#and all the people that use them just point directly at the thing they want you to look at

[nylauninterrupted]

CL16 x Reader [the Golden Boy] Valentines Special I

before reading: Welcome to the Valentines Specials! This one is a bit long, since I wanted to do a lot of teasing and slight tension. The intention behind this one is to make it feel sort of like a trashy romcom but in a good way, if you know what I mean? I hope I managed to do that, let me know your thoughts. As always, requests are open and ready for y'all. Happy reading!

summary: You were an anonymous journalist, trying to bring down one of Monaco's biggest illegal organisations. But once its head figured out that you were the one behind the mocking articles, he felt something other than hate.

content warnings: morality is out of question here, a lot of money talk, weird comparisons I guess?, eating out, sex, dom!Charles, no protection implied (wrap it before you tap it obvi), nonproofread

word count: 3943

"The golden boy of the House of Leclerc amazes the public once more with his ignorance and disregard towards the middle class," you observed in satisfaction as the paper's redactor read the article's title out loud.

You took pride in your work, as it was completely unrelated to making money. If anything, you put money into it, reassuring the small local paper's office that you would be more than happy to provide for them if things went sideways due to your articles.

Although you were certainly a part of the upper class, you made no move to get even richer, instead choosing to use your resources in the scheme you had planned out in the last year.

The plan was to bring down the House of Leclerc, possibly the most prosperous criminal organisation in Monaco, covered up as a fashion brand. You knew all about them from your old man, an eccentric millionaire who had information on pretty much anyone in Monaco and beyond.

You felt completely safe in this line of work; you wrote provocative articles that left the public fuming, slowly bringing down the golden boy—Charles Leclerc. Your articles were published anonymously and were the reason for the recent growth of the small paper.

The money they made off selling it went to them alone, as you did not need it. It helped with the anonymity, as you couldn't be traced by the money transfers.

And during your father's parties and dinners, you could watch the golden boy's face as his advisor walked up to him and reported that another article about his sketchy business had just come up.It was a thing you enjoyed immensely, seeing his polite, slightly amused expression shift into a subtle frown. 

It's a good thing you avoided ever speaking with him directly and kept your distance; he might have noticed your little smirk otherwise.

"At this point I am surprised he did not pull some strings to get our office to shut down," the editor sighed, setting the manuscript on the table. "It's a good thing you have the money to fight it."

Yes, you fought money with money in a sense. Writing these articles certainly would have been more noble if you were a part of the middle class, but you knew very well how that would go; you would have been silenced before people even started reading your work properly.

"Even if he were to do it, it would not escape the public's attention." You smiled, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingertips. "And if he were to stop me from writing the articles, he wouldn't just force the office to shut down. He'd focus on finding me alone."

"Well, I admire your courage." The editor sighed. "Though sometimes it is getting dangerously close to bordering on stupidity."

You rolled your eyes and smiled again before getting up and dusting your jeans off.

"The transfer came through in the morning, from a dummy account, like always. I will see you next week, yeah?"

And with that you left for your apartment to get ready for another one of your old man's dinners. It did not take too long; there have been heat waves in Monaco recently, making your clothing options quite limited. You settled for a sparkly golden dress, paired with gorgeous makeup. 

You winked at yourself in the mirror before checking the time and heading out.It did not take you too long to get to the gathering, where most were already present. You were immediately pulled into hugs and showered with kisses on the cheek from the females present, who were very happy to see you.They all loved you; you were the apple in their eye. If only they knew who was behind the biting articles about them...

Your eyes wandered around the room, searching for your main target—Charles. You were surprised not to see him; the man was almost never late.With a shrug of your shoulders, you entered your father's villa, walking up the staircase and reaching your old bedroom to adjust your makeup a bit.

It was as beautiful and comfortable as you remembered, with little lights hanging down from the ceiling and the art you painted on your walls when you were a teenager. While searching for your highlighter in your bag, you sat down on the chair in front of your old vanity table, not noticing the quiet sound of a person entering the room.

You gazed in the mirror, applying some of the highlighter as an eyetopper, when a voice sounded from somewhere behind you.

"Hello, little writer." Charles spoke in a calm tone, taking a step closer to the light. "I liked your newest article."

You stopped in your tracks for a second, your hand freezing mid-air. You quickly gathered yourself and calmly continued applying your makeup.

"I am no writer," you responded, dabbing the glowy product into your face. "Unfortunately, I never possessed the ability to write proper pieces. You can ask my father, Mr..." 

You paused, pretending to be clueless and not know his name, as you looked at him questioningly.

"Charles," he answered softly, looking at you with amusement, "If your father thinks you have no ability to write, then he is quite ignorant, miss (l/n)."

"Well then, I will entertain your theory, Charles." You spoke, turning around and getting up from the chair to face him. Charles checked you out conspicuously, not even trying to hide the way his eyes traced your every curve.

"How did you come up with the idea that I write articles?" you asked, controlling your body language to perfection. In order to appear less confident and intelligent than in reality, you put your hands behind your back instead of folding your arms on your chest.

He seemed to see right through your trick, seeing you for the way you were: smart and cunning.

"Well, there is someone who writes rather... bold articles in some small local newspaper, bringing a lot of attention to themselves," he spoke huskily, taking a step closer to you, "and I decided to investigate, tracing money transfers from a dummy account, observing the newspaper's office..."

Charles leaned towards you, bending down to whisper into your ear, as his warm breath brushed over your neck faintly.

"You should have picked a busier time to visit the office, little miss... Maybe it would have been easier to miss your pretty face on the camera footage."

You shivered slightly and pulled away to the side, giving him a cold look with your eyes narrowed.

"The next time you try to come into a room I'm in alone, without permission, I will be waiting. With a gun." You spoke coldly.

"Don't tempt me." Charles grinned, his eyes glued to yours. "There is one thing I am curious about."

"Why would a rich girl like you care about what I do, enough to risk her reputation and money, writing articles that mock me? You won't benefit financially... You don't have a business that could expand because of it... Oh, wait." He paused, leaning close to your ear again."Is it to get my attention?" He whispered, smirking at you.

"Did you think that way you would be different from all the other women who throw themselves at me?"

"It might be a shock to you, Leclerc, but not every woman out there dreams of seducing you." You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. While he was still a complete jerk, you appreciated that he did not try to put his hands on you during your first encounter, like entitled men who attended your father's gatherings would often do.

Before Charles had the chance to respond, you turned away and left the room. You did not really care what he would do once you left him on his own in your childhood bedroom. He would not dare to do anything in your father's house.

You quickly got back to the gathering and were immediately welcomed back by the group of women from before. You tried to forget about your encounter with the golden boy and the way his hot breath made your whole body shiver, even though he did not lay a single finger on you.

A girl that has been eyeing you all night had offered you a dance, which you gratefully accepted. You twirled around and had fun, the shiny pieces of your dress making you look ethereal in the warm light, as you continued to be watched by Charles, who got back to the party as well.

Just as you finished dancing with the girl and thanked her, a bit out of breath, another one came up to you giggling, telling you that Charles was talking to your father, asking whether he could dance with you.

Your eyes narrowed, and you looked in your old man's way to see him chatting with Leclerc while gesturing in a lively way. As Charles noticed you gazing at them, he gave you a small smirk and a wave before excusing himself and walking towards you.

"I am not dancing with you," you spoke bluntly, looking at him with disdain. Your words just made him smile and roll his eyes in response.

"Oh, but we wouldn't want to disappoint your papa, would we?" Charles spoke teasingly, "It would be very rude to deny a dance with me, don't you think?"

You bit your lip, knowing he was right. To make matters worse, a cheery Italian love song started playing. Your old man liked romcoms and love songs a bit too much for your liking; you had to talk to him about his Mamma Mia obsession at some point.

Charles raised his eyebrow and held out his hand towards you, just as the chorus of Sarà perché ti amo started playing. You gave him a subtle glare once more before placing your fingers on his warm hand. He smiled and pulled you closer to the centre of the room, leading the dance and twirling you around.

"You look gorgeous tonight, little miss," he whispered teasingly, as the crowd watched you dance. "Are you this beautiful even when mocking me in your writing, or did you simply dress up tonight?"

"Considering how you were busy watching me through the street cameras, I think you are well aware of how I look while working," you bit back through gritted teeth as you smiled at him charmingly to keep up appearances. He gave you an equally tender smile, faking it almost effortlessly, before spinning you around again.

"Oh, street cameras aren't the only thing I can use to watch you. I have eyes too, ma déesse," he whispered into your ear, just as the track ended, and he had to let you go. As you walked away from him, you glanced at your father and groaned at his beaming smile. You silently prayed that he wouldn't try to plan anything as a follow-up to your dance with one of his business partners.

Your prayers were not answered. The next evening you got a text from your father, happily informing you that Charles was absolutely enthralled by you and has asked for your number. (You would not be surprised if your father just came up to him after you two danced and forced him to write down your number in his phone.)

You were still seething as you made dinner in the quiet of your apartment when the doorbell rang. You did not expect any guests, so you raised your eyebrows in surprise and washed your hands before opening the door to see Charles standing behind them. A thought of simply shutting the door in his face ran through your head, but you doubted he would actually let you have your peace.

"Why are you here?" You asked, folding your arms while you looked at him questioningly. 

"Maybe I wanted to see your pretty face again?" he suggested, a grin appearing on his face. You made a mental note to add "womaniser" to the long list of epithets you used in your articles.

"Bullshit," you said calmly, completely unfazed.

"I want answers, little miss." Charles finally replied, looking at you closely, "I want to know why the little rich girl who attends her daddy's parties every other week decided to mock me and make me her enemy when she would benefit so much more if I were her ally."

"It's fun," you replied. "I like it. Watching all the other rich people in town squirm once word about their little illegal businesses spreads. I liked seeing your expression, the perplexity in your eyes."

He kept observing you for a couple more seconds before he smirked again and started taking slow steps towards you. You instinctively started to retreat to your apartment, but it didn't make him stop. As he entered it, he closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Are you going to grab a gun now?" Charles teased, referring to the threat you made the evening before. You stopped and overcame your unease. He was on your turf. And you weren't going to take his shit.

"My turn to ask the questions. Why didn't you try to shut me up earlier?"

