#and equally in the new age as she does what she wants and all magic's new rules rely on power stemming from her

[lightdancer1]

One of the fun bits of In the Company of Witches and Slayers as an AU:

The show essentially sets up that much of Sunnydale's coverups of obviously supernatural shenanigans was a Mayoral conspiracy and then the immortal with the demon pacts who kept all that together dies and this seemingly has no impact on Sunnydale's awareness of supernatural events. Well here, starting with Willow's brief first Dark Willow moment of summoning a category 5 stormcloud over Sunnydale and on through this the censorship field wavers and finally disintegrates in Sunnydale, though its overall factor as a price of the Shadowmen's original spell makes it to Season 7.

This means that just in time for the Initiative and Adam to finally move to center stage in the 2001 timeframe (and as they've been background villains for a while the reign of terror is actually fairly short and ends well before the start of 2002) that Sunnydale's capacity to see and sense the supernatural suddenly and abruptly changes and it realizes it's got vampires, demons, werewolves, witches, and Slayers running around.

And then becomes Metropolis from DC comics but vampires.

"What the fuck, man! That tiny blonde was kicking the shit out of some Andre the Giant with horns!"

"Oh it's just the blonde Slayer. You should see what the brunette does. If it wasn't for the idea that vampires would kill me I'd support a vampire rights thing."

"Wait, I thought witches needed broomsticks to fly."

"Evidently not."

[yoongihan]

Girl Code - HHJ - OneShot

pairing: art professor hyunjin x admin femreader

genre: office au, university au, coworkers to lovers, angst, fluff,

romantic trope: enemies to lovers (I DID MY BEST OKAY?)

word count: ~4k

rating: T (for at least one objectifying comment)

warnings: hyunjin in glasses, with paint streaks on his clothes and person; mc is kinda rude to him; someone is actually a horrible person in this; characters drink but everyone is of age; hyunjin is older (about 28), mc is 24; probably some cursing because it's me and cursing is my native language;

a/n: story #5 in the skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. this is a little bit of her fault too as when the magic school photos dropped she mentioned hyunjin as an art professor. i chose this trope (e2l) to challenge myself as it's not my regular jam annnnnnd i don't know if i really did it all that well. i did try. please be kind to this chronic f2l writer. i apologize for any typos or mistakes. i am my own editor.

-----

Pretty Privilege.

It’s not a thing you personally have experienced, to your knowledge. Maybe you have. Maybe once amongst your friend group, you were considered the stand out and someone gave you a pass because they liked the way your eyes are shaped, or how you smile with teeth, or whatever.

You’ll allow that.

But generally, you hate that it even exists. Pretty privilege. Isn’t it enough to get to be pretty in this world? Without the world groveling at your feet and simultaneously pushing any obstacle out of the way for you? 

So when Professor Hwang is hired as the new art professor at the university where you admin, you take an immediate dislike. After, at first, the overwhelming surge of attraction because he truly is the prettiest human you’ve ever seen outside of screen. 

Even when your work friends discuss romance, and when Juhye from the Performative Arts department (she has basically the same job as you, just different department) mentions that she thinks he might be interested in her, you join in that yes, he’s very attractive and seems nice, and of course he’d be a great partner for her.

Even if you kind of hate him. 

And since you admin in the same department as he teaches (Fine Arts, obv), it’s your job (according to your friends and the unspoken rules that you really wish were spoken and written down) that you hype her up when he’s in the vicinity. You have to.

Girl Code: requiring you to promote her, and not be too friendly with him because one does not want to violate Girl Code.

Once in undergrad was enough and you would do anything not to experience that ostracization ever again. 

Unspoken rules that make life more difficult that it already is. You feel very much like you hyping Juhye is as subtle as a truck, and in doing so you are as awkward as well, whatever is very very awkward.

“You locked yourself out again?” You do your best not to hiss at him, but in over one semester of him being on the faculty, the man has locked himself out of his Canvas account at least a dozen times.

Hyunjin, Professor Hwang, as he is to his students, gives you the most sheepish smile, and deep down you acknowledge that it’s cute as hell. This man who could be art himself, looking self-conscious that he can’t be trusted with the basics of technology. 

“I know. I don’t know how I do this.” He shrugs, straightening his wire-rimmed glasses. “Isn’t my laptop supposed to save that info for me, so I never have to try and remember?”

“It is.” You think to offer that he can bring his laptop and you can look to see if Google, or whatever browser he uses (probably like Firefox or something equally horrendous), is saving his passwords, but you don’t. Because it’s not in your job description and: “Juhye’s pretty good at that kind of stuff. I’m sure she could make sure it’s doing that. Saving your passwords, login info.”

He hums in lieu of a response, moving from in front of your desk to behind you to see what you’re doing. He doesn’t ask, which makes you bristle, but you’re not doing anything confidential and he’s not really breaking your personal bubble, so you can’t say anything. 

“I’ve never asked,” he begins as though talking to you while you’re working isn’t annoying. “But I assume, this isn’t what you went to school for. Did you study tech…stuff?”

You’re mildly amused that he doesn’t use the official term ‘computer science’. But just mildly. You can still dislike someone and still find them amusing on occasion. 

“No.”

There’s silence, minus the sounds of your typing and mouse-clicking. 

“What did you study?”

You don’t like lying. It’s not a thing you prefer to do in life. You do, everyone does, but you try avoid it as much as possible. So even though you know this might interest Hyunjin and you know you should not interest him, ever, you tell the truth.

“Photography. I mean, I studied business, too, but mostly photography and mixed media art.”

There’s silence yet again.

“Which is why I’m here. In this department.” The silence has become unbearable. 

“Photography?”

He’s going to ask to see something.

“You good at it?”

You turn to look at him. He seems genuinely curious, not like he’s about to pass judgment. But, he’s hard to read. That perfect face can look very RBF according to Juhye (which she thinks just makes him all the more mysterious and sexy) and even blank which gives you less on which to assess him for. 

His hair pulled back in a ponytail and black textured turtleneck make him seem even more aloof, like the rich pretty boy in an anime. 

“My grades and graduating GPA said I was.” You put very little stock into quantifying art and creativity into numbered grades, but you did graduate well enough to please your parents. 

He rolls his eyes. “Oh okay then.” 

God, he’s annoying. 

“Anyway.” You turn back to your computer. “Everything is reset. Your email has the links to come up with a new password. Try to write it down somewhere, or you know, memorize it.”

“No space,” he replies. “No space for memorizing meaningless words and numbers and symbols.”

“Really? What’s your brain full of then? Creative genius?” You don’t even hide your sarcasm.

He laughs. “I hope so. Mostly just images of all the greats I studied. And then my students and what they do. It’s a photo album that never ends and changes order. Often.”

He’s slipping by you toward the door that leads out of the Fine Arts offices. You stare at him, his words lingering. 

“Thanks again,” he says, halfway through the door. He smiles at you, a small one, a polite ‘this is how we socially interact’ type smile.

It’s still so stupid beautiful. You hate it.

–

At the next day’s lunch, you dutifully let Juhye know about how you encouraged Hyunjin to bring his laptop and technology woes to her and she brightens and preens, and you almost feel like maybe you don’t hate him. 

It’s a small consolation. 

One of the benefits (there are just a few) of working at the school that you attended, in the department you majored in, is use of the facilities. Not whenever you want as the current students and professors get first claim on any studio, extra supplies, or the dark room. 

In two years of working post-undergrad, you’ve learned when the down times, the lesser claimed times were. Certainly not before midterms or finals. Nor right when the semester begins because all the overachievers feel like studio or dark room time will somehow make all the difference. 

But right now, in the in between times, you can book some dark room sessions which encourages you that someday you might ‘make’ it as a professional photographer, that you aren’t losing your skills. 

You’d taken a day to drive up to the nearest mountains to one; soothe your soul with nature (and pollen sadly) and two: take a new set of photos. As with everyone else in the 21st century, you use and manipulate digital photographs as well, but you also do film because it’s its own thing. 

As you turn on the red light bulbs in the darkroom, negatives now fully developed, you smile because film and the process of getting from undeveloped roll of film to tangible photo makes you happy. It’s a comforting process that you can almost do in your sleep. With how late it was when you went to bed last night is a good thing because two cups of coffee is not doing its usual thing. 

There’s a knock on the door of the dark room and your smile immediately drops. 

Damn students (it’s a fruitless grievance because it is their right as they are paying a ridiculous amount for this education, but ugh, it’s annoying to be on the bottom rung of the hierarchy).

“Occupied.”

“I left something in there that I need.”

It’s like every muscle of your body tenses, and every nerve sets alight. 

“Professor Hwang?” Like you need to confirm. 

There’s a pause, like he’s registering your voice before he says your name. 

“Yes, I’ve got the safe lights on, but if you make sure everything is off out there, I can open the door.” Sooner he comes in, the sooner he can leave. 

There’s a low chuckle. “I know the drill.”

You bristle at the patronizing tone.

“Everything is off.”

You open the door and mentally curse him. Even with the lights which you’d considered an unflattering shade of red, he still looks like art. 

Art like a rendition of a fallen angel or romantic vampire with the shadows on his face and red tinge his neck-length brown hair takes on. His glasses are horn-rimmed today, his white shirt pink in the light and sleeves rolled up, black slacks. There are at least three paint smudges on his forearms.

He nods and gives you a polite smile. It’s the most reserved he’s ever been with you, at least since first meeting. You would never describe him as outgoing by any means, but certainly friendly, amiable. He doesn’t hold any of the underlying snobbery of other art professors who have lived so long in the ivory towers of academia and the art world, that any one not well-versed is unworthy of such allowances as kindness or care. 

For all his faults, Hyunjin is not the worst. 

You step back, aware that you are essentially, just staring at him like a moron. He slips in, glances at the negatives out that you’ve just developed.

“Pleased?” he asks as he moves toward the shelves of chemicals and random items (things left and abandoned by years of students and professors - your favorite is a tiny figurine of the black cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service. No one has taken it back, as though left here on purpose by someone in the past six years. He’s the official mascot of this particular dark room and therefore your favorite). 

“Pleased?” you repeat.

“With your work?” He grabs some acrylic paint tubes off the shelf. “What you just developed?”

Now you feel stupid. Obviously that’s what he’s asking about. Not if you’re pleased to see him. That would be stupid. You aren’t. Surely even he can see that.

“Um, not sure.” You return to the film and its small images. You set one image over the projected enlarger so it’s visible to the both of you. It’s not much, a solitary tree, slightly off center in the frame. “Haven’t had a chance to see if it was a total waste of roll or not.”

Even though you don’t look to see him move, you feel him stand slightly behind you to also take in the image. 

You hold your breath for a number of reasons. 

One; because you don’t need to breathe in his cologne which is actually really lovely (so you hate it).

