha, where Kikyo explains that without the shikon jewel, she’d be free to be an ordinary woman, and that’s all she ever wanted. I wanted to apply the idea of just wanting to be, or even just feel, like an ordinary woman to Trish, who I think probably questions her identity a lot.

Characters: Trish, Lady- Mentions of Dante

**Brief mentions of drinking wine**

Also up on Ao3 (Tumblr mucked up some of my formatting.)

Glittering reflections of flickering lights danced in the quickly puddling streets of the city as a tall, flaxen haired woman sauntered down them; the usual song of the city night masked by the heavy and steady beating of the rain. Trish had found herself growing a fondness for it, and tonight it proved to be welcome company on her walk to Lady's apartment. It was summer now, a season that could have contended with Hell's own fires, but the showers themselves were cool as ice as they fell from the night sky and caressed her overheated skin. She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the humidity that hung heavily in the air.

Dante had gone out of town on a job, and the phone hadn't rung in days; Trish had grown tired of sitting around the shop by herself waiting for work. She had managed to find some little ways to keep herself busy here and there. She'd tidied the office and cleaned the spoiled food from the fridge, she'd even hung a few devil arms on the walls to get them off of the floor, since everyone at the office seemed to have been tripping over them. But she'd finished cleaning up a day ago, and today she'd realized that the television in Dante's office didn't operate the way he said it was supposed to. Supposedly it showed moving pictures, but all she had gotten from it was static; no matter how many buttons she clicked or positions she twisted the antenna into. Come to think of it, she'd never even seen Dante use it before, how could she be sure it even worked at all? Thankfully, Lady had called to check in on her just as she was tempted to zap the damned thing with her lighting.

It was the first time Dante had left her alone at the shop for more than a day. It had only been a year since they'd returned from Mallet Island, and there was still a lot about the human world that puzzled Trish. Though, she was never shy about the things that she didn't understand, she knew that if she was going to be living in this world, she'd need to learn a great many things about it. But much to her disappointment, Dante seemed clueless about a lot and Trish found herself talking to Lady more and more as of late. She'd been grateful to hear her voice on the other end of the line after her few days of solitude.

“Leave it to Dante to take the only paying job around! Why don't you close on up and come over here? I could use the company. I'd offer to pick you up, but I just started cooking. Guess I didn't really think about that one...” Trish remembered hearing her hearty laugh through the receiver. “Then again, I guess you'd get wet either way since all I have is the bike!”

“Oh, a little rain won't bother me! Besides, I think I'm starting to like it.” She'd said before eagerly hanging up and shutting up shop for the night; the rain wasn't the only thing she'd been growing a fondness for.

She and Lady had very much gotten off on the wrong foot when they first met. In fact, they'd tried to kill one another. When they later found out that the incident could have been avoided if Dante had just introduced them, they'd both laughed if off, and laughed at Dante. In fact, since the incident (and much to Dante's dismay,) the two of them had seemed to bond a great deal over poking fun at him.

Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the drumming of the rain and interrupting Trish's thoughts. The strange sounds of this world were another thing that Trish had found herself slowly growing used to. The demon world had been a strangely quiet place, while the human world was just the opposite; the streets were always alive with the sounds of horns and hollers. She'd remembered Lady telling her that it wasn't like this everywhere, that there were some places in the human world that were quiet and still.

How dull they must be. She thought, smiling at the buzzing neon lights of the bars and shops that lined the streets.

This world was a fascinating place. There was so much to see, so much to do, so much to know. Trish had already learned a great deal of things in just her short year here. But despite all of the wonders of the world that she was in now, what she was learning the most about was herself; who she was, and who she wanted to be. She'd been born of malice, hatred even, created by a monster for some sick revenge.

“But that's not who you are.” Dante had told her when they'd returned from the island. “You saved me, and instead of returning to the demon world, you chose to come back here with me. That's gotta count for something, right?”

Maybe. She thought, recalling the memory. But then, what does that make me?