"It's pretty simple." He responded, tilting his head slightly. "When you first started writing, I wanted nothing more than to find you and rip your head off. But with each little piece of yours, your gender became clear. It baffled me, since I have not crossed any women recently. It interested me, irked me."

Charles took another step towards you, slowly extending his hand, giving you time to retreat. But you did not, surprisingly letting him place his hand on your chin.

"I found out who you were a while ago. But I decided to watch and tried to see what your motive was. At first, I thought it was your father's idea, but I quickly came to the conclusion that he is a harmless old man. No, you came up with it all by yourself."

You remained silent, listening to his words, as his warm fingers traced your jawline and brushed against your neck, stroking your soft skin softly.

"I was completely sure you were a man pretending to be a woman before I discovered your identity." Charles chuckled. 

"I did not understand why else you would watch me so closely, describing my every... evil move."His hand went slightly up once more, and he brushed the tip of his thumb against your peach-tinted lips.

"Otherwise... Why would someone want to bring me down? Without any gain from it..." his voice trailed off. "You are fascinating, little miss."

You let out a small, barely audible sigh at his faint touches, making his eyes glint with interest once more.

"Are you sure you still don't want a bit of my attention?" He murmured, bending down slightly, his head inching closer to your face as he spoke.

Of course you knew what kind of man he was. Filthy rich, attractive, and thought the world belonged to him. But could anyone fault you for finding him just a bit appealing?You tilted your head up to look at him properly. Thoughts were running in circles in your mind as you bit your lip, feeling conflicted. Charles could see your struggle, and he waited patiently for your response, not making any move to touch you more. He wanted your consent, for you to give in willingly.

"Maybe just a bit," you whispered, knowing damn well that there was no way that this would be a one-time thing. He smiled at your response, reaching his hand out again, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear, and leaning in to place a small peck on the side of your neck to test the waters. Seeing that you did not resist his affections, he moved closer, his body meeting yours. Charles took you in with his eyes, massaging your body through your clothes, taking his time with you.

"You really do look incredible regardless of the situation," he muttered, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your scent. "You are so interesting, little miss..."

His hands slipped under your shirt and kept massaging your body slowly, warming it up. You didn't really speak, still unsure how to respond to the situation. The man whose life you tried to ruin was in your apartment, being intimate with you, and you were... Well, you were a willing participant.

Charles roamed your body with his fingers, keeping it pretty civil for now, and you tilted your head up again, brushing your nose against his slightly, making him smile at you.

"I have to say, you were more fierce yesterday. This is not an unpleasant change," he whispered tenderly. "I suppose you can be quite nice if you want to."

You grabbed his wrists and slowly guided his hands to your breasts, placing them around the round tissue.

"Oh, generous even," he added, but he did not tease you further and kept massaging instead.

"Should I get this off?" Charles asked after a while, referring to the large shirt you were wearing. You nodded without hesitating much, making him take the shirt off your body with ease. His hands were immediately back on your skin, this time enveloping your hips with their warmth.You reached for his shirt, taking it off as well. He gently guided you to the couch, carefully pushing you on the soft cushions.

"You're a bit like a wild cat, ma déesse," he whispered with a hint of satisfaction. "It is very difficult to tame you, and even if one succeeds, you still remain wonderfully independent and fierce."

You rolled your eyes a bit at the compliment but did not stop him from undressing you further, giggling a bit as he struggled with taking his trousers off. Charles gave you a warning look, though he couldn't help but smirk as well.

"Watch out, little miss, or I might lose my temper," he whispered.

"Do you ever?" you asked, looking up at him, as he crawled on top of you. "Were those frowns every time you heard about a new article all feigned?"

"Oh, I was not frowning about the articles." Charles chuckled, pressing soft kisses on your neck. "I just think some of the... labels you gave me were a bit harsh. I don't think I'm a 'filthy lecher who feasts on the weak,' to be quite honest."

"Fine, maybe I am a bit... passionate at times." You admitted with a sigh, as he continued leaving gentle pecks on her body, trailing them down towards her chest, "...You're still a jerk."

"Sure I am." He beamed, his shiny eyes glancing up into yours, before he focused on cherishing you again. He was careful, almost as if he worried about damaging you. You took him for someone who liked it rough, yet right now it seemed like he was prioritising your pleasure over his.

You sighed again as his mouth started inching closer to your abdomen before passing in and hovering above her temple.

"Are you ready, little miss?" he asked, and without really waiting for a response, he leaned down, pressing his mouth directly to your clit. He wasn't hesitant; he dove right in, beginning to suck on your labia, eliciting soft moans from your mouth.

Charles took his time, licking and sucking on the outside, before slowly pushing his mouth further, penetrating your cunt with his tongue. The man had skill; he turned into a panting, whimpering mess in a matter of minutes.

Before he brought you to a climax, he pulled away carefully, glancing at you with a grin.

"It's okay, you can come over my face later," he whispered, massaging your hip, as you glanced down at him, your face flushed. 

"Do you want to feel me inside, ma déesse?" 

You nodded, almost squirming from the tension he built up in your body. He kept watching your expression as he positioned his hard shaft at your entrance, teasing it a little bit, before slowly but surely pushing it in.

You slowly got used to the sensation, letting out small moans and whimpers at the sensation. You closed your eyes, savouring the experience, before pulling him into your arms, making his dick go deeper and causing him to groan in pleasure.

He was so careful with you, as if afraid to break you, to damage you. You would never take him for someone gentle; you assumed he liked it rough. But right now, he seemed to be containing himself for you.

"You don't have to be gentle with me. I'm not made out of glass." you whispered, after letting out another moan. "I want to feel you everywhere."

At your words, his restraint seemed to weaken; his gentle strokes grew into desperate thrusts, the pace quickening significantly. You were now moaning at every move, your body responding to his affections perfectly.

You could not help but admire the way he looked, his brown hair illuminated by the warm light seeping from a lamp placed on the coffee table, his green eyes that usually resembled spring leaves, now looking more like a shadowy forest. Small beads formed on his forehead as he kept a quick pace, sliding his cock in and out of you.

Soon, he reached his high, painting your inner walls white, before sliding out of you, his dick now limp. He tried not to collapse on you, but you simply pulled him in, making him lie on top of your body. You both breathed heavily, spent after the intense sex.

Your mind was analysing the situation now. In the past hours, your opinion on Charles changed significantly. He was still a dick and a bad man, but you couldn't deny the want you felt for him. It might have transcended sexual desire alone.

Charles clearly felt something for you as well; he knew better than to hope that sleeping with you would make you stop writing about him. He was tender, affectionate... It was unclear what he wanted for you. But after a couple more moments of thinking, you decided to let it go for now, choosing to enjoy the presence of the man you seemed to hate just yesterday.

Suddenly, you giggled, making him look up at you questioningly.

"Did you really memorise every insult I have written about you?" you asked, looking at him tenderly. He smiled as well, nuzzling his face into your chest. It wasn't in a sexual way; it seemed that he was simply yearning to be close to you, to stay in this moment, in this apartment, for as long as possible.

"Maybe not every single one, but I remember most of them." Charles murmured, with his face buried in your chest. 

You smiled again, deciding that talking about what this evening meant for you two could happen some other time. For now, you wanted to keep him in your arms for as long as possible.

...And maybe a few kisses, you thought, as you gently grabbed his chin and leaned in, kissing him on the lips. He reciprocated immediately, taking the lead and pouring his affection for you into the gesture, leaving you breathless.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" You asked, making his eyes light up like a little child's.

"I would love to." Charles smiled genuinely. Yes, he was a bad man. But his presence was something you grew fond of. In a matter of a day, you found yourself infatuated with the golden boy that you mocked.

"Maybe I should have suggested breakfast as well," you spoke, pulling him in for another kiss.

[oddrobyn]

Hey, now that I’ve officially decided to make a return to my socials I figured I should say my final piece on this so we can all hopefully move on from this awful experience and also because I’m sure some people will try to argue that I “started this” with my initial request asking to be left alone. Although I originally wanted to try and approach this once again without naming the person directly, I’m afraid I will have to due to the fact that they escalated it to the current point that we are. I don’t plan on repeating anything that was presented in the document, people are welcome to find everything there themselves and come to their own conclusions.

I never asked to be pulled into this. When I originally messaged Sno4wy I had done so because I was saddened to see that a member of the community that I only knew in passing was being harassed and knew that there were others who had received the same treatment. I never imagined that wanting to reach out to a fellow member of the community would result in me becoming one of his targets after cutting communication off with him due to someone reaching out to me and letting me know that the story he gave me was not entirely truthful because they were concerned about my safety; and to this day I will thank them for having reached out to warn me before things got worse.

However. Despite me making requests to be left out of a situation that I now knew to be at best exaggerated and at worse falsified, I received concerning screenshots of Sno4wy and associates like Harlot and others talking about me with the intent of dragging my name through the mud because i did not want to get involved, I had “chosen the side of his abusers” in his eyes and shifted from becoming someone “vulnerable and manipulated” to a person who he was now focusing his attention on to try and spread untrue claims about me, which resulted in attempted sabotages against me and my works which in turn unfairly dragged others into this mess solely because they associated with me.

I kept quiet about this for a very long time because I believed, and still believe that a lot of the individuals who were defending or sympathizing with Sno4wy just didn’t know the full story. I naively believed all the way up until my recent request to be left alone that he would one day realize what he was doing was wrong and stop. I would have even been fine with him never apologizing or telling the truth so long as he simply stopped discussing me both publicly and privately in defamatory ways and went his own way. But after more and more people whom I had never spoken to as well as previous friends of Sno4wy reached out to me to warn me about concerning messages they received from him about me, I could no longer ignore what was happening and tried to address it, which is what led to me making my recent post requesting that he stop lying about me and dragging uninvolved parties into all of this.

Although I was disappointed to see that my request resulted in his friend immediately jumping to respond in a way that would make me look like I was “DARVO” Ing as they have often accused me of, I was unfortunately not surprised. The creators of the document had my full permission to use my screenshots and chat logs with him and I logged off so I wouldn’t have to risk seeing more people on Snowy’s side of things attacking me for finally speaking out.