Two; because his nearness is off-putting as he’s not really breaking any social rules by being too close and darkrooms aren’t exactly spacious, but dammit he’s close. 

Three; because you actually want to know what he thinks.

That last one pisses you off the most. You and he don’t dabble in the same medium (he’s painting and drawing; you always stuck with photography, sometimes mixed media) so who is to say his thoughts are at all valuable.

Not that he isn’t skilled. Every professor in the Visual Arts department is, even the ones you dislike the most.

Like him. 

“It’s lonely.”

You flinch at his words, his voice seeming loud in the quiet of the room. 

“Being asymmetrically composed, the tree feels even more out of place and lost.”

You force yourself to continue staring at the project and not turn to see his expression. Because you might show your thoughts and those don’t need to be discoverable by Professor Hwang Hyunjin.

“I like it. Even if it’s a bit out of focus.”

You lean into the projection to see that he is correct. There is a slight blur to the edges, fuck it all. 

You straighten back up. “Intentional.” Not that you moving in and checking it wasn’t a damn giveaway that you are lying like a lying liar, but maybe he’s stupid.

“Ah.”

Maybe a little. Or he lies too. 

“Are you entering any contests or doing a showing?”

Does he truly want to have a normal conversation right now? In the dark room? Alone? When you are working on your own stuff?

You take a few steps away, turning off the projector. 

“I don’t have anything specific in mind. Just keeping a hand in, you know?”

He nods, the shadows lengthening then shortening on his face. “Not that this subject matter is relevant, but you know our theatre department is looking for a photographer? Dr. Kim mentioned it just yesterday.”

“They are?”

“You can do action and work with that type of lighting?”

You work hard not to sneer. “Yes. The photography program here is pretty thorough.”

He shrugs. “I would hope so, though I must admit I know little of Dr. Cha’s work with students. And only the bare essentials of the craft.” He’s smiling, looking far less like a work of untouchable art and more like someone who regularly laughs; at himself and at the absurdity of the world. 

The dried paint on his cheek is wrinkled and breaking with that smile. 

You mentally shake yourself. 

When you don’t say anything, making the silence veer on awkward, he clears his throat. 

“You should apply. I think you’d do well.” He laughs now. It’s silly. “Not that I have much understanding the ins and outs of course, my recommendation is probably worth little.”

“You’d say something?”

“To Kim? Sure.” 

“With one photo?”

He now looks amused. “I’ve seen your instagram, too. Dr. Cha often shares his former and current students’ work and I follow her.” He starts to the door. “I’ll say something.” He holds up the paint tubes. “Thanks for letting me in.”

He opens the door before looking back. “Have a good night.” And disappears through it. 

The room feels strange now. The red hue seems not as striking, and the air carries that hint of piquancy of his cologne.

You do a physical shake of yourself now before returning to make some prints. 

–

When you see Juhye out for drinks with the rest of your compatriots Friday night, you ask her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the theatre photographer position?” She works in the Performative Arts department, even updates the website. Of all people, she would be one of the first to know. 

She’s had about two more cocktails than you which means her eyes take several moments to focus on you. You lean against the bar next to her, waiting. 

“Why would I?”

You bite your tongue to retort. “Because I’m a photographer.” 

She wrinkles her nose, saying your name in the most patronizing tone you’ve heard since high school. “They want professionals.”

You jerk back as though she swung a dagger at you. 

But you try again. Because friends. And Girl Code. “I applied though. Would you say something to Dr. Kim please?”

She takes a deep breath that you can hear despite the loud house music pumping in this bar. “Honey,” The sickly sweetness of the condescension makes you want to gag. “We’re friends and all, but I am not risking my name just because you think you can do something like this. Real friends tell each other the truth.”

As she finishes this quasi-sermon, the bartender produces another drink for her, and a receipt to sign. She does, scrawling also her snapchat username. He takes the slip, makes eye contact with her and smirks before moving to another patron. 

“What was that?” you ask, still processing her apparent disregard for your dreams and talent. “I thought you were ‘in love’ with Professor Hwang?” You are petty enough to do finger quotation marks. 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs, already looking past you for the rest of your group. “I am. But wanting a luxury car doesn’t mean that one can’t ride in a station wagon.”

If you’d had more liquor, maybe you could have thrown up on her as you currently feel ill, both disgusted and horrified. 

To equate humans to cars reeks of objectification and lack of seeing someone as a whole person. 

And you might hate Hwang Hyunjin, but you know he’s more than just a beautiful (on the surface) man. 

Juhye slips by you to find the others as you realize how incredibly shit of a friend she is. Of a person. In fact, you turn to stare at her back in astonishment because you thought you were good at reading people, at sifting through the kinds of people you want to surround yourself with. Juhye has never been someone you were incredibly close to, but you thought she was decent, even if her taste in men was lacking.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

As though your life is a full-on drama, you turn back to see that in her place is Hyunjin. He’s got a martini glass in hand, the liquid a vibrant green. 

“Rarely,” you answer tonelessly, your brain still trying to understand the revelations of the last five minutes. You nod to his drink. “What’s that?”

He grins, alcohol having warmed his smile. “Appletini.”

A surprised laugh exits your mouth before you realize it. You assumed he’d probably drink something like fancy single malt scotch or absinthe (the green). Here he is, this impressive and young art professor, one who has had an extolled art showing in the last year (you might have researched him some when you realized how much you hated him), drinking the equivalent of Apple Jacks in a martini glass. 

His smile is a little cute.

He isn’t wearing glasses right now, which is a shame, but his t-shirt and jeans give him less of that art prof vibe, and more of the cute guy you meet at a bar. 

“Good?” you ask, finding yourself bewildered and amused.

He nods emphatically, offering it to you as though you’re friends who share.

You shake your head, even though you sort of want to. 

“Thank you. I should go.” It might be the lighting, but he looks way too cozy with his hair tucked behind his ears, the wind from outside making it tousled. 

You look around to see Juhye and several of your friends over at a booth. They are watching with piercing eyes. 

Juhye whispers to another.

You feel it. The momentary terror of doing something wrong, the violation of the code in talking to your friend’s crush.

“Before you do.” He sets down his drink, inching a bit closer to you. “I talked to Dr. Kim. About the job? I can’t say for sure, but I think he was definitely looking forward to talking with you about it. I showed him your series with the cyclists by the Han River, from your insta. One of my favorites of yours.” 

You feel your eyes itch all of a sudden, a sudden tightness in your throat. You force back the tears that threaten. 

“I…thank you.”

His smile gets even bigger, his eyes nearly squeezed shut in his joy. 

You need to go. Like now. 

“Of course. What are friends for? Or at least, coworkers.” He giggles. 

Friends. The spike of anxiety lessens. Because you know what real friendship is. And it’s not in whispers and unspoken rules and carelessness. 

It’s thoughtfulness, it’s giving without asking for anything back. 

“If you get the job, I expect you to buy me a drink.” His playful words make you tense all the more, because you see it. You see how kind he is.

He sees you.

“I’m kidding,” he says almost as quickly. “I just–”

“I know.” You meet his eyes and smile though you imagine it’s more teary than warm right now. “I’ll definitely buy you another appletini if I get it.”

There’s no RBF right now. Only sparkling eyes, turned up lips, and kindness. 

And you need to go.

“Sure. Um, bye.” You race out of there like being chased by a supervillain. 

–

It’s the end of the school year, and even though you still work during the summer (a lowly admin’s job is never done), you feel the excitement.

Because you’re changing departments. After photographing and doing promotional shots of the university’s spring musical, Dr. Kim wants you on staff full-time, to capture all of the Performative Arts department; the classes, the productions, even the silly open mics that the students and professors do every month. The website, the newsletter, the alumni magazine; all have a credit of yours by the time May ends. 

You feel like maybe you haven’t been treading aimlessly post-university as much as you thought. 

“So,” Hyunjin says, before taking a sip of his luminescent green cocktail. He leans on his elbows across from you. “We aren’t in the same department any more.” There’s a pout at the end, a small, silly thing that makes you roll your eyes, but deep down, you think it’s (he) is adorable. 

“I know. You’ll have to bug someone new when you forget your password. Again.”

His pout doesn’t leave. “They might be nicer to me.”

In the months that followed that night at the bar, you decided to apologize to him. It was in his office, when he was sorting through papers and you were nearly on your way home for the day. You had succeeded in avoiding Juhye and him for three days when you got the email from Dr. Kim for a quick interview. 

So you stopped by to thank him, then apologize for being rude.

“You hated me? Huh. I thought you were just kind of grumpy. It’s cute.”

To say you were simultaneously both flattered and outraged (he’d not even been offended, once?) would be understatement. 

He likes to tease you about it now.

“But to go back to my original thought,” he continues, reaching out to steal a fry from your plate. “No longer in the same department. We’ll have to try and see each other instead of just happening to run into each other.” He raises one eyebrow at you.

“Yeah. Ugh, are you a clingy friend?”

“Not really.” He pauses, taking another drink before setting it back down. “I am…a little bit of a clingy boyfriend.” 

You’re holding your breath again. 

You can acknowledge that you and Hyunjin aren’t just coworkers, he’s not your enemy (if he ever was) anymore. You’re definitely more friends with him than anyone else from work (you’ve pulled away from Juhye and her little group and honestly, you don’t miss them). 

Being friends, being friendly and open with Hyunjin has its own drawbacks because now you have to contend with how lovely a person he is; how talented, funny, goofy, and compassionate. Which makes it difficult. When you hated him, he was easy to keep at a distance.

Now that you like him, you might really like him.

“Uh, we aren’t dating.”

“What do you call this?” he asks, nonplussed that he’s brought up your entire relationship as a topic of conversation, as though you’re discussing the weather, or the latest student’s project. He points at your mostly empty plates, his martini glass, your half-full gin and tonic. Then he points at you and then himself.

“I’m paying though.” Spring in academia is a sprint to the finish and though he’d been joking about you owing him a drink if you got the job, you are currently owning up to it now that the semester is over. 

“So? Is it only a date if I pay?” He tsks at you. “I thought you were a feminist.”

Your glare doesn’t have the same bite as it used to. It’s too fond. 

“This is a date?”

He leans across the table, adjusting his glasses as though it’ll help him see you better. Even with familiarity, you still feel a bit overwhelmed by him. 

“I want it to be.”

There is no policy about coworkers dating at your university, just that professionality reigns at the school. There is no reason why you and Hyunjin cannot date. Even though you often feel like professors are on another level compared to the administration. 

He’s not even that much older than you. 

Perhaps it’s remnants of being so worried that you might break ‘Girl Code’ if you’re at all nice to him because of Juhye’s ‘claim’ that you are hesitant. Maybe you need to acknowledge that he is so much more than what you or Juhye reduced him to in the beginning.

Maybe you realize that you have been ‘dating’ him awhile without even comprehending it.