She knew that she wasn't evil, she just couldn't muster the hatred for it. She was more concerned with who she was, and constantly grappled with her ideas about her identity. After all, nothing was truly hers, everything she had belonged to someone else at one point or another. Her face and her beauty both belonged to a woman long dead. Her guns, Luce and Ombre, had been given to her by Dante. Her strength, her powers, all given to her by her creator, nothing earned. Even her life had belonged to someone else at one point, someone who had cast her aside without a second thought the moment she had failed him. She supposed her name was hers, she'd chosen it after all. But was that it? Was that all she had in this world, after all she'd been through?

The glint of the small silver speaker box that hung outside of Lady's building caught Trish's eye, it was sweet beacon of light to her, casting aside her doubts and replacing them with a strange sense of hope. Her pace seemed to quicken as she approached it, one finger already extended and ready to hit the little button next to Lady's apartment number. A short moment after, she heard the static of the other line picking up through the speaker box.

“Oh! Jeez, you sure walk fast!” She heard Lady's cheery voice on the other end. “I'll buzz you up!” The line clicked off and Trish heard the obnoxious buzz of the main doors being unlocked. Perhaps there were some noises in this world that she didn't care for after all.

The inside of the building was an entire world brighter than outside, though Trish credited most of it to the gross overuse of the color white. The paint on the walls was almost as glossy as the tiled floors that made up the lobby. The florescent lighting was almost blinding, and Trish had to let her eyes adjust for a moment before heading to the elevator.

“Good grief.” She muttered to herself as the cabin creaked and groaned its way down to her. “Why are human machines so noisy?”

As the doors opened, a small hoard of adolescent girls pushed their way out, chattering excitedly about junk food, movies, and something called a 'sleepover.'

“God Jenna, you're so lucky your mom leaves you all of this money when she goes away, we can get whatever we want from the corner store!” Trish heard one of them say.

“It's only because I hate her new boyfriend, she's just doing it so I'm not a bitch to her when she comes home.” Their giggles were cut off as the elevator doors finally slid shut behind Trish.

It seemed to Trish that a decent amount of human rituals involved food. Not only did they need it to nourish themselves, but they used it as a way to bond with one another as well. Though she didn't exactly need human food to sustain herself, she did enjoy it from time to time when it wasn't pizza for the fifth night in a row.

The cabin jerked slightly as it reached its destination, the doors struggling to part ways. The third floor hallway was a welcome site, its interior much duller than the florescence of the first. Soft gray carpet padded the floors, while the walls were bound in a calm blue wallpaper. Trish didn't have to walk far before she found herself outside of Lady's door.

She hesitated for a moment before she knocked, almost nervous to be spending time with Lady by herself. After the events of their first encounter had blown over, Lady had always seemed kind towards her, but Trish could always tell that there was something else there. There was an underlying uneasiness that kept Lady tense and on edge around Trish, and even Dante sometimes. Though, it did seem like Lady tried to hide those feelings from them both. Trish was honestly surprised that she had even invited her over, but she was thankful all the same.

“Hey- woah, ok....how are you not soaked?” Lady asked when she answered the door. Trish shrugged as she walked in, her heels clicking against the floors once more as the terrain changed to hardwood.

“I can use my powers for more than just fighting.” She replied, innocently.

“Well, I suppose having demonic powers would come in handy for all sorts of things.” Lady said as she closed the door behind them and shuffled to the kitchen that was just to the left of it.

She wasn't dressed in the normal attire that Trish was used to seeing her in. Instead, she was sporting soft black shorts with white polka dots, and a baggy gray tee shirt that hung off of her shoulders. Trish looked down to see that she was barefoot, and had a multitude of rings wrapped around her toes.

“I hope you don't mind spaghetti, it's just about done.” Lady said, picking up a wooden spoon and stirring the contents of a large pot.

“What's that?” Trish asked.

“You've never had- oh gosh!” She said, realization suddenly dawning on her. “You probably don't even need to eat, do you? I didn't even think about it.” She almost sounded disappointed.

“Well no, but, I like it. Trying new things has been....an interesting journey for me.” She smiled at Lady as she took a seat on one of the tall steel bar stools that sat next to the counter.