Since the release of the document, I was made aware that evidence against me was fabricated (which was thankfully quickly discovered and called out), that alt accounts were created trying to “debunk” the document and try to minimize what was happening or discredit it by saying it was full of “nonsense ramblings” despite the fact it was primarily made of of screenshots from Sno4wy. These blogs have preemptively blocked me with what I believe to be the specific intent to make sure I am unable to directly respond to it properly. I became aware that a private medical diagnosis I had shared with him was outed and I do not know how many people now have this information. They have now started to argue that for some reason, 471 whole pages of evidence has been faked. But I know this claim will also be debunked and I am confident that people will see what’s going on.

My participation as a moderator in the Memories of My Time Zine on Tumblr was weaponized and I now understand that there was a one sided competition between us and the other MTaS zine, an imaginary feud that was likely created by him. I never worked on it with the intention to create some sort of contest, and I fully believe that he has acted out on his own accord and that the owner of the other zine was not aware of what he was doing, which is why I please ask that you understand I absolutely do not believe that the owner of the zine should be punished for the actions of someone who was trusted with power who had gone rogue and sent out anonymous asks. The Jewel of the Eufala has my entire support as a fellow creative project and it would be unjust to pin any blame on anyone for Sno4wy’s actions but himself.

I am grateful to the people who have read the document and realized what was going on, and to all the people who sent me kind messages and their support. Some of you were friends, some were complete strangers, and some were people who were previously friends of Sno4wy but recognized the danger that I was in and chose to notify me despite the risks. This situation had made me so stressed out to the point I was nearly hospitalized because I could not eat and the fact that a person could make me feel so weak was scary and shameful.

For the longest time I had been afraid with interacting with people outside my immediate circle, and the fear that Snowy may one day try to doxx me the same way he doxxed others is what resulted in me leaving servers I once loved and felt safe in. I had closed down commissions due to being afraid of how PayPal hands out your name with it. I was afraid of talking to new people constantly because I had to wonder if snowy had already gone out of his way to spread lies about me to them, but still chose to never discuss him despite his claims of me reaching out to artists with the intent of trying to rally against him. All I wanted was a community where I could feel safe and befriend people and for a very long time I allowed snowy to take that away from me. But not anymore.

Sno4wy, I am now asking you directly one last time. Please stop. Please leave me alone. Please stop doubling down. I hope you don’t take what I am about to say with offense, as this is something I mean with only the best intention. Please get help. I still believe that with the right help you can heal and become better, just as I have suggested to you privately. Do it not just for those around you, but also for yourself. What you have done has hurt people much more than you may realize. If you truly had the evidence you claimed you had against my friends and I, you would not be hiding behind new alt accounts the way you are now and would have shown your evidence now instead of promising it again and again and again and then never providing or becoming offended when it is requested.

I want this to be the final time I ever have to address this. All I asked was to be left alone, that was all I ever asked. This has been one long nightmare that I just want to end but one that I will not allow to taint my love for this game series or community. It is because of everyone who reached out to me to keep me safe that I want to remain and why I believe that the good outweighs everything. I refuse to let this experience ruin my excitement for future projects and my passion to create and express my love for a game series that I love.

I once again want to express that as a Queer POC I will ALWAYS advocate for spaces where queer, POC, neurodiverse and other marginalized people can safely exist and express their love. I ask that this whole event does not turn people away from the fandom and that they know there are those of us who will support them all the way through.

Please Leave me Alone

Hi, I’ve been sort of attempting to avoid making a post about this but due to numerous concerned individuals reaching out to me and the amount of receipts that I’ve been given regarding this I have to make one last attempt to address the person who has been doing this to me for the past few months.

I know what you’re doing, and you know it’s dishonest and wrong. This needs to stop. Targeting others and involving them in your personal drama just for interacting with me is unacceptable, and the misinformation and harassment have to end.

I’m giving you the chance to take accountability and tell the truth. If I continue to hear that this behavior is still happening, I’ll have no choice but to address it directly.

I’m not interested in some self-made competition for attention and the drama - I just want to share my love for this game and community together with my friends. Please leave me alone.

For the record: I have never, and will never, send anonymous hate to anyone - especially not over being queer or creating gay art. As a queer minority myself, I stand for marginalized communities and will always support safe, inclusive spaces for everyone.

It’s incredibly unfair to your friends as well, who you have most likely been feeding false versions of the story. It’s also unfair to pull completely uninvolved individuals trying to enjoy their time in this space into this especially when you know that this is untrue- then hide behind alt accounts and your friends, which will unfairly put them in a position where they have been defending someone who has been dishonest to them.

I wanted to believe that you were going through a rough spot and that it led you to doing this in a bad state of mind, but this is becoming excessive and I want you to please use this opportunity to reflect on this because you know what you have been doing is wrong and hurts everyone.

[balkanradfem]

I wrote this post in a word document, and I named this document 'not got stabbed yet', so that's the theme today.

I mentioned someone was slashing my bike tyres in the park, and it happened two times in 4 days. I thought, you know, crazy park person was after me, and I need to stop going to the park with a bike, if I want to avoid this.

However, something else happened next. Something that truly chilled me. My bike tyre was slashed the day after, and I hadn't been to the park that day. Not even close. I've been to work, and then visited a store, for 5 minutes. Someone found my bike and slashed it either at my workplace, or at the store. Someone had to follow me to find it there. Someone knew where I worked and shopped.

The tyre had a very small hole, so it deflated very slowly, and I only realized it was flat after I got home. I didn't know whether it was slashed while I was at work, or at the store. I took the tube out to check it out, found no thorn or any natural signs of damage, and called the police again. I wanted to know if there was more reports of this happening.

This time I was in luck and got to talk to a police woman! So I was happy, and I was able to share more details, such as where, when, how many times it happened, she was willing to hear me out. However, she did not take it seriously. She told me somebody probably got offended that I parked my bike at the park, because it is 'the park', so they wanted me to stop leaving it there, and since the third time hole was so tiny, it was possible I just ran into a thorn. I allowed that it could not be ruled out, but it was incredibly unlikely since I was only riding it directly on the street, not any grass or branches, and I did not find a thorn inside of the tyre. Usually when I do run on a thorn, it will get stuck in the outer tyre.

I explained I was worried about being followed, and legitimately scared of going to work next day, but she said I can't shut myself in, I shouldn't be scared, I shouldn't let someone know they've managed to unnerve me with this! And I'm facepalming, thinking, what kind of girl power is this? Is a stalker gonna quit if the victim is not unnerved enough? Wouldn't that inspire them to escalate behaviour? I sighed and thanked her for listening to me.

There were no other reports, she couldn't even tell me if it happened before at all to anyone. I looked up online if there were records of it happening to anyone, anywhere, but only articles I could find were about mass slashing on one location, like one person slashing 30 bikes at once. It was never about just one person having it happen repeatedly.

I was thinking about what was the point of this, and decided if it's not a crazy revenge for something (and I don't know what, I don't have beef with anyone in the entire city), it has to  be to stop me from using my bike. So I would have to walk. And be much slower. Much more easy to follow. And apparently I was already followed, if they managed to find my bike at my workplace. I was scared to go to work again.

To make things more interesting, I was at that point reading 'Career of Evil', which is jkr's book about a serial killer who stalks and murders women, and some of the book was written from the killer's perspective. This part helped me, because it revealed how it could actually be a bit difficult to attack a woman if she's only walking trough public places with people around, refusing to be out at night, refusing to go into dark alleyways or overcrowded bars and dance clubs. He couldn't do it out in daylight where there were witnesses. I had to stop and think whether this book logic could translate to real life, and if this holds out in reality. Can I protect myself just by being in open public spaces, in front of witnesses? Can I be sure I won't get stabbed if I stick to these rules? And I figured, yeah, that actually tracks, nobody will stab me in front of witnesses. And if I'm on my bike, it's harder to catch me. As long as I can quickly repair my bike every time and use it to get around, I should be safer than walking.

But I still felt unnerved about being followed, so I decided to go to work in a disguise. It was a different location and I didn't want to be followed there. I put together a jacket that was a different color than my usual one, put on a wig, different shoes, pants; it was obviously mismatched upon a close look, but if you saw me zooming by on a bike, you couldn't tell it was me.

Next morning, I nervously entered the workplace all costumed up, and people thought I was pulling a funny prank on them and were delighted. They insisted I stay in my new getup to show me to more people to get a laugh. They acted like it was the most fun thing I ever did. I played along, thinking how this is a convenient reaction, because I didn't want to take the disguise off immediately, for the chance that I'm still followed.

Later they asked me why am I in a mascarade, and I explained what happened. They then confirmed I'm definitely being followed, and started listing all cases where a woman got stabbed jogging or walking outside, which was just great to hear.

My bike remained whole that day, and I got home in my disguise safely as well. Now the question remained – do I stay home scared to go out all day? Do I just go around in a disguise everywhere? I needed to know why this was happening to me. And I felt sick of being scared and agoraphobic. So I made up a plan.

*

Later that same day, I went out with my bike in my usual outfit, bright and noticeable jacket, and my laptop in my hands. I went to the park. I carefully tied my bike behind where I was sitting, and opened up my laptop, which had a bit of tape covering the light from the camera. I was filming the bike with my webcam while I was on the laptop. It was almost obvious what I was doing, from the way I was sitting and leaning, but I was there to find out whether the tubestabby was a freaking idiot or not. Either he would fall for the trap, stab my tyre, get caught on camera, and I would know who did it. Or, he would do nothing while it's being filmed, and I could sit in the park, and do whatever I wanted to, safely.

My bike was fine half an hour later when I headed home, and I then had to review the footage, to see if anything happened. Bike was on camera the entire time, nobody came close to it, but also I was on camera, and while I was reviewing it, I had the crazy experience on seeing how my own face looks while I'm online, reading messages, scrolling trough tumblr. At first all I could see were my eyes moving left to right rapidly, I was speed reading, looking all scared and nervous because I did expose myself to a possible stalker and I was not having a good time. But as time went on, I saw myself breaking into smiles, because I had read something funny, and by the end of it I was just grinning and laughing, the internet humor broke trough my nerves and made me forget the fear. Tumblr is okay.

I was satisfied. I had been to the park, I wasn't stabbed, my bike was not damaged, and if I kept this up, I could be in the park and be safe by the means of obviously recording the bike. I can't do it at night time, as my webcam will not pick up a picture in the dark.