Maybe you also lean across the table, letting your lips brush against his stunning ones (if you painted like him, those lips would probably show up in a piece) and hear his soft exhale as though he relaxes. Because he realizes it too.

You like each other. A lot. 

His soft kiss in return gives you actual heart flutters.

“I guess I don’t mind a clingy boyfriend. Especially one who is still marked with paint on a date.” You point to the streak of white at his jaw. 

He takes your hand in his, gaze dropping to look at his drink, but his smile can’t be hidden.

“Good.”

---

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[traeumenvonbuechern]

🐉 Dragon Books To Read If You Liked "Fourth Wing" by Rebecca Yarros 🐉

The dragon romantasy "Fourth Wing" by Rebecca Yarros has taken over the bookish community, so I wanted to give you some recommendations on what to read after you finished it.

Dragonfall by L.R. Lam

Long ago, humans betrayed dragons, stealing their magic and banishing them to a dying world. Centuries later, their descendants worship dragons as gods. But the 'gods' remember, and they do not forgive. Since they were orphaned, Arcady has scraped a living thieving on the streets of Vatra, dreaming of life among the nobility - and revenge. When the chance arises to steal a powerful artefact from the bones of the Plaguebringer, the most hated person in Lumet history, they jump at it, for its magic holds the key to their dreams. But the spell has unintended consequences, and drags Everen - the last male dragon, who was once foretold to save his kind - into the human world. Trapped, and disguised as a human, Everen soon realises that the key to his destiny, and to regaining his true power, lies in Arcady. All he needs to do is convince one little thief to bond with him completely - body, mind, and soul - and then kill them . . . Yet the closer the two become, the greater the risk both their worlds will shatter.

To Shape a Dragon's Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose

A young Indigenous woman enters a colonizer-run dragon academy—and quickly finds herself at odds with the “approved” way of doing things—in the first book of this brilliant new fantasy series. The remote island of Masquapaug has not seen a dragon in many generations—until fifteen-year-old Anequs finds a dragon’s egg and bonds with its hatchling. Her people are delighted, for all remember the tales of the days when dragons lived among them and danced away the storms of autumn, enabling the people to thrive. To them, Anequs is revered as Nampeshiweisit—a person in a unique relationship with a dragon. Unfortunately for Anequs, the Anglish conquerors of her land have different opinions. They have a very specific idea of how a dragon should be raised, and who should be doing the raising—and Anequs does not meet any of their requirements. Only with great reluctance do they allow Anequs to enroll in a proper Anglish dragon school on the mainland. If she cannot succeed there, her dragon will be killed. For a girl with no formal schooling, a non-Anglish upbringing, and a very different understanding of the history of her land, challenges abound—both socially and academically. But Anequs is smart, determined, and resolved to learn what she needs to help her dragon, even if it means teaching herself. The one thing she refuses to do, however, is become the meek Anglish miss that everyone expects. Anequs and her dragon may be coming of age, but they’re also coming to power, and that brings an important realization: the world needs changing—and they might just be the ones to do it.

She Who Earned Her Wings by Vaela Denarr & Micah Iannandrea

One does not learn to fly without taking a leap. And one has to fall to be caught. Nomi is a young druid finally taking the chance to spread her wings and leave her home. To see the world and discover its magic, beauty… and maybe love. Calia is a dragon on the hunt for angels, trying to square an old debt. That, and to get Laura, her desired bondmate, to finally return to her side, where she belongs. Nomi immediately catches the eye of the powerful dragons. Calia entices her with honeyed words and a skillful tongue. On the other hand, Laura, much smaller but equally intimidating, takes it upon herself to protect her. Despite the warnings, Nomi can’t help being drawn to Calia's charm, her power, her fangs… and the hidden gentleness in her eyes. She promises danger where Laura promises safety, and Nomi is torn between the two. Luckily there is a convenient cult out for the dragons’ heads, providing Nomi with ample distraction and at least one dragon egg to steal, hatch, and raise by herself. Perfectly normal things for a young transgender druid to get involved in! In the clutches of dragons, battling dark forces from beyond the stars, Nomi faces the questions of who she is and who she wants to be. Whether she deserves the love offered to her, and what it truly takes to earn her wings...

[senualothbrok]

Helloooo!

Quick question: do you think Gale has always been a sex god (just as he’s innately good at magic) or do you think he acquired his legendary skills over time?

Hello friend! <3 I have thought about this a fair bit (in fact there is a scene in Promise where Aurora asks Gale the exact same thing). It's a great question because when it comes to romance/sex, Gale presents as a fascinating combination of a flustered bashful dork, who awkwardly withdraws the first time you express interest in him, and an absolute rizzard who is not coy about his desires, seduces you with the Faerunite version of the kama sutra, and takes you on an astral gang bang on your first date (if you choose to go astral rather than 'old ways' in Act 2). Gale may have a predisposition to being a beast in bed - in the sense that he is a thoughtful, generous person, who throws himself wholeheartedly into everything he does, and gives his whole self to the people he loves. Physical attributes aside (length/girth/stamina, and all the rest), those qualities are what makes someone a good lover - the sensitivity to what gives your lover pleasure, the drive to learn and improve in skill and attunement. Putting someone else's needs above your own. Gale definitely has a tendency towards these things within his character (sometimes to his own detriment). You've made a comparison with Gale's innate mastery of the Weave, which I think is apt here. I agree with the theory that Gale was born a sorcerer (able to channel the Weave a babe/child without training), but he is a wizard - it is in his nature to want to study and learn and perfect his skills. He is ever curious and enthusiastic about accumulating new knowledge. I think of Gale's sexual prowess in the same way. Gale tells the player character that he had mortal lovers before Mystra. We know that Mystra took Gale as a lover at a relatively young age, though we don't quite how young (I'm going to assume that he was old enough to consent, because I can't quite bear the alternative at the moment). I believe that as a young man, Gale accumulated sexual experiences, and came to understand his own sexual preferences as well. I'm sure, like most youths, there was a fair amount of trial and error. He is 35 when the player character meets him, and he is not green behind the ears in this area. He is not coy, he knows himself and what he wants. That requires experience, mistakes, learning. He studied and practised the skills of love and sex. He is able to make you feel sensations beyond imagining. He has a "practised tongue". So on and so forth. I don't think Gale was a blushing virgin when Mystra took him into her bed. Mystra isn't the sum of his experiences of sex and romance, although I do believe that, before the player character, she casts a dominating shadow over them. Mystra, obviously, would have been a demanding lover, and he would have learned how to please her. I think the more incorporeal, Weave-inspired modes of pleasure that Gale is able to channel were probably refined through his time with Mystra. (As an aside, I have no doubt that whatever scraps of affection and pleasure Mystra gave him were ultimately unsatisfying, because he was never her equal, and she never really cared about his needs and wants. Gale is obviously still coming to terms with the nature of their relationship and has limited insight when he speaks about his time with Mystra.) So, all in all, I think Gale probably started off with the fundamental traits of a good lover, and refined his legendary skills over time. <3

[babygirlhaljordan]

since damian doesn’t really have his own green lantern, i decided to create one: tala >:3 more information can be found here about her but a very basic summary can be found here.

tldr version: tala is a 13-15 filo-american that uses her green lantern abilities to be a magical girl bc she’s a HUGE anime fan. with damian also being an anime fan… u can imagine the chaos that ensues

damian & tala hcs

hal jordan is her mentor, so you can imagine the amount of annoyance damian holds for her. much like her mentor, she’s impulsive and acts before she thinks. but she has a big heart and always aim to do the Right Thing. much like batman, damian often insults her but unlike her mentor… she never really catches it. if she does, she’s left unbothered

damian follows her tumblr + ao3 acc. he did it to figure out her secret identity but she all she does is post about anime & write precure fanfiction. he does NOT find anything useful except what she believes is the Correct Ships for sailor moon

they discuss anime together. while tala leans more to the magical show genre, she enjoys shoujo. and with a lot magical anime girls being apart of the shoujo genre they are able to bond >:3 she makes damian watch anime and unlike hal, he’s able to follow up with what’s going on. she gets so excited about that and declares him as her “best friend” (he refuses the title but can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy inside)

being the youngest in the family… they complain about older siblings. while tala only has one, that one is equal to damian’s 5… her sister makes fun of her interest in anime (despite watching it with her in the past. so, if anything, her sister is a hypocrite)

damian actually enjoys some of the fanfiction she wrote. he actually makes fanart for her works. and when they get older & tala needs a job… she becomes an author and damian (who wants an outlet for his superhero work bc that shit is stressful!) is an illustrator for her works

i imagine they’d meet thru being apart of a team together, all with heroes their own age and NOT friends with damian’s other family members bc i’m tired of him being friends with characters that were initially the other batfamily’s teams (kory for jason, raven for damian, etc)

it’s great for both of them because neither have worked with a team before outside of their own mentors (hal jordan or bruce wayne/dick grayson) with other members they’re challenged to work with new ppl (which u often deal with in life threatening emergencies) + learn from each other

[gd-dollopole]

Gaius is a bad character (and he is useless)

Woah, woah.

Let me start this by saying that I believe the very and only true enemy of the tv show is Uther, a tyrant, genocidal man, who for petty reasons, indiscriminately decimated an entire group of people merely because he didn’t get what he wanted, and therefore manipulated all those around him into thinking the same as he.

But, and here comes my point, if Uther is a bad parental figure for Arthur, and a bad king, then Gaius is an equally bad parental figure for Merlin, and a bad physician.

And overall, the character doesn’t make much sense to me.

Gaius sides with the oppressor, constantly:

Let’s start this point by also saying that, since the first episode, Gaius treats Merlin like an idiot. (yes, he is young. Yes, he is inexperienced under many aspects, and yes, he is clumsy) But if Merlin comes all happy and naïve in a new city, with so many hopes for himself and his kind, to live a new life that was promised to him, and the first thing he sees it’s a head chopped off because of a magic death sentence, I think he knows what’s up. This only means that Gaius has on his side the belief that he is better only because of his age, and experiences, and makes Merlin believe that he has to listen to him if he wants to make a change. And Merlin does. Gaius never, never, explicitly says to Merlin that Uther is a bad person, and therefore a bad king. He is the usual old guy with more privilege than the other people in his own community, (because he had practised magic) who believes that if he stays in his lane and doesn’t react, then Uther (the oppressor) will grant him his life, which is not even true, because if Uther did found out about Merlin, and that Gaius had been protecting him during his reign, he wouldn’t have even blinked and bye, bye, Gaius. (oh, wait, it happened, and yet, Gaius still painted Uther as a good man). This, of course, only makes everything worse for Merlin. Yes, he is a man of his own and yes, Merlin decided to side with the oppressor too, enchanted by the idea that he could start a revolution without harming anyone and by staying quiet. (not true, and although Morgana does bad things, and does kill innocent people once she is crowned queen, two times, too blinded by power, she does exactly what Merlin had never had the intention to do) But I firmly believe that Gaius, with Merlin, did the same thing Uther did with Arthur. Gaius took a very young, susceptible man with the will to learn new things and manipulated him into thinking that his magic was wrong and that he couldn’t have helped people with it, because it was his fault that everyone always got in trouble. No, Merlin simply reacted outside of the system, and Gaius was pissy about it, and couldn’t accept that, since he had always lived differently (and up until Merlin came into his life, the way he lived even suited him and didn’t bother him at all, because: “As long as it’s not me.”). For fuck’s sake, this old man actively participated in a purge, refused to run away with the woman he loved and was supposed to marry, two times, only because he thought he could do good things from the inside, once Uther started the purge. Did it really had to be this way for Gaius to have a background story for the TV show and stay in Camelot? No, because this man could have used his magic to either change Uther’s ideology, to help innocent people, or literally leave his job as a manservant for the king and refuse to participate in the genocide Uther had and still made during the later years. But no, if Merlin thought that Uther dying by Morgana’s hands was good, Gaius was there to tell him the opposite, using the same excuse of: “Arthur will be a better king.” (and even when he was crowned king, he made so many mistakes, but this will take another post completely).