“I'm sure you're really expanding your pallet living with The Prince of Pizza.” She joked as she plopped two glasses onto the counter in front of Trish and filled them with wine. Trish noted that there was something different in the way that Lady was acting, she seemed far more relaxed than she normally was.

“It was kind of you to think of me.” Trish chuckled at Lady's jab at Dante as she grabbed one of the glasses and brought it to her lips.

“I figured you could use a friendly face, being all alone in that office can't be much fun.”

“No, but I did manage to get some cleaning done without Dante there.” She sighed. “He never wants anyone to touch anything.”

“Always says he'll get to it, but never does?” Lady quipped as she sauntered back to the stove. “Been there, done that. I offered to help clean up about a thousand times when we first met. I guess all men are destined to be stubborn, demon or not.”

Trish laughed as Lady spooned the food she'd made out onto some plates for them.

“In any case, I'm glad you're here to give me some company. And that you're willing to humor me and eat my cooking.” She made her way back over to the counter and placed the plates down between them.

“Well, what do you think?” Lady asked as she watched Trish take a bite. “This isn't the first thing you've had besides pizza, is it?”

Trish covered her mouth as she stifled a laugh, still chewing.

“I've tried other foods!” She managed to quip back once she finally swallowed. “I do like this though, what's it called again?”

“Spaghetti.” Lady laughed. “And I'm glad.”

“I heard some girls talking about something called a sleepover when I was getting on the elevator. What is that?” Trish asked suddenly after they'd spent a long and comfortable silence enjoying their food.

“A sleepover?” Lady asked, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. “I've never really been to one myself. But, it's when kids, er- friends, get together and spend the night at each other's houses. They usually stay up all night doing stuff like watching movies, painting nails, telling scary stories, eating junk food.”

“How come you've never been to one?”

Lady looked down into her glass of wine, as if the answer was at the bottom.

“Well...” She began, she looked up at Trish nervously. “My parents were both a bit overly protective when I was really young, so I was never allowed to stay over anyone's house. I think my mom knew my father was....off, so she never let me have any friends over our house. I ran away from home after he killed her, dropped out of school, stopped having friends.” Her voice was suddenly a whisper. She sighed as she took a long sip from her glass.

“I'm so sorry....” Trish replied. She'd almost forgotten, Lady may be human, but that didn't mean she was normal by any means.

“It's alright.” Lady replied. “I guess some human experiences are unfamiliar to me too, the ones I was robbed of anyway.” She half laughed.

Trish looked down at her plate as she took another bite, thankful for something to keep her mouth occupied. She hadn't meant to upset Lady, and she'd forgotten how easy it was to stir up bad memories with just a few small words. She found herself feeling strangely disappointed. Lady had only just started relaxing around her, had she ruined that already? Did she break a trust that they were only just starting to build?

“Hey, you know what?” Lady chirped suddenly. “We can have one tonight!”

“Have what?”

“A sleep over. I've never been to one, you've never been to one. Let's have one here, I have a bunch of movies we can watch, and I'm sure I can dig up some pajamas that'll fit you. Well, maybe, you're awfully tall.” She laughed.

Trish smiled, eager to feel a little bit more normal. “You're sure you're ok with me staying here?”

Lady hesitated before answering. “Why not? It'll be fun! We're already eating and drinking anyway, that's about half of the activities right there.”

Trish was taken back, Lady was clearly wary of demons, yet it seemed like she was going out of her way to extend kindness towards her. Why? What had she done to deserve it? She hadn't saved her life like she'd saved Dante's. Still, Trish couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

It wasn't long before the two women found themselves sitting on Lady's couch, laughing at an old movie and working their way through their second bottle of wine. With each passing sip the world around Trish was becoming more and more intriguing. Lady's laugh was a sweet symphony in her ears, harmonizing perfectly with the rain that was battering hard against the many windows in the apartment. The continuous waves of laughter that passed over her were giving her a feeling that she found herself wanting to chase.