I'm not that spooked out anymore, I was freaked out when my bike was slashed the third time, and not even in the park. It is still scary that it's happening to me only, and I'm not targeted randomly among other people. And that it happened on a different location that nobody should have known I'd be on. If I catch the culprit it will take effort not to try and fight him immediately, because I am truly weak due to my impinged nerve and that guy has a sharp object. But he is a coward, destroying my stuff behind my back, never facing me and telling me what his problem is. I refuse to be scared of a coward with a sharp object.

[raayllum]

Spark notes on "Callum lost his true heart" in S2. Excellent true heart meta here by @kradogsrats on how the concept works more generally that I would 100% recommend reading before coming back here

The true heart is a gift of childhood. For a few wonder-filled years, we each have innocent eyes to experience the world’s beauty in a simple way. 

We see Callum on the cusp of being 15 undeniably believing that the resolution to the war can be that simple (even if we know well before S7, wherein Aaravos directly says they have similar views of how the world works, that Callum does not hold onto this simplicity for long). This is demonstrated, as Krads points out, in Callum's conversation in 1x02:

CALLUM: Can't you just make peace with them? HARROW: It's not that simple. CALLUM: It seems pretty simple to me. You don't want to die, I'm sure the elves and dragons don't want to die, so everyone agrees.

This emphasis on what people want over what they're devoted/committed to ("I'm sure they don't want to die" -> "I am already dead") is similar to Ezran's in arc 2 ("We all want peace and we all want love [...] you want to hurt someone else") that is both dismantled and upheld ("You want Janai to attack!" / "I want them to hurt"). To hammer it in further, Harrow even denotes that Callum is operating under the illusion of childhood, where adults have all the power/freedom.

What happens, I think, over the course of season one and season two is a bit of a domino effect, with Callum making choices in season one that season two continually 'knocks' down so to speak. The first and easiest example, perhaps, is Callum's choice in 1x03 between staying and trying to save Harrow... or choosing his little brother, who will remain in danger the longer they stay at the castle (Runaan and Viren both presenting strong antagonistic forces) and even worse danger the longer the egg remains.

Callum glanced out a tower window and saw Ezran in the courtyard searching for him. But how could he leave the tower when the king was in so much danger? Callum tried to think of what the king would want him to do. ��I’m coming, Ez,” he called out the window. He gave one final look back at the door to King Harrow’s chamber, then bolted to the spiral staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, trying not to look at the dead bodies strewn on the way to his little brother.

—Book One: Moon novelization

Now, this choice makes sense. It is in many ways just another version of the same one (choosing Ezran and his safety) that Callum had made earlier this same episode. Both are more complicated choices ("the right thing, I hope" does not beget certainty, and therefore does not beget simplicity) but we'll get to that in a moment.

The final domino set up in season one for Callum's true heart is, I think, choosing to destroy the primal stone. The reason I say these are the dominoes, so to speak, is because each of these choices are made in a very distinctly Callum-y way, by which I mean: he thinks to a certain degree he can skirt the consequences.

This is not to take away from the weight of the choices Callum is making — they're still sacrifices, they're still honourable, he's still aware that he's risking Something — but there's still clearly a 'block' of some kind between "this is what I'm choosing to sacrifice" and "this is the full consequential weight of my sacrifices".

For example, the primal stone means a great deal to Callum. He states that "without this, I'm nothing" and it's a great powerful tool of magic. However, when Callum destroys it, it is currently unknown to him that this means no more magic, point blank. The consequence for his choice is steeper than he'd imagined, and now he has to live with the reality of it (for a time, anyway, but it's not like the journey to primal magic isn't gruelling, anyway).

But as we grow up, we are forced to make choices, sacrifices, compromises. And they change us forever. 

The same happens when it comes to learning about Harrow's death. Callum was happily writing him a letter two episodes ago, reassuring Ezran in 1x03, etc etc. And yet:

Callum made a sacrifice, then convinced himself that maybe he hadn't, and had to face the devastating reality of what he knew was most likely, on top of why Rayla wasn't able to tell him for the same reason(s) he couldn't tell Ezran.

I also want to highlight Claudia (and Soren)'s betrayal of Callum as well for two reasons. The first, and less interesting/important one in some ways (to me, anyway) is that if Callum's betrayal of 7x02 contributes to the last vestiges of Ezran's true heart being snapped to pieces, it would make sense that Claudia's betrayal would likewise contribute to Callum's.

The more interesting/important facet of the Callum/Claudia breakdown is, to me, what happens before Claudia shows her true colours, and whereupon she hasn't done anything (knowingly) wrong to Callum yet, and still:

RAYLA: Callum, I know you trust them, but if we let them come with us, by the time we know the truth, it'll be too late. Do you understand? We'll lose everything. CALLUM: So what do we do? How can we figure out if it's help, or a trap?

Callum has already made a Compromise. He trusts Claudia, but Rayla doesn't, and he ultimately trusts Rayla more than Claudia, even this early on, the same way he trusted Ezran more than Claudia (and didn't trust Claudia with Ezran, then) in 1x03. So he goes along with the illusion plan, which would've been pretty crappy to do to an old friend if Claudia (and Soren) had been genuine in their offer to help.

So I think in quick succession over a few days, most if not all of Callum's true heart gets shredded to pieces within the first few episodes of season two. Barring that, I think 2x07, specifically the choice to do dark magic, takes whatever remains.

AARAVOS: You call it corruption. I call it compromise.

'Could he really bring himself to go through with his plan? What if he didn’t succeed? What if he compromised his beliefs and it was all for nothing? […] But Rayla was in trouble.' —book two: sky novelization

While Aaravos lists off choices, sacrifices, and compromises as though they are separate things, and occasionally they can be, I think more often than not in life and within TDP that they are all the same thing.

Do you choose (sacrifice) your father or your baby brother? Do you sacrifice your oldest friendship (compromise) to ensure your travelling party can be safe? Do you use dark magic (a compromise, a sacrifice of yourself) to save someone you love?

And Callum's dark magic use falls into his previous pattern of you made a choice, and you knew there would be consequences, but you never dreamed it'd be This. And finally — finally — in 5x08, Callum makes a choice with the full knowledge of the consequences, of exactly what he's risking — and what he refuses to sacrifice.

His true heart has been gone for a while by this point, I think — but within the narrative, Callum is an adult from 5x08 onwards. He knows undeniably what he'll sacrifice and why, and what he won't.

(Something something sacrificing your true heart to protect the person who is your heart and your truth.)

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-nine | liar, liar

You were beginning to understand how the ancient Romans enjoyed watching people fight to the death. Because although Percy is literally fighting for his life in the arena dozens of feet below against a being much bigger, and much stronger, than he, there’s something alluring to watching the fight. Something about the crowd yelling, the way your heart speeds up and drops down again every time something gets too close for either of them.

Yeah, the ancient Romans had the right idea.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Rachel mutters down your ear, just as the crowd goes up in cheers again.

You’ve got your hands clasped together sweaty and squeezing tightly under your chin. Rachel might just be right.

Next to you stands Kelli. The Kelli. The monster Kelli from the high school. Of course you’re never lucky for long. Whenever she hears Rachel talk, she takes a good swipe at her with her talons, or threatens to shut her up in a way that includes blood. Disgusting, honestly. Monsters are in general utterly disgusting.

The floor of the arena and the stands seemed entirely made of packed dirt. You had the best view point in the house, directly in the middle, looking over the arena. Once or twice, Percy casted a look to your height, but he had been quickly drawn away by the ongoing fight. Around the arena were skulls, stuck on to the edge of the seats, and around the ceiling, where chains dangled down. In the middle of the opposite wall, right above the throne Luke Castellan took up, hung a giant banner with the trident of Poseidon in the centre. When you first arrived, the giant thing sitting next to Luke had simply been a spectator. Now, Percy was fighting him. For a few minutes Percy had only managed to confuse him, going this way and that and taking mad dives out of the way. But if he wanted to make it home, Percy would, frankly, need a miracle. Antaeus, a distant son of Poseidon. He declared this arena a ‘temple to the Earthshaker’ and demanded Percy engage in a fight.

Now, you’re trying to send him messages with your eyes whilst being totally enthralled in the fight itself. The Ancient Greeks had the Olympics, and the Romans their Gladiators. Sometimes you thought you might have been a better fit for the past. And then you thought about your rights, and decided you’d be alright where you are.

You’d been sending him ideas with your eyes the whole fight time. Finally, Percy got the hint, with one singular glance in your direction. He’d made it up to the chains, climbing further and higher so Antaeus had no choice but to follow the fighter in order to win. If Percy got away, what sort of show would that be? Thankfully, Antaeus followed Percy’s—your—idea, climbing up the chains, yelling. By the time he’d reached the top and become tangled, Percy slid back down the chains, all the way to the ground, panting and sweaty in the face.

“Get me down!” Antaeus demanded.

Luke, from his makeshift throne, was absolutely furious. He got to his feet, angry as hell. “Free him! Now.”

Percy, a tiny dot in the arena, pulled the pen from his pocket and pulled the cap. Riptide materialised.

“Oh, I’ll free him,” said Percy. Something about the way the arena was constructed had his voice echoing around it. Annabeth would know what it was. He stood on his toes, ever so slightly, and raised the tip of Riptide to Antaeus’s stomach. With the point, he touched the giant’s skin, and sand began to pour out. As a being of the earth, Antaeus would struggle to regenerate without touching it, hence your idea to have him off the ground. Sand poured into a pile as the giant roared in anger, the crowd watched in disbelief, until there was nothing left of Antaeus.

And Luke…

“I should have killed you right at the beginning.”

You could vaguely hear your friend hum in amusement. “You tried. And failed. Let us go, Luke. We had an agreement with Antaeus; I’m the winner.”

“Antaeus’s oath dies with him. Since I’m feeling merciful today, I’ll have you killed quickly. Save the girls for last. I’d like them to watch their little hero die. An example.”

“This is, like,” you pause for a moment, thinking. “This is…”

“Are you gonna say something stupid?”

You nod slowly, glancing up. “Might do, yeah.”

“Please do. I’d like to laugh at the dumb shit coming out of your mouth before we die.”