Gaius didn’t help Merlin multiple times:

By the same course of him siding with the oppressor and basically pushing Merlin to do the same (not an excuse for his later choices, but you see what I mean), he never once actually helped Merlin. He just had more books than the Camelot library. Surprise, I can too read a book and slay an Avanc, thank you very much. Gaius was always ready to lift the curses that hit Arthur, Uther, and once Merlin, but did he do it when it came to Merlin and to help his friends? He refused to help Merlin help Lancelot, or Gwaine, or Freya, or Morgana, or Gwen, or Tom, or Arthur, or— (I could go on and on). So you’re ready to lift curses when they are an advantage to you, old man, but when it’s about a girl that Merlin loves, suddenly it’s a no, no? Oh, but God forbid Merlin tells you that Alice is possessed and tried to kill the king, and you’ll fret. “No, YoU’Re WrOnG, MeRlIn.” It seems to be his favourite phrase.

Young Merlin believes he is a monster, and Gaius just shrugs and goes on about his day:

“You could never understand.” is what Merlin tells Gaius, who nods thoughtfully and then treats Merlin like a… A what? Exactly, a monster. We’ve been enchanted with the whole: “He is the only father figure Merlin has, he is an old innocent man, he’s got jokes—“ and bla, bla, bla. How many times did Gaius convince Merlin that it was his job and no one else’s to be by Arthur’s side and at the same time tell him that every single choice he wanted to make was wrong? It was wrong to help Morgana, it was wrong to use magic to heal Tom, it was wrong to kill Uther, who killed Tom, it was wrong to help Gwen, it was wrong to help Freya, it was wrong to do everything, and you know why? Because Merlin did it in a way that today we would call a radical way, such as bursting through the council hall looking all pretty and powerful to scream that you’re the sorcerer, not your bestie, and Gaius said: “Nope. Just wait ten years of solitude and depression and things will magically (pun intended) be better.” Whatever.

Gaius is a bad physician:

This seems an important point to make. Gaius has a good knowledge about healing, and everything that involves medicine, but he is the worst teacher. I’m sorry, but it reminds me of my fascist teachers who were only able to open a book and let people read from it, and called it a day. Gaius, just like Merlin did multiple times, could have used magical healing arts to prevent so many things, and learn so much more in case he had to tell Merlin, so that maybe Merlin didn’t feel the need to go out in the middle of the night and meet his other bestie, the giant lizard with wings, or follow a stranger that had died 300 years prior in a cave with so many cristals and thinking that he had to kill Morgana to achieve his destiny, since he would have been able to heal Arthur himself and pop back in Camelot. (ta da) But he had the audacity to always reproach Merlin because he was a bad student. Oh, yeah, Merlin, who has to help everyone’s ass, even those he hates, and has to serve the prince/king and goes round doing chores for you is the bad student. Logical.

Moral of the story, Gaius is useless:

Not that Merlin needed to see someone he loved die, or that he needed another trauma to add to the list to have a better character arc, but why did they keep Gaius and killed half the characters that could have helped Merlin build a better character arc? It’s not even the being old part the problem. The problem are the old ways in which Gaius thinks that had harmed Merlin throughout all the show. He lied to him about Balinor for a mother who never even visited Merlin once in Camelot, after she told him he needed to go there. Gaius could have told him earlier? No? Just me? Okay. Gaius made Merlin lie about what Morgause had said to Arthur. Only during the last episodes, where Merlin is tired, very, very exhausted, Gaius tells him that this destiny bollocks is too heavy just for his shoulders. Oh. Couldn’t you have said that to him, I don’t know, maybe ten years before everything turned to shite? “Merlin had Gaius, Morgana didn’t.” Thank God, and in the end, they’re both bad in their own ways, because they were left alone, since it’s always the elderly fault if a young person is moulded to be in a certain way and ends up being either like their predecessors, or a version of them, and still make bad decisions.

Gaius needed to go, sorry not sorry. Just reunite yourself with your lovely bro Uther and disappear.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Aside from the whitewashing, What esle does the MCU get wrong about Wanda? (Ofc if you haven't answered already)

I want to reiterate that the whitewashing of Wanda, Pietro, and their family in the M C U goes far beyond simple miscasting. I wrote about that at greater length here. I also believe very firmly that the racism surrounding this character supersedes any other adaptational choices.

I'll start off with the obvious, which is that the movie version of Wanda has different powers, a different origin story, and does not wear any version of a Scarlet Witch costume nor call herself "Scarlet Witch" for the vast majority of her time in the M C U. She's not recognizable as the Scarlet Witch until the final episode of Wanda//Vision and the subsequent movie, in which she dies. Even then, the films would rather fabricate an entirely new, and mostly very shallow, mythology around her powers, the Darkhold, and witchcraft-- supported by an equally unrecognizable version of Agatha-- then make any attempt to adapt the source material.

Superhero movies never set out to be a one-to-one translation of comic books, and that's fine, but if they can't preserve the most essential elements of a character or their story, then that is just a bad adaptation. Even without mutants or Magneto, Wanda has a lot of rich lore and history to pull from. None of that is present here. Even if I could set the race issues aside, I do not think I would like this adaptation because to me as a Scarlet Witch fan, this is not a Scarlet Witch story.

And the thing is, the people writing these movies clearly do understand Wanda's history, but they choose to repeatedly spit in its face and betray all of the most important narrative themes. As I mentioned in the linked post, there are allusions to racial tropes and stereotypes that betray a clear awareness of the marginalized people they are erasing. But I find many of the narrative beats troubling as well--

In Age of Ultron, the Avengers first encounter Wanda and Pietro as antagonists, which makes sense, as the characters were originally introduced as villains. In the comics, however, the twins are part of a vulnerable minority group, and they align themselves with a villain-- whose praxis they explicitly disagree with-- for the sake of survival. In the movie, though they are personally disadvantaged, Wanda and Pietro are part of the white European non-mutant majority, and they willingly align themselves with a fascist organization in order to gain power and enact violence. Neither character properly acknowledges or denounces HYDRA's politics.

In Wanda//Vision, Wanda struggles to maintain the facade of an idyllic suburban life. In the comics, she and Vision are equal partners, and the challenges they face as a couple mostly arise from the prejudice of their friends and neighbors. It's a nuanced text that has a lot to do with assimilation and identity, led by two characters who struggle to find acceptance as both literal and metaphorical minorities. Here, it's a story about one white woman taking out her grief on a town of innocent people by violating the mental and bodily autonomy of everyone around her, including her own husband.

Throughout Wanda//Vision and Multiverse of Madness, Wanda's magical powers rapidly develop in response to her grief, ultimately leading her down a path of destruction. In the comics, Wanda is a frequent victim of exploitation and possession, and her powers stem from being violated as an infant. These stories are often problematic, but Wanda typically emerges victorious by reclaiming her autonomy, asserting her morals, and working to make reparations for any harm her powers have caused. In the M C U, Wanda is nobody's victim-- she comes into these powers on her own and willingly gives into their corruptive influence. She is never possessed-- she enacts harm entirely of her own volition, even seeking to prey upon and exploit others. She's agential, but she's also morally bankrupt, and the movies offers her no chance of redemption save for their own loose moral scale and blindingly white feminism.

[gracefulfallen]

ok, but the idea that veth may not actually know luc's age is so genuinely funny to me from a sociological standpoint? because like... yes it was sam trolling. yes sam was being funny/probably forgot/wanted luc to be a teenager despite the fact that he should canonically be 11 or 12. but, also - imagine what this means from a societal perspective!

if you are a ruler in a large empire, you need to know your population demographics. are your birth rates in decline? is your workforce going to keep up with demands of your economy? is there something killing specific age groups at a higher rate than normal? do you have enough young people to fill out your military? enough farmers to feed you?

so you get a census bureau to keep track of all that. but this shit! it is chaotic! this is difficult! it is not as simple as births vs deaths!

first, you have different races with different lifespans and ages of maturity. so, do you set a single age of majority across your realm? what does that mean for orcs, who are adults at 14 and die at 70? how does that same age work for elves, who within elven culture are children until they are 100? do you have different ages of majority for different races?? when can someone legally drink? or enlist? or buy property? or get married??

if that's not complicated enough, there's different realms where time flows differently. so if a kid goes to the feywild (as veth says she took luc), they can come back a whole year (or two, or three, or ten) older than they should be. now they have a useless birth certificate, and the census has to be updated! legally, they're 11. physically, mentally, emotionally they're 19. they've lived 19 years. so... do we adjust the birth certificate? issue an addendum? he should be a legal adult now, and he wants to get married to this wood nymph he met & brought back with him, but everything on paper shows him as 11 and not old enough to get married.

our poor census official is pulling out their hair now.

then! THEN! you have magic! so your census taker is sitting there, and suddenly they get a messenger. "not sure how to handle this - there was a resurrection!" should be simple enough - there's a reason we don't formalize death certificates until the 11th day. "no. see, he was dead 95 years."

well! shit! do you count this as a birth? there's probably a special census category specifically for this, right? but all of his property was inherited by his descendants - some of who have died themselves. his home was sold after his death, and the new tenants are legal owners of it.

i just think the life of a bureaucrat in dnd must be equally fascinating and miserable.

[letrune]

You know what annoys me in Harry Potter?

And let us imagine for a moment that the author is Hatsune Miku. That it is an adaptation of Neil Cicierega's Potter Puppet Pals. That Warner Bros is not holding the franchise with patents and trademarks well beyond the powers of even millionaires.

Ah, nice to imagine, isn't it? Still with me?