Was this why humans kept company with each other so often? This feeling? Being at the shop with Dante wasn't like this at all. They mostly worked, and when they weren't working, he was mostly drinking and moping. She didn't like to be around him much when he got heavily depressed, she didn't like the look in his eyes when he looked at her, like he was being tortured. It was hard not to feel out of place when someone was constantly looking at you as if you were a ghost, haunted by your presence. Though, it wasn't like that all of the time, and Trish had to admit that he seemed to getting a bit better about it as of late. Still, it was nice to be around someone who didn't make her feel that bitter uneasiness at all.

As the screen on the television went black, Lady pushed herself off of the couch.

“Well, what did you think of your first movie?” She asked eagerly, pulling the tape from the machine that rested beneath the television.

Trish nodded through her fit of giggles. “That was funny.”

“Another one then?”

“Another one!” She replied, zealously pouring herself another glass wine.

As the opening credits began to make their way across the screen, Trish found herself feeling oddly comfortable, like she was no longer out of place. It was as if she wasn't sitting in an apartment that belonged to someone she'd tried to kill half a year ago. No, instead she was starting to feel like she was sitting in an apartment that belonged to a friend. It was almost a strange thought to have, half a year ago they'd been ready to fill one another with bullets. Tonight, they sat together laughing over wine.

“Can I ask you something?” She suddenly asked before she could even think about the words she was saying.

“Sure.” Lady sounded almost curious about the question.

“Why did you ask me to come over here?” Trish asked, fixing her eyes to the remaining liquid in her glass, swirling it around with anticipation.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you seem very wary of demons, and I sense an uneasiness from you when I'm around. I just wasn't sure what made you want to invite a demon into your apartment.”

Lady shifted in her seat, looking up from the television and over to Trish. A nervous expression crept across her face.

“To tell you the truth, if I'd met you ten years ago, I probably wouldn't be so kind. Demons and I have an unsavory history, my father was obsessed with them, and that destroyed my life. I didn't even think that I'd end up working with Dante after we met to be honest. I didn't really trust him for a long time, but giving him a chance showed me that all demons aren't the same. There are some out there who fight against their own kind, and I'm starting to believe that it might be worth it to give them a chance.” Lady took a sip from her glass before continuing. “You've kind of helped reinforce that idea. You're a full blooded demon, and you choose to stay here and help humans.”

Trish almost didn't believe what she was hearing. “Me?”

“Well, yeah. Dante told me you were created just to kill him, and now you're here helping him hunt your own kind. I think that's pretty amazing.” She laughed. “Come to think of it, when I invited you over I almost forgot you were a demon. I was kind of just thinking about how nice it'd be to spend time with another woman. You know, have some quality gal time? I haven't had too many friends outside of Dante, this life doesn't really allow for it.” Lady was talking a bit faster than she normally did, a side effect of the wine.

She thinks of me as just another woman, she thinks of me as her friend. Trish thought to herself, utterly stunned into silence.

The life of a devil hunter was a lonely one, Trish had noted that even Dante didn't have many friends. He seemed to go out of his way to live a solitary life, admitting to her once that he'd left behind someone he loved for this life. He was even cold to Lady from time to time, keeping her just at arms length, despite the fact that they had a lot in common with one another. Trish had always thought that he didn't act that way with her because she reminded him if his mother, but now she was thinking that perhaps it was because she wasn't human. He didn't have to worry about her getting hurt the way he would with a human companion. Perhaps that's why hunters flocked to one another so much, they'd all chosen this life for one reason or another, and perhaps even a solitary lifestyle left humans craving some form of connection.

“Can I ask you a question?” She heard Lady ask before she even had the chance to respond.

“Well, I think it's only fair since I just asked one of my own.”

“Have you ever painted your nails before?”

“What?” The question seemed so off topic and out of place to Trish, but perhaps this was another side effect of the wine.

“Your nails!” Lady help up her hand so that Trish could see her finger nails. They were painted a sparkly black, chipped here and there from working and wear. “It's something people do at sleepovers. I was going to repaint mine, I could do yours if you want. I have a red that'll really match that lipstick you always wear.”

She laughed. “Sure!”

Lady's eyes lit up with excitement, making Trish smile even wider. She seemed so excited to do something so small, so ordinary; but her enthusiasm warmed Trish in a way that she found hard to find words for in the moment. She watched as Lady bounded to her room and back, retuning with a few small bottles and a roll of paper towels.