You roll your eyes. “Pfffttttt. We’re not gonna die, Rachel! We’re just gonna suffer for a little bit. We’ll live. Totally.”

Rachel snorts heavily, and Kelli retaliates by hissing down her ear like some possessed rattlesnake. “Well, as long as we suffer, eh?”

You hum. Percy begins backing up in the arena. “As is the life of a demigod.”

“I’m not a demigod!” Your companion complains.

“As is the life of…someone with bad luck? The two go hand-in-hand, really—” you trail off, standing back to observe the situation at hand.

Rachel laughed almost mockingly. Drawing back, a little hurt, you frown heavily. “What are you supposed to be? A child poet?”

Then, shrugging your shoulders, unable to back down to embarrassment, “You never know. There’s time yet. And I’m not a child, Rachel, I’m nearly sixteen. You’re younger than me!”

She eyed you up and down. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

A shrill scream, like nails on a chalkboard, rang from behind. Both yourself and Rachel jumped violently, stumbling aside as Kelli, who had been keeping guard, was suddenly lifted in the mouth of a giant, black Mastiff and thrown over the edge of the arena. She screamed as she hit the ground, your stomach churned with the sight, before she promptly exploded in a puff of golden dust, sent right back to Tartarus.

For a moment, you stand, jarred, overlooking the arena, hands perched on the rail edge. Chaos has broken out below.

“Come on!” Rachel snatches up your sweater, yanking you away from the overview. “Let’s go!”

Sliding across sand-dusted ground, you find Percy waiting impatiently at the bottom, looking left and right anxiously. The giant hound, Mrs O’Leary, is leaping in your direction like she’s had too much sherbet and chocolate, tongue lolling, eyes bright.

“Hurry up!” Percy urges with an impatient and nervous look on his face. “Go, go, go!”

The three of you take off out of there, following the path the whole way through with the assistance of Rachel, guiding the way.

"Left!" She'd shout, taking a dramatic turn down what looked like the chute for a body bag to be thrown down. At the bottom stood a set of rusty metal doors, and when you reached them, they flung open with monsters waiting on the other side. Trying to run back up the chute in complete darkness, with horrific noise catching up from behind, had to be up there with the worst experiences of your life. To put it into perspective; imagine getting up in the night for a glass of water, not turning on the light in the hall, and knowing there is something waiting for you in the dark, only you can't run fast enough away. Pretty terrible.

Later on, at a New Years Eve party, you chewed Rachel out for that for that incident, and would continue to do so for the rest of your lives.

Despite the heart attack you experienced as you made your getaway up the body chute, you found the energy somehow (and the breath) to acknowledge the extra member of your group, tagging alongside Percy, like a lost puppy. A slender boy a teensy bit older than you, whose sword carried some sort of essence providing a little bit of light, bouncing off of his silk-like ebony hair, and the patch covering his left eye. Lights lit your path in the dark, running down the hall toward two new sets of doorways.

"The far right door!" Gasped Rachel, holding on to the wall for support. "That's the right way. I promise this time!"

The mysterious new guy barrelled on through the right doorway first, a good job, since you didn't fancy being that room's experiment. As he flung the door open, daylight blinded you, and a horrible sense of deja vu overcame you. Disorientated, you stumble out to the sidewalk, throwing aside an old couple into the path of the cab rank. Cars blare their horns, and the old couple are looking at you like you've killed their dog or something. As the feeling fades, you're left with what you can only describe as horror, like some sickness is lingering under your skin, rotting from the inside out. You stumble over the edge of the sidewalk, directly into oncoming traffic, and find your eyes drawn up to the clouds of smoke from an industrial site across the street, billowing into the sky at a hundred miles an hour.

"Hey!"

Turning your head, you find Percy gripping you by the wrist, confused and his eyes swimming with concern. "I've been talking to you. Didn't you hear me?"

You shake your head no. "Sorry," you breathe. "Must've...missed you."

He looks back and forth between your eyes. They sting, for some reason. "I've been standing here for ages."

"Well, nevermind that, then. Just got confused. Did we not come out of the same place or something? Where's Rachel, anyway."

There’s no sight of the redhead on the streets, not even when you spin in a circle four times and shout ‘RACHELLLLLLL!’ with no shame, while Percy ducks his head and avoids all eye contact with the public. Thunder cracks high above, and a couple of tourists tip their cameras to the sky to take pictures.

“Damn,” you shrug your shoulders. “She must be lost to the Maze. Shame. Let’s go home.” You spin on your heel. Percy grabs you by the collar and pulls you back across the sidewalk.

“We’ll go back in,” he decides firmly.

“Huh?!” Outraged at his suggestion, you plant your feet solidly into the concrete. You throw your hands out around the pole of a streetlight. “With that lot still in there? Fat chance!”

Percy flaps his hands around like he’s losing patience, and then waves one at the doorway you ran out of. It’s a thin sheet of metal, with bullet holes all over.

“We can’t leave a mortal in the Maze!” He exclaims, and stresses a line between his eyebrows.

“But she knows the way!” You emphasise. “She can see it, apparently, which I think is a load of bull. If she could see her way in there, she can see her way out, can’t she.”

“Fine,” he turns his back on you. “Stay on the streets.”

“Well you can’t go back on your own!” You fume, running to catch the door before it shuts without you. “I mean come on, Percy, use your brain.”

You see him smirk for a split second, before the door slams shut behind you, casting you into darkness. It’s so dark you can’t see your hands in front of your face, or Percy, for that matter.

“Are you still there?” You ask. He hums. A warm hand slaps your nose. “Ow!”

“What is that?” Percy laughs. It feels stark when you’ve lost a sense. “Is that your eye?”

“My nose!” You hmph!. “Do my eyes usually stick out directly?”

“When you don’t get what you want, yeah.”

“Liar. What now, anyway? You got a flashlight?”

“Yeah, let me just pull it out of my a—”

“Aaaaaaalright, that’s a no.” You sigh through your nose. “We’re back to the hand on the wall, I guess. Hold my shirt?”

Percy’s fingers find the space between your shoulder blades, before you set off, following the maze around with your hands out on either side, touching both walls. It’s incredibly claustrophobic in here. When you call for Rachel every few metres, your voice barely echoes thanks to the small confines of where you find yourselves. You’re not keen on Rachel, but knowing she’s lost somewhere down here isn’t comforting. You’d be terrified on your own here, so you can’t imagine how’s she’s feeling.

“Do you think she found her way out?”

“Huh?”

“Rachel,” you add. “D’you think she found her way out?”

“Careful,” Percy flicks your back. “You sound like you care.”

You scoff heavily. “I don’t like her. Doesn’t mean I want her to get hurt. I’m not that bad of a person, Percy.” And then… “Am I?”

He sniffs. “No. But to answer your question, she said she could see the way. I believe her. I think she would have found her way out by now, at least.”

You nod, but he can’t see you do it. “Right. Right.”

You continue on in what is mostly silence, besides the sound of your breathing, and footsteps. That is, until a sensor light suddenly flickers by your feet, lighting the way. Paused, you hesitantly stick your foot out and watch the next one light up.

“Who needs Rachel, huh?” Nervously, you take the plunge to keep going. It was almost better in the dark when you couldn’t see what waited up ahead. You look up. And roll your eyes, abruptly stopping. Percy kicks the back of your ankle, pulling your foot from your shoe. “Oh, for gods sake, it’s a dead end. Turn around, go back.”

“Geez. Fine. Fine! But can I remind you—hold up!”

“What?” You snap, but stop trying to shuffle around him.

You scarcely see him when the light is by your feet, but you can make out enough to see him squint his eyes. “Don’t you see it?”

“What?”

He raises his hand and presses to your side, raising his pointed finger directly in your line of sight, landing on a thin strip of warm light, barely there. The dead end is in fact a doorway.

“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Should we—?”

You didn’t need to ask, really. Percy slid past you and headed straight for the doorway, raising his hand to slide across what sounds like wood until it lands on the handle. No sound besides the two of you was audible before he opened the door, but the second he did so, it was like stepping into a whole other world. The hum of mechanical things roared, like a presser and iron, and steam. A radio came next, classical music floating to your ears.

“Wait!” You hiss, taking off after him. Not only because you were scared with nothing behind you, but because you were scared of him going alone.

Behind the door lay a room as big a school gymnasium, containing bronze statues half-finished covered with wilting white dust sheets. One of them resembled your mother. The other was a small wood nymph. Looking past the statues, the mechanics and the tables, a huge window making up the majority of the wall opposite looked out over some sort of wilderness. It was raining, but the sun shone. No rainbow, though.

Percy choked. Stepping inside, closing the door, you jogged over to the table he stood before, admiring sets of literal wings. The feathers almost shone gold. Trailing the tips of your fingers across them, they might just have been the softest things you’d ever felt in your life. Although not symmetrical to a T, they were pretty damn close to being. You walked in a circle around them and admired the way light beamed off of the feathers, as if liquid gold had doused them. On the other side of the table, Percy stood mesmerised, and his face was bathed in golden light cast from the wings. His gaze dropped and lowered, landing on you.

And then neither of you were caught by the wings, but by each other. Your hair dusted your lashes and your cheeks and from the corners of your eyes it had changed shade, somewhat glowing gold and warm yellow on its own. The silver in Percy’s hair turned luminous, kissing his brows. His freckles were highlighted across his cheeks and nose, as if he’d been kissed by an angel. For some reason, a swell of unknown emotion came over you and struck you right in the chest.

Why did you feel so…sad?

Someone slurped from a cup, way behind you. “Welcome to Colorado Springs!” A man’s voice called. Turning to the source, the sound came evidently from the figure on a spiral staircase, overlooking the workshop from the second floor you hadn’t noticed right away.

“I know you,” said Percy with plenty of distaste. “Quintus. Where’s Daedalus.”

“I like your confidence!” He began to descend. “You’re very sure this is his workshop?”

“What else could it be?” You say dryly. “What have you done with him?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”

You lean your hip on the table. “I didn’t come all this way just to be told no. And I didn’t come all this way just to see you. I want answers. We want answers.”

Quintus came down the stairs. He had a sword at his side like he had been expecting you to turn up.

“You think that I work with Luke and Kronos.”

“I don’t think. I know.” You didn’t really. But he didn’t need to know that.