The books are wasted potential. Every new thing coming in helps to show how the magical world is as flawed and xenophobic as regular, mundane version of it. Slavery, segregation by "blood purity", racial segregation, magic supremacy and cishet white male magic supremacy, too.

And then a downtrotten guy shows up. He is a hero, has loads of cash and a fame beyond his age. You would think the dude from the literal closet would CHANGE THE SYSTEM. To push along a new, better, more liberated, more equal world. Maybe even prevent the next bad guy from rising by removing the key aspects that made him rise to power, like slavery, the segregations, the supremacist ideas, and so on. Even if just pushing it in a way.

You would think the main character would fix the system. You know why?

Because every fantasy story, even if by just getting the just and wise king or queen on the throne, does that. The Lord of the Rings does not end by blowing up Sauron. It goes on, the world has to be changed to prevent a new, different Sauron. We saw glimpes on how anyone, even the purest heart, could go down that path.

So why can't this boy who lives in a closet? It is WASTED POTENTIAL. Imagine the stories you can tell! Now that you got a better world coming, would the old jerks not hate it? Would some change? What new issues arise? It is a fantasy, so you can do whatever you want - and then go the Man in Black route and have the magical slowly dripped into the mundane. Or, again, as with the (comic book) Men in Black, we had shown how even the utopian parts get issues not seen before, all based on xenophobia, human folly, etc.

You make a status quo that sucks, and then GO AND CHANGE IT. The big bad in a bad system is not the guy with the biggest gun, but the system that fails.

Oh, sure, you can make a story about the cyclical nature of revolutions - and yes, a bloodless revolution is the best for the little people, but in fiction, we may have the bad guys represent issues. So, you can make a story where a revolution leads to another in the next cycle. But...

You have to change the bad systems. Say that some things may change. Even if it is just a new school being put forward in the end, with empathy, and two characters talking about how the world will change if they keep going on... You have to change. The utopian status quo is the only one what the audience may like to be returned to.

When Bilbo comes back to the Shire, it is almost the same, but Bilbo himself changed. It was a bit for the better, but not that much that new stories could not be told... and what he thought as the status quo is shown to have changed. He became more artistic. He wrote a book, inspired by his "miserable adventure"... and then, later, Tolkien slipped in the ring from the sequel. It was not in the original draft! The ending did not changed, but we had a plot hook.

Though, Tolkien already had given us all the potential in the story. He hinted at a bigger world.

So imagine Miku, writing a thing but then she does not develop the things. The potential goes wasted, and when it returns, it has this "stop nagging me, here, a stupid retcon for your stupid questions" thing. Potential squandered! Wasted! No wonder the fans would go to write their own, for better or worse.

I am so happy Hatsune Miku is a talented writer and not some woman slipping into right-wing hatred, akin to some dude who loves gold and the aesthetics of power, and having none of it in his tiny hands or something. That would be-

Oh. I just realised the intro to this rant. Well, now that the train is deralied, what is my point?

If you write a story with systemic issues, you should at least attempt to resolve some of them. You got slavery? Have the main character and their friends free slaves and ban slavery when they get the power to do so.

You got a sort of space cyborg wizard nazi movement? Your character has the potential to punch them in the face, alongside B. J. Blazkowicz and Captain America, WHILE ALSO breaking the systems the space cyborg wizard nazies rely on. In fact, it should be what you do, because while your heroes give the cool action scenes, they also show their intelligence and empathy by PREVENTING new space cyborg wizard nazies coming into existence and fixing the inequalities in the world.

Sure, it is not as cool to see Mr. Potter to write a new constitution about equal rights than seeing him in a wizard duel with wizard nazies, but you can have both. This is fantasy!

You can get the audience to believe that a man can fly, that a single guy can save the world by throwing a ring into a volcano, or that a boy living in a closet is a chosen one - letting them change the world for the better is not a stretch, it is catharsis! That is where the happy ending happens.

[knightofwounds]

Tournament

For @adelarsims event.

Okay, I didn't bring the guy first, like was planned, but I still took the leap of faith as recommended. So, after silent first year in the community I am ready to introduce the two young participants of the tournament.

Is she li'l or is he tall? Yes.

Although… Miss Gemma Charm needs no introduction. The youngest daughter of the Charm family, an ancient magical lineage, she is set to make her 16th birthday debut at this year's magical tournament.

Traits: Goofball, Art Lover (+Creative and Perfectionist with mod). Aspiration: Spellcraft & Sorcery (in this family she had no choice, to be honest). Skills: Charisma, Comedy, Logic, Mischief, Painting. Likes (in the game process): Pranks, painting, comedy, new age, argumentative sims, silly behavior. Dislikes: Fitness, egoistical sims.

Her mother Minerva Charm is a powerful and respected witch, her brother Darrell is a famous duelist, she herself has been reminded of who she is almost every day since childhood - all of this is definitely exerting some pressure on the young witch, especially now. Oh, the status obliges.

It's no wonder that behind her carefree facade, Gemma is secretly afraid of not living up to the high expectations of her family and the magical community.

And perhaps the big event would have been an equally grandiose nervous breakdown and she would have given up before it even began if it wasn’t for Glenn O'Malley.

Gemma's stubborn and unpredictable school friend simply stated: "It's dangerous to go alone, take this! And by “this”, I mean “me”. Eh, shut up, Gem, that's not a suggestion, but a declaration."

Traits: Mean, Erratic (+Hot-headed and Loyal with mod). Aspiration: Renaissance Sim. Skills: Dancing, Writing, Painting, Mischief, Fitness. Likes: Red color, funny sims, writing, dancing, gemology, potty humor. Dislikes: Complains, physical intimacy, discussing hobbies, ginger hair (yeah, actually his own hater #1).

You might be a tough street guy, who dare not be teased for an old-fashioned name or anything else, but if your friend wants an one paired outfit for an important event and gain access to your face with her questionable makeup skills… okay then. But just one!

But who the hell is he and what happened?

To be honest, he wasn't even a spellcaster until recently: just a rather unpleasant person who, nonetheless, cared deeply for his small circle of people important to him.

And Glenn got used to the fact that usually in their duo, he was the always annoyed (and annoying) creature with a short temper, but not Gemma. And this time it was hard for him to say "okay, keep your little secrets."

Of course, his friend always had some weird secrets, but she never was so tense and blue because of it. And it was going on for a while, so…

He was smart enough to put together a certain number of details into a whole picture and crazy enough not to try and rationalize the strange result, but just to test the theory.

And a month before the tournament, he met Gemma in the magical dimension with the words "don't you want to tell me something at least now, girl?"

Does Glenn have decent magical skills? Not yet.

Does he have decent physical form and the ability to improvise and adapt skills from one area of ​​knowledge to an unrelated one, compensating for his lack of experience or tools, without worrying about how strange or contradictory it looks? Hell yes.

A guy with the behavior of a delinquent and dirty mouth of a sailor but the cultural background of artsy kid and vocabulary of a poet, he once applied his many years of dancing experience to the football field (also for another favorite person btw), developing unexpected tactics to deal with his opponents.

What will he come up with for magic? Who knows.

Anyway, now it's not so scary to be ashamed together, right? Maybe two Neophytes with a couple of entry-level spells, a pack of cheap cigarettes, creative brains and pockets full of love for shenanigans won't win, but now it's going to be a fun adventure.

(At least for them: this duo of unruly teens can’t vouch for those who meet on their way, oops).

[faellain]

The Eldritch Solarpunk Isekai

Summary: Anakin wakes up in strangely colored dark forest after seemingly dying. But is everything as it seems as he discovers more about the past of this world? Better yet, can he do it without dying to one of the cults running around?

Snippet 1

[next]

when anakin wakes up, it's in a forest. which is, admittedly strange as he was certainly in a car just a minute ago. instead of city skyline, though, a canopy of trees with moss green trunks and midnight blue leaves hang above him. little silver starfruits hang above his head. at first, he thinks the odd coloring might be the result of a concussion, but when be lift his head to feel the back of it, there's no crack, blood, or bump to be found. it's not even sore.

through the trees, he can see that the sun is out, but beneath their shade it's almost night. above him, a starfruit sways and plops off the tree, bouncing off his stomach and rolling along the grass. another equally strange bit of flora, the grass is short, but soft as velvet. even in the shade, its teal hue is obvious. anakin plucks a blade of it, twirling the small grass between his fingers.

he takes a few deep breaths, trying to remember what happened. a soft ringing echoes in his ears, a terse frown prominent on his face as he pushes through the headache to his memories. 

/ /

“i take you in, i feed you, clothe you when no one else would and this is how you repay me?”

anakin hates him. disgust boils up inside his stomach like a witch's cauldron, bubbling over with dark magics. his adoptive father doesn't have to care any more. he has long since aged out of the system and, legally bound or not, anakin is not his son. there is nothing between them.

so why does dooku keep coming back?

“you didn't have to bail me out,” anakin reminds him, letting his head thunk against the tinted window of the jet back rolls-royce dooku had been favoring lately. all dooku bothers to do is scoff, slipping quickly into silence after.

new york's skyline creeps along in bumper to bumper traffic. honking horns scream into the already noisy city's atmosphere. next time, he'd go scrapping in staten island. being bailed out in manhattan during rush hour sucked. the cops might even look the other way on staten island. maybe give his prosthetic a sideways glance or sneer at his long hair, but anakin blended in there.

the best scrapping was in the bronx. anakin found the strangest things there. perhaps it was the age of the borough, it's old age seeping luck into the soil that let anakin find the parts he wanted to use for his latest creation or bit of fiddling. for now, he had to steer clear of the bronx. one too many arrests had put his poster up in the police department.

any scrapping would be delayed. if anakin knew surly old dooku, and he did, then his father was about to drag him out two and half hours to the catskills rather than make him stay in dooku's brooklyn two level high rise or pick up anakin's currently impounded powder blue 1992 mercury cougar that he'd bought for one thousand even. upon getting a good drive with her, he named her twilight. she was the only thing he owned besides the clothes he stored in her trunk and the bits and bobs of metal he played with in his pocket. when he had been arrested this time, the officer who pinned him broke his phone. an old pink motorola razr, it's worn hinge snapped the phone in half when anakin had been pushed to the ground. dirt had gotten up his nose, but all he could think about was the feeling of the snap followed by the crunch of his thigh decimating the rest of the phone.

“i want to go to the impound lot to get twilight,” he finally says to dooku’s disappointed silence that had been growing.

“i will not pay to free your death trap,” dooku replies, “we are going up to the mountains. you can earn some honest money doing handiwork and then we can go back and get it. or better, sell it and get you a better one.”

“twilight runs and she's warm in the winter,” he retorts. 

dooku goes uncomfortably quiet in his seat. being reminded that anakin lives out of his car always bothers him. it's why anakin brings it up— making dooku feel bad is at least a minor victory.

hesitation follows as dooku flexes his hands on the steering wheel, “we could always stay in the mountains. the handiwork is good there and i can do that— what's it called? telework?”