“Ok!” The brunette said spiritedly as she plopped back down onto the couch and crossed her legs beneath her. She began to shake one of the bottles vigorously. “Give me your hand.” She said as she extended her own towards Trish.

Trish turned to face her and held out a hand, surprised at how soft Lady's were as she gingerly held her wrist with one hand, and began to paint with the other. They spent so much of their time handling guns and various other weapons, how on Earth were her hands so soft? Was it magic?

“Your hands are so soft.” She found herself blurting out, an almost childlike wonder peaking through in the tone of her voice.

Lady laughed. “If there's one thing I learned in this life, it's to find one little luxury worth spending a little extra on. Something that makes you feel like you're still human, some semblance of normalcy. For me, it's occasional manicures and very expensive lotion. It helps remind me that I'm more than just a demon hunter, that I'm still....a lady.” She giggled at the last part.

“You know, I kind of feel like that when I put on make up.” Trish admitted. “I like the way it feels.”

Lady regarded Trish with a surprised smile as she released her hand. Trish brought it closer to her face and wiggled her fingers, watching the shiny red polish glint in the light.

“It's still wet, so don't touch them, or anything else for a few minutes.” She reached for Trish's other hand and began to paint the nails on it.

Trish smiled as she moved her fingers around, admiring the way they looked now that they were painted.

“Wow, this really is pretty, and it does match my lipstick.”

“Toldja.” Lady quipped, winking. “You know, I don't use this color much if you wanna borrow it. Unlike Dante I trust that you'll actually give my stuff back.”

The pair erupted into a fit of giggles, the movie they had put on was slowly becoming white noise in the background, their camaraderie almost drowning it out completely.

“How come you two don't get along?” Trish asked when their laughter had subsided.

Lady looked like she was caught off guard. “It's not that we don't get along. We don't dislike one another. It's just that...” She trailed off, looking down at the couch as she thought. “I met him on the second worst night of my life, the night I killed my father. My father was an evil man....if you can even call him that. In the end he was something else completely. He had to die, if not for what he did to my mother, for what he was going to do to others. But, that doesn't mean it still doesn't haunt me. I had to do it. I had to take his life, with my own hands. It's hard not to be reminded of that when I look at Dante. We have a lot in common, way more than I'd like to admit, but no matter how much time passes I'm still reminded of that night when I'm around him. Maybe that's why he's cold to me at times, he lost Vergil that night. Maybe he can't help but to remember that when he looks at me too.”

“That's terrible.” Trish whispered, she was slowly beginning to realize that painful memories could be dredged up with just a simple question.

“Oh, it's ok. We get along just fine when we need to, and I still consider him a friend. But I suppose we'll never be that close, and that's ok.” She smiled up at Trish. “You know what's kind of funny?”

“Hmm?”

“Despite the fact that we're both demon hunters, and that we tried to kill each other when we first met, tonight is the most normal I've felt in a long time. It's nice to spend time with someone who doesn't bring up bad memories for me, doing normal things that everyday people do.” She mused.

Trish returned the smile, beaming from ear to ear. “I feel the same way.”

And she did, realizing in that moment that she had finally earned something for herself, Lady's trust, her friendship. She'd done it without having to save her life, or double cross her creator. She'd earned Lady's trust simply by following her own path and choosing to fight against evil. By listening to her rant about Dante, by joking around with her when she'd needed it. It wasn't one big moment that brought them together, like with her and Dante. It had been all the small moments, all the gestures that Trish had thought nothing of at the time that made their friendship blossom.

She could feel a deep, yet unfamiliar warmth spreading within her, her smile becoming unyielding in the face of her new realizations. She had a friend, a friend whose trust she'd earned all on her own. For the very first time, Trish felt just like an ordinary woman, and she had to admit, it felt like a breath of fresh air.

#Devil May Cry #Fanfic #writing #lady #Trish #DMC #Mentions of Dante #Minor use of Alcohol #Lady (Devil May Cry)#Trish (Devil May Cry)#Fan Fiction #Short #Short Story #One Shot #Introspection #identity #My Writings

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