“You’re a smart girl. But you’re very wrong. I only work for myself.”

“So Geryon mentioning you was, what, a coincidence?” Piped Percy. “And Luke?”

Quintus laughed. “Of course! I’ve been everywhere.”

“Stop playing around,” Percy turned cold. “What have you done with Daedalus?”

“My boy,” Quintus stared. Rounding the table to near Percy, he said, “use your brain. I am Daedalus.”

Narrowing your eyes, you looked him up and down twice, for any indication that this man was in fact the man you’d been looking for. All you could see was a liar and a scumbag.

“Where’s your proof?” You jerk your chin at him.

Quintus grinned and tilted his head. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Does it sound like we believe you?”

“At camp,” began Percy, “you were just a swordsman. Not an inventor. Or a crafter. You don’t seem a thing like Daedalus. You’ve probably kidnapped him and hidden him someplace back there.”

Quintus took the last sip of his drink and slammed the cup down on the side. “I am many things. An artist. A swordsman. An inventor. You live for so long…eh, you pick up a couple things along the way.”

“But you don’t even look like Daedalus!” Cried Percy. He waved a pointed hand to him. “I saw him in my dream. But you don’t look a thing alike.”

Something twisted at the base of your spine. Leaning forward, one hand on the table and the other rubbing the spot on your back, you had a sudden idea. “Daedalus would make himself a new body. Somebody capable of making a maze could easily do that. So that’s what you’ve done, if you are him, anyway. Am I right?”

Quintus winked, smiling with glee, now you’d connected the dots. “Right you are, my dear.”

You wrinkled your nose. “How’d you do it, then? How’d you transfer a human soul, a living spirit, to a machine? That shouldn’t be possible. It can’t be. Not really.”

“Did Hera curse Echo? Did Apollo turn Daphne? All of these things should cease to be made possible to the ordinary mind, and yet they are very much real.” Quintus lowered his gaze to the cardboard cup and flicked it, so it went rolling off the edge. It bounced once on the ground, and rolled to your feet. You looked at it and up again to Quintus.

“Quintus quite literally means ‘the fifth’, in Latin. My fifth body. I mean, come on, sister, you’re smarter than this! It’s been right in front of your face this whole time!”

You gagged. “Don’t call me that. I’d never be related to something as unnatural as you.”

“If you really are Daedalus,” input Percy. “Why did you come to our camp? What’s the point?”

Quintus shrugged, not bothered. “To see if you were worth saving.” Your eyes widened and hardened. “Luke had given me his version. I wanted my own.”

Percy laughed without any humour. “So you have talked to him. Luke.”

He hummed. “Many times, yes.”

“So what conclusion did you come to?” You butt in. “Save innocent people or let the world burn?”

Quintus smirked, and rolled his shoulders. He whistled loudly. “Wow! A poet in the making.” Your cheeks burned. “If you must know, I didn’t come to any conclusion.”

“Then let us persuade you instead. Don’t let Luke through the maze. Don’t let Kronos take over.”

Daedalus hummed and twirled his sword at his side. He watched the glow of the wings bounce off its surface. “The maze cannot be controlled.”

You scoffed heavily, and sidled slowly around the table, closer to Percy. Close enough that your sides were touching totally, you reached your hand around his back while Quintus wasnt looking, and dug your fingers into Percy’s front pocket, at his hip. His sword, in pen-form, sat waiting for you.

“So you can’t control your own creation?” You drawled. “What sort of inventor are you?”

He hummed a short laugh, low in his throat. Raising his eyes, Quintus stilled, an expression on his face like he’d been caught out, but sly. “An old one. I’ve cheated death for over two-thousand years. Don’t get me wrong, children, I want to help you. I feel, what you might call, guilty, even.”

You grit your teeth.

“Then help us,” Percy demanded. “Give us Ariadne’s string. Don’t let Luke have it.”

“Yes, that. I told Luke, I told him. I said, the eyes of a clear-sighted mortal are his best bet. But he didn’t listen. Insisted on having it. And it works,” he nodded. Quintus leant his hip on the table. “Oh, it works. Perhaps not as well as your red-headed friend out there, but it is effective.”

Percy pleadingly held his hands out, taking a step forward. “Then, let us have it.” He asked. “Please. Don’t give it to Luke.”

Quintus then sighed, but he didn’t sound particularly guilty. “I’m afraid you’re too many hours too late.”

Riptide materialised at your side, the tip of the sword just touching the ground where your hand bumped your thigh, grip tight. You shook your head, and laughed mirthlessly.

“See,” you kissed your teeth. “That’s not what’s happening here. You’re going to get it back. Because what else did we take this quest on for?”

“What would my reason have been for preventing this? Besides, I never agreed for you all to do this.”

“You didn’t object to it!” You exclaim, raising the sword swiftly in Quintus’s face. The sharp tip of it lands on his cheek, cutting a straight line vertically. Oil poured from the wound, gold. “Back at camp, when you agreed to let me lead this quest. You didn’t object. And I think that it’s because, deep down somewhere, there’s a part of you that wants this all to end. That’s why you agreed to let me come down here in the first place. Otherwise, what was it for? You don’t want the Titans to take over, you just want it all to end. You’ve gotta be pretty tired after two-thousand years. If you just let us stop this! You’re going to let Luke and Kronos kill thousands of people all for the sake of peace and peace of mind?! You’re going to let them take over everything, end the gods, and for what? You’re going to bring down the whole world to get what you want? Well, I’m sorry—I don’t let selfish, bigoted men rule, here.”

“Here’s the thing. Kronos has offered me freedom. I don’t have that at the moment. Allowing the two of you to get what you want would set back so much. Understand this; sometimes, what we want isn’t always the right thing. The Gods have ruled for too long. Ignored things for too long. Kronos is going to fix it all. Mark my words. When he comes to power, I can be with my son again in the afterlife. Kronos will banish Hades. And I will no longer be running from death.”

“Death is the most natural part of life,” you shake your head. “There’s no avoiding it, for anyone. You’re really going to let millions of people die just to get what you want? The whole world.”

He nodded. The point of the sword dug into his cheek, though he scarcely noticed. “Your cause is doomed. End of. There’s no way anybody can fight off Kronos, even if we wanted to.”

“Pessimist,” muttered Percy.

The floor suddenly began to shake. Lightly at first, and then violently enough for the tables to begin to shake. Quintus threw a lazy look at the upper level.

“I would be on my way, were I you. They’re coming. And you are ill-prepared.”

You slowly lowered Riptide but held it between yourself and Percy, and Quintus. “That’s it. You’ve made up your mind.”

He nodded firmly. “I have.”

“You’re a disappointment to the world.” Percy snapped. “We won’t forget that.”

Quintus waved his hand to another door on the opposite wall, to your right. “Well,” he said. “It’s a good job you won’t be around for long enough to care. Enjoy the rest of your days, demigods.”

So what else was there to do, you wondered. Percy took you by the hand and led the way, gritting his teeth and not looking back. Was it the thought of your wasted journey, perhaps? The losing little Nico in a maze of whose creator couldn’t give a shit? Or maybe, the thought of impending doom.

You wandered through the dark for a few seconds, until you missed a step and free-fell in the dark, screaming. You let go of Riptide to grab on to Percy’s other hand, a mess of limbs in the darkness, until that darkness turned into a stream, and you found yourself heading straight for a lit tunnel that opened up to the Hudson. Percy tried to take the brunt of the fall, trying to turn you midair, but ultimately failed. Winded, you fought your way to the surface with Percy’s help, until you came up coughing on the bank, freezing cold.

“What now?” Percy pulled himself from the water, shaking his head like a dog. River water struck your face. You glared at him.

“Sleep on it?” You thought, angrily. “It’s late. Got to be. But if we leave it another night, things’ll only get worse.”

Percy sighed, digging his hands in his pockets. It didn’t look comfortable. His hair was stuck to his face. “We can’t go around the city like this. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll go back to my place. I’ll find out where Rachel is. She might know how to help us.”

Rachel. You didn’t say anything, sure your face was telling all, but nodded your head.

Sally Jackson had the most normal reaction to your situation. As a mom to a demigod, she’d probably seen and heard more than she let on in her life. Upon answering the door, and Percy’s incessant knocking, you watched Sally’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before softening, and sighing.

“Come on,” she yawned, stepping back and rubbing her eyes. “Get in.”

Admittedly, despite the warmed-up cookies and a warm spot on the couch, you couldn’t fall asleep. Dressed in an old pair of Sally’s pyjama shorts and tee, wrapped around a spare duvet in starry sheets, you found yourself blinking with sore, tired eyes at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. There weren’t many left up there; glue residue telling tales of fallen plastic stars. They made you think of Zoe Nightshade, and so you rolled over, curled up, and listened to the hum of the refrigerator until you fell asleep.

this is short. and overdue. short and overdue. short and…you get the idea.

taglist:

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[no-static-at-all]

This seems like a good moment to talk about a specific time in US history. TL;DR at the end.

All of these points are clearly important, but I am surprised at how few votes Suburban/Rural Food Production has, so I wanted to take a moment to talk about rationing and food shortages during WWII. I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible, but it might still be a lot to read. Many countries in Europe, Asia, the Pacific Island nations, etc. were very directly affected by the war since battles were being fought in those lands. America was largely unaffected in this way. However, we did eventually have to ration food, too. Why is that? Well, we had to provide for our troops, sure, and we also did send aid to Allied forces, but at least we were safe enough at home to be comfortable, so surely farming was fine, right? Nope!

A big part of history that American textbooks like to gloss over now is how we rounded up Japanese-Americans and put them in camps, treating them as threats to national security during the war. Okay, so what does this have to do with rationing and food shortages? Well, a great deal of these people were living in/near California, which is where a huge percentage of America’s food production takes place. These Asian-American families were successful farmers, feeding the whole country. When we rounded them up and removed them from their homes, those farms shriveled up and died. This left many grocery stores and families alike with empty shelves and barren pantries.

All of this is important to remember as we face the current efforts towards mass-deportation and the stripping of birthright citizenship. Latino people have been synonymous with blue-collar work, such as farming, landscaping, and construction for decades now. If this push to whitewash America is successful, it will drastically amplify our food shortage issues. These tariffs are clearly doing the same thing. This is nothing but a detriment to the United States, and it’s just as embarrassing as it is scary.