“you know i hate the fucking catskills,” anakin snarls at him, “and i’m not putting myself in a position where i owe you more than i already do.”

dooku bites right back, “you had every opportunity, but you insist on throwing everything away!”

“i came with a record and it was never going to go away!” anakin snaps, “don't act like i can just change my life.”

“you can. you just don't want to.”

indignation is a hell of a drug. and dooku had just injected it directly into anakin’s veins. anakin sucks in a breath to really scream, really lay into the reality of his life to this old man who thinks his shit doesn't stink when a deep, loud horn blares. red light glows at the top of the windshield. his head whips right. a semi-truck in the middle of the fucking city. and dooku is mid-blowing a red light. anakin slams his hands onto the wheel, trying to turn it up on the sidewalk.

“LOOK OUT!”

beneath the sound of the horn sounding a second time, anakin can hear dooku yelling at him not to grab the wheel. glass shattering comes next, but anakin can't hear after that. everything is dark.

/ /

if that was a car crash, then this is the weirdest hospital he's ever been in. long slow breaths are doing little to truly calm him down, but he can't do anything more than that. adrenaline and anxiety are forcing him into becoming a heavy weight, sinking into the velvet grass.

maybe it was some weird experimental hospital dooku had requested for emergencies. he doubted it, but that was a better thought than thinking he was in hell. because there was no way anakin skywalker was getting in heaven. purgatory at best.

he lifted his prosthetic hand, its 3d printed whiteness stark in this blue forest. while his arm had moved, the hand had not— out of battery. it was stuck in ‘holding a steering wheel’ position. a soft groan escaped him. he had just charged it! it was the only thing dooku had ever given him that he kept. 

anakin finally sits up, blood going cold at how abruptly realization hit him. no hospital would have left his prosthetic on. and there was no way, in reality, for him to end up in a forest when he was just in the urban jungle of new york city. especially one that was midnight blue with silver, sparkling starfruits. plus, if he was dead, why would he take his prosthetic with him and why would it be *out of battery*?

wherever he was, it was real.

“toto, i got a feeling we're not in kansas anymore,” he murmurs in an effort to make himself laugh. it doesn't work.

tree leaves could be a lot of of colors, but he was pretty sure the color of the night sky wasn't one of them. he let his hand wander parts of his skin, but he could tell he wasn't injured. even his legs, bare from the knee down in black cargo shorts, seemed fine. moving his joints, he stretched making sure he was okay. a long suffering sigh escapes him.

there was no way to determine north outside of what little glimpse he could get of the sun. at least the big yellow ball of light looked normal. its slow movement looked like a descent so anakin decided it was headed west. 

while he had never been a boy scout, anakin had run away before and knew how to orient himself. he quickly turned to his right. when in doubt, head north. as he did though, he saw something in the distance. through the leaves, shadows were moving. 

no. not shadows. coming toward him was a parade of figures, about ten in total, all wearing midnight blue cloaks that hid them among the leaves. beneath the cloaks all of them seemed to have silver clothes that glimmered from the inside if they caught the light. anakin's throat dried immediately, particularly feeling the arid weather infesting his flesh, cracking his esophagus. he had seen enough horror movies to know where this was going. 

south it fucking was then.

anakin takes off running in the opposite direction. a quick thought made him duck east under some low branches. old habits died hard. but he could still hear the footsteps behind him. looking back never got anyone anywhere, though. when you looked back, you slowed down and if you slowed down you got caught. despite the burn in his muscles, anakin pushes on. no way was he going from holding to wicker man victim. 

trees thin out as he runs. what would happen once he left the woods? would the figures stop at the edge or pursue? each beat of his heart was thunder roaring in his chest, pushing pulsating blood through his ears making him hear his heartbeat like a storm. running from cops or crooks was one thing, a cult was another. all he could do was press onward. he clearly hadn’t been too deep into the woods, but that didn’t mean he was anywhere near civilization. 

yet, he could never expect just what he would find at the edge of the forest– the edge of the world. 

anakin does his best to slide to a stop, but the dirt has little hold and a lot of give, especially in his old worn sneakers. a shout escapes him, turning his throat raw as he flails, falling over the side. another quick thought saves him. he turns, grateful suddenly that he’d been holding the steering as he’s able to get both of his arms on the edge of the world. his feet kick in the open air, eyes facing a white rim around the forest. wind whips at at him, threatening his grip as he grits his teeth to try and pull himself up. 

below him, when he looks quickly to see what falling would entail, is a vast expanse of dark, deep ocean. waves lap at a translucent… trunk of sorts that is supporting the forest. while it appears as a unified whole, when anakin squints, he notices that there are several pieces twisting together like a tight braid. he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his head to the rim as he struggles. maybe he really shouldn’t have skipped the pull up bar days at school. 

“you fool!” he hears someone shout. 

if it’s dying or cult, anakin will take the cult. 

“help!” he shouts, trying to make sure the people know exactly where he is. he did not survive a car crash just to die by hitting an ocean a skyscraper’s height below him. 

two hands grab his own, a sigh of relief finally escaping him as he’s dragged up and over the edge of the forest. bruises form as his hips hit the band, but he couldn’t care less as he’s back on solid ground. he heaves, nearly tempted to wretch, as he pushes his hands against the still velvet, still very teal grass. thank fuck. oh, than fuck. 

“what is he wearing?” he hears one hooded figure ask. 

“what is on his arm?” another asks. 

anakin looks up at them. they are now the holders of his fate, after all. if he believed in anything, he’d be praying they weren’t serial killers. hopefully, they were just run of the mill hippies committing tax fraud or something. the hooded figure at the front, the one who had grabbed his hands was silent, looking at him skeptically, if the tilt from beneath the hood was anything to go by. 

that one’s cloak was different from the others. silver embroidery of the moon in different phases lined the edge of the hood and on the cuffs of the sleeves. despite its simplicity, it was beautiful to look at. still, the hoods did a good job of keeping the wearer’s face in shadow. anakin could see little more than the man’s chin, peeking out from the hood. maybe he really should start praying. 

“are you alright?” the figure asked. 

anakin nodded, “think so. you scared the shit out of me.” 

“that explains why you ran,” murmured the figure, who anakin figured might be the leader. 

that was when the leader removed his hood. slowly, it slipped away from his head. most likely, he had removed it to show anakin that he was just an ordinary person. yet, it only made anakin’s stomach bottom out. his breath shook as he stared up at the figure. lush brown hair spilled out as the hood came down, two bright blond-white locks hanging down at the front. the face was soft, but brought him no comfort. all he could do was wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

“ferus???” 

/ /

moving out of dooku’s home had been a godsend. able to finally be free of him, anakin felt lighter. there was a world of possibility at his fingertips. all he had to do was work around his record, find a job, and get his life on track. a fuck up was no longer who he had to be. he could be the man his boyfriend saw in him.

ferus olin was uppity and smart and didn’t take any of anakin’s shit. at first, he’d hated it. dealing with ferus made him want to scream. getting to know each other though, throughout high school, resulted in a mutual respect that grew into friendship that had blossomed into love. after all the shit he’d lived through, after dooku’s hollow gestures, he had someone who loved him. believed in him. saw the good no one else could see.

until, of course, that all fell apart too.

they had lasted a year. living together was very different than being high school sweethearts it seemed. despite his best efforts, anakin couldn’t get a job. scrapping was easy money, if illegal, and anakin was good at it. ferus was flabbergasted the first time anakin got arrested. they worked together to try and get anakin’s record expunged, but anakin knew they needed money. he thought he’d be more careful, but he’d gotten caught again. ferus didn’t give him a third chance.

“you don’t want to change. your grandfather’s right.” 

“you’re just like every other rich fuck who thinks that they know! god, what the fuck did i ever see in you?”

even as he slams down twilight’s trunk with a suitcase of clothes and toiletries, knowing ferus thinks he plans to go back to dooku when anakin knows he can never do that, he can still hear the echoes of a fight from months ago ringing in his ear. all he’d done was come to pick up the last of his stuff. but he can feel ferus’ eyes on him, watching him.

once they’re gone, anakin heaves a sigh of relief thinking that it’s over, that the chapter of this part of his book has ended. instead, as he’s about to climb into the driver’s seat, ferus slips out of the apartment building and stalks over to him, standing on the passenger side of the car. chilly air makes ferus tug a jacket tighter around his arms. 

“i still love you,” ferus tells him, “and if you do change, and i haven’t moved on, you know i’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

anakin frowns, “you think you’re so much better than me. you always have. i’m not your charity case.”

ferus shakes his head, “it’s not like that at all.”

“bullshit!” snaps anakin, throwing up his hands, “love is supposed to be unconditional! you’re not supposed to throw me out if you still love me.”  

“my love is unconditional,” he replies, the blond locks of his hair moving in the slight breeze, “but i love myself too. and i have to do what’s right for me.”

anger rears up like a bucking horse inside anakin. he feels like he could blaze as hot as the sun, melt ferus alive. instead, he bangs his fist on twilight’s hood, leaving a dent that he’ll have  to bang out later. his ex-boyfriend jolts at the sudden violence. while the anger doesn’t go away, the reaction makes anakin settle a bit, resorting to harsh glares and frowning.

“you’re selfish then,” anakin tells him, “and i hope you regret making me leave.”

when he slams the door closed behind him, he doesn’t look at ferus in his rearview. looking back makes you slow. it gets you caught. instead, he looks forward. in the four years since that day, anakin has not once returned to queens. he doesn’t dare. ferus could always be anywhere in the city, but queens had been the home of his love and his happiness. two many good memories turned sour there. just stepping over the borough line felt like trudging into solid, spoiled milk. there was no good man ferus saw, after all, just the man anakin pretended to be for him. anakin was anakin. that was that.

[four-loose-screws]

FE2 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Part 1

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Chapter 2 - Mila’s Restoration Army

Part 1 - Celica Embarks on Her Journey

Black rain. Few people knew what it meant - just a fraction of clergy units - who learned of it in their studies and through their heightened spiritual senses.

The sky and earth are not filled with only good substances, such as the nourishment that fosters life. For whatever amount of good exists, so does an equal amount of bad. The black rain was the result of those bad substances gathering in such a great amount that they boiled over.

It was also proof that Earth Mother Mila was abandoning her very duties as the Earth Mother. That was the true meaning behind the black rain.

And why was Mila abandoning her duty? Had a god appeared that commanded greater control than she did? Or could it be that she was dead? So long as the black rain fell, ascertaining its cause was the sole duty of all clergy units in Zofia.

…About as far south as Ram Village, but off the southeast coast instead, was Novis, an island that took roughly three days to reach by boat from the Zofia Castle town harbor. If the Mila Shrine on the northernmost tip of Zofia was the Mila Faithful's mecca, then Novis was the central location for their clergy units to train and study.