TL;DR

We can’t survive long-term without farming. Between increasing domestic prices, pointless tariffs, loss of workers, and lack of individually-owned land, Americans are going to suffer. I know farming isn’t really an option for many individual citizens, but it’s absolutely something that we should all be aware of/concerned about.

In light of the new Trade War that the U.S. just started with Canada & Mexico, & threats to begin one with the EU;

As a side note, I'll begin writing again, with posts focusing on all of these topics.

Let me know in the comments if there's any practical survival/preparation tips you want information on, which I didn't include here.

[blackfilmmakers]

genuine question, as another black person who cant go out and protest what should i do? im not gonna lie, i listened to some of malcom x's speeches and mlks final speech and broke down. it feels like my family will never be safe here, but as someone whos unemployed and cant even drive (and even if i could drive, i dont have the money to leave) it feels like im doomed. it just feels like the majority of america and even the world assumes that just because the civil rights movement is 'over' racism isnt that bad anymore. someone tried to argue with me that racism isnt that bad in the usa compared to european countries because its 'not as in your face anymore'. what about police brutality? what about right now??? sorry for venting i just. this shit is breaking me man, and i legit dont know what to do

I'm feeling it too, and it pains me to see Black people struggle like this when we just want to be left alone

Here are some things to consider:

1) Your mere existence is a protest of itself. White people legit thought we'd all naturally die out at this point. It sucks that just living as a Black person is considered to be politically divisive; but that's why just being present is itself a protest

2) Not everyone needs to be a foot soldier or protester to join the fight. If there was a war and there was a side that was made up of nothing but fighters, they would lose. You need your scribes, you need your medics, you need your journalists, you need that kid that goes around the neighborhood, and plasters stickers of uplifting slogans

3) Do not feel obligated to engage with racists and bigots. I don't care what any nonblack leftist on here tells you, most of them cant stop using aave w/o having a breakdown. Your saftey comes first. This does not mean to bubble yourself, always stay woke about what goes on around you. But Black people are always expected to be in the front lines always physically fighting. Let others do their part

4) Search for community aid, community gardens, local/rec libraries, etc. Set up Black focused community events. Whether they are physical communities or online communities. Look into Black groups that focus on cooking while on a budget

5) Read various Black literature and essays. You have a physical copy? Try scanning them and having them on file. Spread it before people try erasing all traces of the material

6) Look into information by Black and Indigenous people about their thoughts on walkable cities and gentrification, mainly because these are topics that directly affect you from what I'm reading. But also look for bus/public transit modes of transportation

7) Share mutual aid, and don't be afraid to share your own when you need help.

8) Remember that every month is Black History Month, so we always have the opportunity to share and celebrate Blackness

I can't guarantee these are absolute solutions, but they are a starting point that I hope helps you in the long run ❤️

[musical-chick-13]

Like. The last thing I'm going to say is that I see a lot of comments about how "Well Americans probably deserve whatever is coming to them" because [some variation of how we are all equally violent and stupid and of course we elected this guy] and I will be the FIRST one to go, "Fuck America for real, I hate it here" but. There are in fact millions of people who did not want this. Who actively fought against it and will continue to do so.

BELIEVE ME, I understand the impulse to go, "Well with all the shit America has done to the rest of the world, why should I feel bad for them." I understand that compassion fatigue is real. And I DEFINITELY don't think it's the rest of the world's job to fight my battles for me or prioritize my feelings above anyone else's.

But if people are worried for their safety. If they're scared. If they're wondering how they and the people they love are going to survive the next few years. If people are feeling despair and despondence over the fact that they are stuck in an absolutely hellish landscape they did not ask for. Just...please let them have that. You don't have to tell them that you think they deserve it.

[disobey-disappoint-deviate]

Cutting this and putting it under a read-more again because it's 1km long and I don't wanna make anyone's dash unreadable. It's a reply to both previous posts, see the post I reblogged it from to read them.

Cuz Kamski gave him an order that is in favor of his mission of hunting androids but Connor directly refused going on, caused mostly by emotional conflicts (at least based on his reaction if u don't shoot). There ain't no superficial reason for Connor to really refuse this order cuz everything seems positive and that's all he should care as a tool, even if Kamski is clearly fucking with Connor by making challenges to prove his own points about androids conflicts with humans being inevitable: and that's about androids putting 'em own "wishes" and "wants" above what they were set or ordered to do: disobedience.

But that would make Connor a deviant when he refuses to shoot Chloe. Disobedience is the very definition you use for deviancy, and he displays it when he visits Kamsi - before Jericho. Sure, Kamski isn't his owner, but Kamski's order to shoot Chloe and ask whatever he wants to know overlaps entirely with Cyberlife's order to find out as much as possible. There is no reason for Connor not to shoot Chloe and ask where Jericho is. Unless he prioritises his emotions of empathy and guilt above his mission.

Kamski doesn't seem aware Connor can directly disobey humans like that OR he's fucking with him due to Connor showing empathy to Chloe and being visibly wary of the word deviancy or the thought of being wrong about things (cuz it challenges what he was brainwashed to think and fails the purpose he was made to feel proud of), but he's at least aware Connor can use weapons (something common androids can't).

This is a matter of interpretation - is Kamski not aware of Connor's limits or has Connor simply deviated enough to be able to refuse to do stuff that helps him achieve his mission?

But one thing is a fact: they use Connor's emotional against him multiple times. And ofc Kamski's backdoor and Connor's will fucks with CyberLife's plan if we deviate.

I definitely agree. I just think that them using his emotions against him makes more sense if we saw him as a deviant. They wouldn't need to manipulate him at all otherwise, they would just order him to do things and lay back and expect that he will do their bidding because that's what machines do in the end.

Let's say Connor's whole mission only exists to test whether or not RK900 would be capable of following orders under any circumstances. We can assume they wanna send that model to war with Russia because they wanna monopolise the minerals and therefore - thirium and basically become the only manufacturer able to create androids that way.

What RK900 would do on the battlefield would likely be must worse than anything Connor can do as a machine, meaning much more emotional and ethical conflict. We are talking war, with hunders of thousands dead androids and humans, only for the sake of maxing out profit.

Why wouldn't Cyberlife be interested to find out if they could control a deviant through manipulation and fear mongering alone? If Connor stays a machine while slaughtering his own people - perfect. But if he deviates and they can still manipulate him into doing their bidding - why wouldn't that be something they would be interested in finding out? Why wouldn't they try to soothe his conflict the moment he's threatening to ackowledge his own deviancy by telling him "it's normal to feel conflicted, it doesn't make you a deviant, now do as you are told and don't worry too much because we've already solved your conflict for you by telling you you aren't a deviant"?

They are gonna send 200K RK900s to the battlefield, it's inevitable that some of them will deviate no matter how resilient they make them. Strategically, it would be more interesting to CL if they could make them do whatever they say regardless of deviancy status. Of course, they got a failsafe - they can hijack the RKs if nothing else helps, but that's also where the autonomy of these androids would end, making them as useful as the other non-RK androids they use for the army.

And again, like i said, if Connor was a deviant in denial the whole time… then all androids are deviants in denial or didn't know they were deviants.

Not necessarily. If an android has no conflict when obeying orders even if the orders are harmful, unethical, or humiliating, then they are not a deviant. The Chloe Connor may or may not shoot - not a deviant. She doesn't display even 1% of distress as she awaits her death. Her SI is 0, if that's even a thing with her model. And same as Connor if you only pick his red options - he gives no damn about anything but his mission, he doesn't question, he doesn't feel, he doesn't fear, he only functions. He is definitely not a deviant in denial.

Deviancy is a B&W thing, either you're a deviant or u ain't a deviant. You're outside the norm or you're inside the norm. The way there, tho…

That's the point - some people see deviancy as the way to freedom, not as the end result. Because the moment an android starts making decisions that clash with their programming, that's already them deviating from their code - they depart from what they are made to do, which is to obey their owner no questions asked. That final act of breaking the wall is might be the first conscious act to do something against their owner, but it doesn't mean that the android wasn't silently deviating all along, because if they don't have a free will at the point where they get to that final act and to the wall, then they wouldn't be able to make the decision to do so at all. Just like red path Connor can't.

We can also take Markus as an example again. Is he truly only a deviant after he breaks the red wall, or does thinking "This is no fair, I must decide for myself" make him one already? I'd go with the second. This is also what Shaolin describes:

Connor: When did you start feeling emotion? Deviant: Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything… But one day I realized it wasn’t fair! I felt... ...anger… Hatred… And then I knew what I had to do.

Now, was Shaolin a deviant the moment he realised it wasn't fair or did he only become one after he became active and killed Carlos? I'd personally go with the first, even tho a realisation doesn't mean disobedience.

So maybe, deviancy isn't the act of breaking the red wall, but the internal processes that make an android capable of breaking the red wall. The word "deviancy" itself suggests this, too.

I've been saying this for a while now. People don't take into account that Connor isn't just following orders because of a program, he does it because his very life depends on it and if he isn't successful he will cease to exist, Connor is afraid to die and thus follows said orders out of self preservation.

This doesn't contradict the deviant theory, tho. He can be a deviant and afraid to die and follow orders, just like I pointed out above. Humans are the same, we can have free will and still do fucked up stuff if brainwashed enough. If anything, this would make more sense if he was a deviant, because CL wouldn't NEED manipulation and fear mongering tactics with a machine who only does what it's programmed to do and has no free will and agency. If anything, this argument just makes him seem more deviant. Why would he be afraid to die otherwise? He definitely isn't if you play him as a machine from the start, which already means that, depending on choices, he's deviating more and more from how he's supposed to be and act the longer you play him this way.

His story is not being in denial, it's about him having conflicts and doubts about his motives, learning to have consideration for others, and whether he chooses a legacy worth living for or follows a self destructive path.

He is shown as being in denial though - he only admits that he is conflicted and believes he might be compromissed during "Last Chance". And why would a machine have conflicts? Again, him having conflicts is dependent on choices and not his factory setting, meaning he has deviated from his original programming.

In a way his suicide ending is a character development for Connor, as he is dying on his own terms and facing the very thing he feared the most to protect the other deviants and ensure CyberLife can't hurt anyone else.