The very same black rain that dirtied Sister Silque's cheek was also streaking down the windows of Novis' priory. A black thrush, resting its wings by the window to escape the rain, looked inside a room in the priory, and saw the bright lights of a lively banquet currently ongoing.

On this very day, a holy woman of the highest rank had been named, a Priestess unit who appeared only once every one hundred years, and excelled in both magic and sword. Because one of the core teachings of the priory was a life of modesty and simplicity, its members only drank herbal wine together. It was not a luxurious beverage, but it possessed a very deep meaning.

"May Mila bestow her divine protection upon Celica, of which she is more than worthy! May she guide this priory as Priestess to further deepen our faith."

This new Priestess' name was Celica. She was a young woman with thick hair as red as a strawberry. It had never been cut once in her entire life, and curled around her waist like a lion's mane. Transcendence need not happen at a specific age, but it was considered exceptional that she had transcended to Priestess at age eighteen. If Alm was a prodigy of swordsmanship, then Celica was a prodigy of spiritual wisdom.

After all of the various ceremonies were over, only the units closest to Celica gathered to celebrate, so the number of people at the banquet table was small. After the priory's highest ranked male clergy unit, the Sage Nomah, proposed the toast, Celica did not even drink a single drop in her glass, pursing her rose-colored lips. 

Celica was still just a baby when she was brought to the priory. To Nomah, that was as unusual as her transcending to Priestess so young. He'd watched her grow her entire life.

Nomah said, "Celica, tell me what is weighing on your heart." He saw straight through her, taking her by surprise. "I will support your decision. Though I am three times your age, you are a Priestess, and I am a Sage. We are equals. I cannot stand in the way of your path."

Celica had been impatiently awaiting this day for a long time. Now that she was a Priestess, her mind was finally made up. She said, "I've decided to go to Mila's Shrine. I want to find out where she is, and learn why the black rain is falling."

Nomah was ready to hear those words. When he became a sage, he decided to devote his abilities to teaching the students who all loved the priory dearly. But Celica was different. She was choosing to go out into the world.

"The shrine is located on the northern tip of Zofia. You will need to travel across the entire continent. But Zofia is currently being ravaged by the civil war caused by Chancellor Desaix's coup-d’etat, and groups of Brigands are taking advantage of the chaos. I have even heard that evil spirits are being set free by selfish and heartless Mage units. The roads you travel will be a far cry from what they normally are.'

"I know the violence in Zofia is because of the strange things happening to Mila."

It was also unusual for a person of the highest clergy unit rank to thrust themself into the secular world. Priestess and Sage units were a symbol of every unit's soul, and their purpose was to serve as leader of a priory or shrine, and be a sacred figure who could not be swayed from their faith. But if one looked from Celica's perspective, they would know immediately why she was so determined.

And beyond all of those details, the black rain was currently a very real reality dirtying the roof of the priory. Nomah did not even attempt to stop Celica because he felt his aging body might prevent him from taking the long journey to the shrine; and as a holy man, he should devote himself to his sole duty.

"You should take as many people as you need with you." Nomah said.

In response, out of the numerous people sitting around the banquet table, three young units all stood up at the same time and walked behind Celica. Among them were two Mage units, a young man named Boey and a young woman named Mae. The final member was a cleric named Genny, who shared the exact same ideals with Celica. They all still had youth in their facial features, but Nomah knew they were the three top students at the priory who would go with Celica. She did not even have to ask.

-

"Sage Nomah is so formal it's a huge pain! He was like that the other day, too! He already knew that Lady Celica had decided to travel, and when he ordered me to travel with her, he also told me which chair to sit in, and exactly what to do, step-by-step!" Boey said from the back of the group.

Celica was the lead, the middle was Sister Genny, and Mae was in the back with Boey. They traveled in that formation down the road at night, the priory lights already far off in the distance.

Mae answered, "It's all because he loves her so much! You may not have noticed because you're a boy, but he had tears in his eyes. He really did! He even remembers changing her diapers! …Oh, that was rude of me to say out loud."

Celica looked back with a smile on her face. Mae bowed in response, but did not look too sorry about her own mistake, as she also quickly stuck her tongue out.

Boey snorted, folded his arms underneath his mage's cloak, and said, "Nomah is old. He's just gotten soft."

"Don't try to tell me you're some kind of big manly man!" Mae retorted to Boy's rude words without skipping a beat.

"You're such a child! I'm gonna call you babbling baby Boey!"

"I'll never forgive you for talking to me like that, Mae!"

"I'm just saying that a baby like you, who can only cast Thunder, can't understand how deep his feelings are."

"Is that a threat?!"

"You are so rude to women! How are you going to fight me when you slack off in your wind magic training every chance you get?! You know I'm better than you in every way. After I wipe the floor with you, you'll be begging me to forgive you! You're such a baby you can't even drink herbal wine without adding sugar to it. Babbling baby Boey!" Mae shouted.

Genny finally couldn't take it any more, and angrily stepped between them.

Ever since they came to the priory as children, as they both concentrated on their studies, they had developed a relationship like that of siblings. To outside observers, they sounded as if they were having an intense argument, but their fights were actually a sign of how close they were.

However, there was no time for them to have such fun right now.

There was a reason why they had decided to set out not in the morning, but at night. The base of Grieth's Pirates was located in the deserts of central Zofia, and they had for some time been sending ships out into the strait between Novis and the Zofian mainland. However, they were now finally beginning to act like Novis itself was their land to do as they pleased with. Though at first they acted as thieves stealing in the night, being little more than an annoyance to the people; recently, they had begun to show themselves during the day. Now, the greatest danger at night was simply the darkness, making it once again the safer time of day to be outside.

So long as nothing got in their way, they would make it to Port Novis by daybreak to secure a ship and travel to Zofia. However, that would not end up being the case, as Celica realized when she sensed a presence nearby, and stopped moving.

"Someone's coming! Stay in formation!" She said, and drew the sword at her belt.

"Is it Brigands?!" Boey whispered.

"No, not Brigands!" Mae answered. "I don't feel any warmth from their bodies in the night air. They aren't human!"

"Ghosts!" Genny shouted in response to the figure that appeared from the darkness. 

Ghosts are the spirits of the dead, both those that no longer have a corpse; and those whose corpses had long ago been buried beneath the ground, then come out from the ground to gather together and take new form. One of Earth Mother Mila's duties was to keep the souls of all dead life within the ground so that they could not escape. Their appearance made Celica feel that something very, very wrong must be happening.

They had no idea how many ghosts there were. The ghosts wore withered plant matter, innards and bones of beasts attacked by wolves, and rotting flesh on their bodies to give them human-like form. Thinking that killing a human would mean they could obtain a new body that perfectly matched their desired form, the entire group inched closer and closer, their intent to kill very clear to sense in the air.

"Boey, Mae, protect Genny!" Celica said, and raised her sword. "This is a new type of Terror I have never seen before. Don't cast any spells until I give the order!" She jumped like a deer crossing between two rocks, and swung her sword at the head of a ghost. 

Having taken a direct hit from the Priestess' sword, the ghost vanished, leaving behind its small pile of rotting matter.

"These guys are total wimps!" Boey breathed in surprise at the sight of how easily the ghost went down. "I'll show you what my wind magic can do, and you'll never say I slack off ever again!!" He said to Mae, underestimating the ghosts.

"Don't do it! What did Lady Celica just say?!" Genny shouted, but it was already too late. She tried to grab the hem of his mage's cloak to stop him, but it slipped through her fingers, and Boey ran off towards a group of ghosts still far off from them.

"Wind! Cut through my enemies!" He chanted a wind spell. For a moment, his body was enveloped by it, then the gust shot out and shook the ghosts' flesh and leaves. However, that was all it did before the wind petered out.

Without mastering a spell first, there was no chance that it could have an effect on any foe. The ghosts immediately circled Boey.

"You're such an idiot!" Mae shouted, and started running. As the ghosts wriggled their way closer and closer to Boey like maggots, she chanted a Thunder spell. "Thunder! Slay my enemies!"

A bolt of lightning appeared in the sky and pierced the darkness, falling amongst the group of ghosts, smashing them to pieces. After they all disappeared and returned to piles of rotting matter, Boey stood up from the middle of it all, covered in viscera and clumps of putrid stems and leaves. 

Contrary to her ashamed expression, Mae was actually furious, but it was only a moment later that something made her freeze where she stood, and forget all about Boey's rash move.. 

She whirled around to see that Genny had been captured by a ghost. It was dragging her into the even deeper darkness of a cluster of trees. 

When Genny looked at Celica, she saw her slashing away with her sword, surrounded by a group of seemingly never ending ghosts.

Mae ran after Genny, with Boey following after her. 'The ghost that took Genny must have disappeared around here!' She guessed, and walked into the trees, but their thick branches blocked the sun, and the area was truly pitch black. Then, a small ball of fire appeared from within the darkness when her torch went out.

The fire slowly got bigger and bigger, proving that it was coming closer and closer.

Was the fire the faint light that a ghost emitted? Or perhaps another new enemy? Mae froze once again, this new development making her nervous once more. She instinctively reached out to grab Boey's hand, who was standing next to her, proving that no matter what she said out loud, she still depended on him. Boey spread his cape open to hide her in its shadow and protect her.

The fire was now close enough that they could clearly see what it was - the light of another torch. A unit, holding a torch in their mouth, was always coming their way through the trees. Because of where they held the torch, Mae and Boey could clearly make out their facial features, and see that he was a young male unit with unkempt hair.

He had his torch in his mouth because something - or rather someone - was in his arms. It was none other than Genny, unconscious but safe.

An eye patch made from wolf hide covered his right eye, and judging by the light armor he wore, he was a Mercenary, a unit with their own freedom that worked under contract. A Mercenary's core principles were centered around their own personal profits. The benefits they could reap from their contract was their absolute. And so, when they met a Mercenary they did not know, it was common sense for all units to first judge whether or not they were an enemy. And on top of that, while Brigands ignored all rules, no units were truly allowed on the holy island of Nova aside from clergy, meaning his presence here was very suspicious. Boey did what was only natural, and shifted into a fighting stance.

"Thank you for your assistance. I have no intention of fighting you." The unit spit out his torch atop the grass and said. He paid no mind to Boey and his threat of a fight, instead gently laying Genny down beside the grass now brightly lit by his torch. "This cleric's quite a beauty. I assume she's with you religious sheep, and got snatched away by that lump of garbage."

Boey's face turned red with rage upon hearing words that belittled his sacred duties. "A hired thug like you has no right to speak to me like that!" Boey shouted, and drew the mark of a fire spell into the air.

"You may be overreacting, but seeing as how you couldn't protect a lone cleric, you don't seem to know much about magic!"