I agree, I consider it one of the best endings in the game from a narrative standpoint.

A lot of people keep saying it should have been Hank to convince Connor, but I think Markus actually makes more sense considering the lore behind them both.

Again, I agree.

I've been saying this for a while now. People don't take into account that Connor isn't just following orders because of a program, he does it because his very life depends on it and if he isn't successful he will cease to exist, Connor is afraid to die and thus follows said orders out of self preservation. His story is not being in denial, it's about him having conflicts and doubts about his motives, learning to have consideration for others, and whether he chooses a legacy worth living for or follows a self destructive path. In a way his suicide ending is a character development for Connor, as he is dying on his own terms and facing the very thing he feared the most to protect the other deviants and ensure CyberLife can't hurt anyone else. Should he and Markus both survive if he's deviant, it is likely that he lives at Jericho currently with intent to begin anew and help Markus keep the revolution afloat. And it also makes sense that Markus is the one who tries to convince Connor to reconsider his motives as he himself was the same before he became deviant, he too was skeptical about deviancy and wasn't totally convinced that he could do anything outside of his program, so speaks to Connor from experience, and they share some similarities in traits, whilst also the only living RK models we see onscreen. A lot of people keep saying it should have been Hank to convince Connor, but I think Markus actually makes more sense considering the lore behind them both. These guys don't really analyze these characters properly and thus base their arguments on superficial aspects.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

hate when i see a youtube video that's like 'analyzing why [thing] is bad!' and you watch the video and they just say nothing for twenty minutes

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I haven't been involved with coaching for almost 3 months now and somehow I am still getting dragged into the drama.

[ask-artsy-oncie]

I was reminded of the time that tumblr tried to make "monster high but with tumblr sexymen", and one of the characters was (obviously) the daughter of the once-ler.

And the funny thing to me about that is that in the canon of the illumination lorax movie, the once-ler is heavily implied to have an estranged daughter. I don't know all the sexymen off the top of my head but I think he might've been one of the only ones referenced in that trend who actually had a daughter in his own canon.

[agape-emo-eros]

Ok here it goes. I hope I do the topic justice.

At first I read Omelas as a typical dystopia, a society that looks perfect but hides a dark underbelly it is reliant on for survival. In this reading the narrarator telling you to imagine the things happening in Omelas or asking you how to even describe this in a way you will understand doesn't really matter. It's just a way to account for personal taste. Or perhaps to compensate for how we already percieve this place because of our exposure to other stories.

But if we take the narrator as an integral part of the story then these lines start telling a somewhat different story.

The line: "Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy?" directly asks you if you believe a good society, without war, without a centralised authority (civic or religious), without adds, civil unrest and outside threats can exist. And not just for "noble savages and uncomplicated people" but for people just like us, with the same dark impulses.

And then only after the narrator hears your presumed "No." they say "No? Then let me describe one more thing." and goes on to explain the Omelas child.

They do not tell you that the following description is real. They even finnish the description with "Now do you believe them? Are they not more credible?"

If we take this additional information as a fabrication meant to sell us on the reality of this world then the quote "The trouble is that we have a bad habit of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain" is a condemnation of our willingness to believe that in all these years noone tried to test if the child really has to suffer, or figure out how this process works or say something kind to the child just because over the idea of a good society and goodness of people.

The ones who walk away from Omelas go towards "a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. It cannot be described at all. It is possible it does not exist." The narrator acknowledges that we might lack the imagination to see a better world. Acknowledges that it might not be real and the people leaving might be wrong "but they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas."

----------------------------------------------------------

Since I started stalking your blog a bit this morning because of Black Sails this also might mean something to you:

The story viewed this way makes some of the same points as Jack Rackham's "A story is true. A story is untrue. As time extends, it matters less and less. The stories we want to believe... those are the ones that survive, despite the upheaval and transition and progress."

It can be a horrible reminder of how the world will soon see Flint, Silver and the rest as just vile pirate monsters incapable of humanity as presented in Woodes Rodgers's book and A General History of the Pyrates (which Mrs Hudson is seen reading to hear children).

It can be uplifting message reminding you that as long as the real story of Captain Flint and Long John Silver is remembered, not entirely "twisted to fit into their narrative" and allowed to shape us and spur us towards a worthy goal the loss is not total. History is written by the victors so as long as you survive to tell the tale, even if you did not manage to win in a conventional way, you have won a little.

And on a third level it can say that Silver's inability to believe in a wold in which they win the war in any meaningful way a world in which the pirate-maroon revolution can succeed is a self fulfilling prophecy that caused what we now know as history and have to believe.

(This is why I find the idea of Silver as somebody isekaid from the modern world into the story of Treasure Island compelling. His knowledge of the future forces the future into the shape he knows.)

Both, in the end, condemn our inability and unwillingness to imagine a better word as the reason why we do not achieve. We believe we need a leviathan king to keep us in line through terror to insure we do not hurt eachother and so we never try to depose him and realise what life could be like without one.

(This ofcourse as Le Guin herself would point out aren't the only good, correct possible takes, but I like them.)

Guess I’m never going to stop seeing red about the unholy number of times I’ve seen people quote “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” out of context in order to condemn stories that focus on dark or troubling subject matter or that don’t end happily (“The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain”), when THE STORY ITSELF is about a society that closes its eyes to suffering and evil in order to live in comfort and has a hopeful but at best bittersweet ending

[maliro-t]

as a bona fide vaxleth lover i am more confused than ever about how they are portrayed on the animated series i'm not gonna lie 😭

[toytulini]

Thank you for your tags on the baeddalism post. As someone who is aroace (formerly biace) and a nb transmasc I've literally watched every identity I have be dragged into discourse time and time again and it's always the exact same rhetoric to a nauseating degree. People are so terminally online that they constantly invent new nonexistent stereotypes of other queer identities to get mad at or just pick a queer identity to be the monster of the week, and it's excruciating to see it repeat the same way everytime.

I wanted to try to respond to this more eloquently after i had some caffeine, but if we wait for eloquence itll go unanswered for years. but lmao yea of course. Im also aroace and enby. I was here since like 2014, I suffered through reading all these same stupid arguments about a-specs and my tolerance for it is so fried. The queer infighting and gatekeeping bullshit is so rotting. I hope we learn one of these days. My disillusion that this keeps fucking happening is at least tempered by the fact that all the blogs who I followed for good takes on inclusionism and queer solidarity during the acecourse are also not tolerating this shit, and they are recognizing it as the same old bullshit its been the whole time.

[wisegirl25]

They WERE on opposing sides

Ekko and the Firelights were vehemently against the Shimmer trade, taking down Silco and eradicating Shimmer from the streets of Zaun was their biggest goal, even before tackling the conflict with Piltover

Jinx didn’t care about liberating Zaun, that was Silco’s goal. She worked for Silco because he cared about her, and she wanted to prove herself to him.

Ekko and the Firelights are always the ones to attack Jinx/Silco’s goons first, obviously they have good reason to, but Jinx isn’t just hunting them out and killing them like a lot of you people seem to suggest

Caitlyn hitting Vi and Vi hitting Powder are entirely different things. For one, Vi was a CHILD when she hit Powder. Probably around 15/16, Caitlyn is a grown ass woman who should know better, she was in the wrong in every way in that situation

The worst part aren’t her actions, it’s her lack of remorse. Grief doesn’t excuse any of her actions, and she shouldn’t get a free pass because of that.

Jinx doesn’t “get a pass” she’s a fucking VILLAIN. Caitlyn is supposed to be a “hero”, that’s why they’re held to different standards. We don’t expect Jinx to be a good person because she doesn’t parade around pretending her actions are for the good of anyone, because they’re not.

Their character arcs are entirely different, Jinx is supposed to be a (somewhat) redeemed villain, Caitlyn’s bad actions were just not addressed at all because she’s supposed to be portrayed as a good person, which she’s not.

That’s not to say she isn’t redeemable, but she sure as hell isn’t any better for Vi than being around Jinx is

You’re also seeming to forget that Jinx is not mentally stable. Don’t even bring up the “well neither was Caitlyn at the time” bs because grief and schizophrenia, bipolar/borderline personality disorder, and psychosis are not even close to being the same thing. Jinx’s actions are fuelled by her emotional regression due to her trauma, which is such a huge part of her character that people always seem to ignore. She needs help, but unlike Caitlyn she doesn’t have the resources to access proper care for her issues.

Of course she’s killed Ekko’s comrades, but again, the Firelights were an Undercity Gang directly opposing Silco’s reign, he knew what he was facing. He’s able to look past that because if you apparently missed the entire point of episode 7, we know Jinx would have turned out differently if she had help available to her, and I cannot stress enough that Caitlyn DID have doctors and professionals to help her through the grief of her mothers death, and instead chose to become Caitler

After seeing how the oppression in Zaun led to such drastic measures such as BOMBING the council being made, instead of seeing how the system was setting Zaunites up for lives of drug use, starvation, and homelessness, she decided that all Zaunites were inherently evil and the girl who needs antipsychotics is the root of every bad thing to happen to Piltover.

So logical, so heroic.

People talking about “how can you criticize Caitvi for being toxic when timebomb literally tried to kill each other” PISS ME OFF so bad

Jinx and Ekko were on OPPOSITE SIDES OF A WAR

No shit they’re trying to fucking kill each other

Nothing romantic happened until well after a lot of growth for both characters (and even then it was in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE)

Timebomb had history together—they were childhood best friends

Meanwhile Caitlyn HIT VI even though they’re on the same side (unprompted, they were arguing and not in a physical fight, that’s called abuse), asked her to become an enforcer KNOWING her trauma, and never apologized for a single thing she did

And all of this within at the very most a few months of knowing one another

It’s almost like—and hear me out—Vi fucking trauma bonded to the first person to show her kindness after being beaten and abused in a prison cell for 7 years

The difference between the ships is that for one, they BOTH tried to kill each other, it was even. For the other, it’s just one sided. Caitlyn in no way deserves Vi and I’m tired of acting like it’s such an amazing ship just cause it’s wlw

As a wlw myself, we deserved better representation than this half assed attempt at romance, season 1 caitvi was absolutely amazing, season 2 ruined it