“Fire!” …Boey chanted and tried to attack, but the mercenary was too fast. 

He must have been experienced in battle, as he danced expertly through the shadows of the complex and twisted trees. Whether wielding a physical weapon like swords or magic, terrain has huge influence over the effectiveness of an attack. That was why he put his back against the trees, and would never reveal himself on open ground like Boey and Mae were on. All Boey's fire magic did was turn three trees to ash.

"I'm not sticking around to be cooked and served for dinner! I'm not a sheep!" The mercenary shouted from the darkness before all signs of his presence finally disappeared.

[nerdyrevelries]

A Little Princess (1995): A Tale of Orientalism

Hey friend, sit down, I want to talk to you for a moment. Remember beloved children's film A Little Princess 1995? How well do you remember it? Is it a film you watch regularly or is it just something that you have vague good feelings in connection to?

The reason I ask is that there's something you might not remember about this film. Something that you might not have realized when you watched it as a wee child. What's that, you ask? This movie is perhaps the most Orientalist piece of filmmaking I have ever seen, and the perhaps is only because I can't decide whether or not Memoirs of a Geisha gets the honor instead.

Let's take a look, shall we?

I want to start you out by showing you the opening of the film, since it may have been a while since you've seen it.

Okay, you finished? Let's analyze this clip. First of all, we've got some mysterious tinkling and stereotypical sounds of India. Text starts to scroll across the screen in a curvy font that speaks of the Orient and far off lands. Hang on, did she just say, "The mystical land of India" like she's talking about Oz or Narnia?

It really only gets worse from there. A little girl starts to tell us a small part of the story of Ramayana, an epic that is part of the Hindu faith. The images we are given make India look like a technicolor fantasy realm. And who do we have playing Sati and Rama? A white woman with a bindi and a white man who has been painted blue.

The actor who plays Rama also plays Sara's father, so I think the implication is that Sara is imagining these two as her parents (I question how many young children are even going to pick up on this detail to make its inclusion worthwhile; I certainly didn't), but the whole thing still seems racially insensitive (especially since her father is literally a colonialist. That's why he's in India.) Not only that, but they have chosen a story that is part of a religion that is still actively practiced for Sara to be telling, not a simple piece of folklore.

To add the final icing on the cake, when the story reaches an exciting part, we pull away to show the little white girl who is telling this story in 1914 India. She is telling this story not to someone else who is white but to an Indian child of her own age, who seems to be very interested in it. What's the implication here, that Sara knows this own kid's culture better than he does?

The story of Ramayana is continued throughout the film in this same dreamlike style, interspersed with the story of Sara Crewe, a little American (British in the original) girl who comes to a boarding school in her father's home country, where her fortunes change drastically when she gets news of her father's death.

Let's unpack this more. What's the purpose of having these scenes in this movie? Well, the answer to that seems to be that they want to provide the film with a feel of magic and wonder. In other words, Orientalism.

Okay, now that you're caught up, let me address a few things. Some of you might be thinking that the movie is like this because it's adapted from a novel that was published in 1905. But this simply isn't the case. Yes, Sara is from India in the book and her father is still a colonialist. He dies of "jungle fever" and Sara is later saved from poverty by Mr. Carrisford, her father's equally colonialist business partner in a diamond mine that turns out not to have gone bust, and he has an Indian servant with a monkey and is frequently referred to as "the Indian gentleman" (making the Indian gentleman actually Indian instead of a white colonialist is one of the two changes that the movie makes that I actually like.)

But you know what the book doesn't have? Ramayana. Sara's stories have nothing to do with India, sacred or not. She generally tells stories that she has made up about mermaids and things. So why does the movie have her telling a sacred Hindu story instead? I can't think of an explanation that isn't Orientalist. (And did I mention that all of the writers are this film are white?)

Your second thought might be that perhaps this is just some 90s filmmaking that aged badly! Perhaps they were trying to have more racial and cultural diversity. There are two cases where I think this is the case in the film, one of which is the Indian gentleman, and one of which I will talk about later (because I think it also needs to be discussed), but I don't think that's the case here.

As proof of my point, I'd like to show you the opening to another beloved children's classic, The Secret Garden 1993. This is also based on a book by Frances Hodgson Burnett and has a heroine who was born in India and comes to live in her parents' home country (in this case, the movie keeps the English setting.) I would also argue that the language around India and particularly the people who live there that is used in the original book is worse than the language used in A Little Princess.

So, you have two Frances Hodgson Burnett adaptations made and released in the 90s that both open with scenes of India. But the scenes feel incredibly different.

In the Secret Garden 1993, India is firmly placed in the real world. The scene also gives us important narrative information. It tells us that our heroine, Mary, is both spoiled and neglected. She doesn't do anything for herself. She doesn't even put her own stockings on. She's always angry and has frequent fits of temper, and her parents are also selfish people who have never had time for her. Finally we learn of Mary's parents' deaths and how she survives, giving us everything that we as watchers need to know before we ship her off (literally) to Misselthwaith Manor for a transformative adventure.

In comparison, A Little Princess 1995's opening treats India like it's a fantasy land, and its opening does nothing to introduce us to our main character or tell us anything about the story that we're all actually here for. The opening is just supposed to give the viewer a mythical, magical feeling of exoticism and wonder.

Before I go further, there's one more thing the movie does that I want to address. This is the change that I mentioned that I think was supposed to be good, but I think it's extremely misguided. They make Becky, originally a white scullery maid, black.

Now, I am fine with changing a character's race from what it was in the book for the sake of more diversity (it was the only thing I liked about Persuasion 2022), but I don't think Becky is the character to do it with. This is because Becky is a servant who is treated as little better than a slave. She's starved, she's illiterate, she's poorly treated, and she lives in a freezing little attic room where she is ignored by all the students of the school below.

In my opinion, the point of making a character that was originally white into a person of color—especially in a children's film—is so that people of color can see someone that looks like them represented on screen. But Becky is the only black character in the entire film. Is it really better for a little black girl to see the only girl who looks like her be the one who is treated as if she were a slave in an American setting that is supposed to be 50 years past slavery? I wouldn't want that for my child, if I was a black parent.

It didn't have to be that way, either. There was integrated education in America as early as 1831 in the north and the west, and there were rich African Americans who would have been able to afford to send their children to a fancy boarding school. They could have made some of the students of the school black. But they didn't. They just made Becky black. (The one thing I will give them credit for is that at least Becky becomes Sara's adopted sister in this version instead of her personal servant like she does in the book.)

So, what do we do with this information? Do you have to stop liking the film? Absolutely not! I may not like for reasons in addition to those listed above (I think the 90s rooftop chase scene climax is very silly), but I don't want to tell you to stop loving something that means something to you.

But I think it's important to talk about this, and it's something I have literally never heard anyone else discussing, unless I brought it up. We can like media with problematic elements (I think it could be safely said that there's no media that's entirely without them), but I think we need to acknowledge those problematic elements. It's only by confronting and not excusing the things that are wrong in the things we love that we can get better.

[anxresi]

I saw a post here asking how someone would ‘reform’ Chloe in the show...

Hmm, interesting. I’ve had a few ideas knocking around on this very subject, and seeing as someone raised the issue I thought I might as well lay them on the line right now. Be warned, though: it’s a long ‘un... ;)

My way of ‘reforming’ Chloe and making her a better person and a superhero worthy of the name (not to mention, making the plot a LOT more interesting) would be slightly more radical, as in...

Firstly, I wouldn’t have her reveal her identity when she discovered the Miraculous. AT ALL. Mainly because, she can’t transform yet, as I’ll explain below...

This would go hand-in-hand with my other change which would include actually GIVING the new holders their Miraculous PERMANENTLY, Ladybug not choosing or knowing the identities of the new heroes (only Master Fu does that) and there only being five permanent members, because that would give the show plenty of scope for Character Development (sorely lacking right now) and sometimes less is more, ya know?

Anyway, in my reinterpretation ALL the kwamis actually have strong personalities, and Pollen lays down the law to Chloe that there’s NO WAY as her current self she’s worthy of a Miraculous. She has to try harder, be a better person, see her mistakes for herself and correct them... etc. Master Fu initially losing the Bee Miraculous was a mistake, and he plans to take it back. But when he sees what Pollen is planning and being intrigued by the possibility, he decides to secretly watch instead to see how the situation unfolds. After all, if you never give someone a chance, how will you ever know what they’re capable of?

Oh, I almost forgot... there’s none of those off-putting shenanigans involving near-death train collisions. That’s the kind of nonsense Thomas Astruc would insert into the narrative to convince us that Chloe could NEVER be a superhero (nearly being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people does tend to put a dampener on your job application) so we’ll nix that methinks in favor of something a little more low-key and character driven...

So, of course Chloe rebels. Refuses to change her ways. Won’t listen to reason. But Pollen is adamant: if Chloe wants to hear those two Magic Words that’ll help her transform, then she has to radically reappraise her current lifestyle and priorities. Pollen KNOWS Chloe is unhappy with being who she is, as a Spoiled Brat used to getting everything she wants from her often absent father and under the thumb of her abusive mother who can’t even remember her name. Expensive trinkets from a lax male parental figure and trying to please a woman who’s the very antithesis of what a loving mom should be isn’t going to make Chloe happy or help her see the error of her ways, and Pollen knows this.

If it wasn’t for the determined kwami recognizing Chloe’s untapped potential, both as a person AND a superhero, she wouldn’t be trying so hard to help the heiress. After all, if a person doesn’t WANT to change, it’s not your job to try forcing them, is it? In this case though, via her keen powers of observation (bees have four eyes, obviously) Pollen DOES know Chloe wants something better, she just doesn’t know the first thing about how to go about it.

There then follows an extended arc of ups and downs of Chloe trying and failing, making small progress and large missteps in equal measures, and even threatening to throw ‘That Damn Comb’ in the middle of the Seine on more than one occasion(!) But gradually, we DO begin seeing a difference in her behavior (unlike the show, her progress actually STICKS), as she becomes less reliant on her father, stands up to her toxic mother more, starts treating Sabrina better etc... the upshot of it is, Adrien starts to see once again (for the first time in AGES) hints of the sweet girl he met when they were both just kids (Marinette understandably takes a bit or a LOT more persuasion, due to their past history).

In fact, speaking of that... just think of all the GREAT scenes we missed out on, due to the show being presented the way it is... Chloe playing Queen Bee as a sassy, sarcastic diva-ish anti-hero, a welcome addition to the somewhat anodyne current dynamic and DEFINITELY more interesting than the personality black hole which Vesperia arguably is. Marinette not knowing that one of her most trusted members of the Superhero Squad is also her worst enemy (sans Hawkmoth). Audrey NOT being impressed at the new change in her daughter Chlorine’s behavior and actively trying to force her back to NYC with her to ‘detoxicify’ her mind, but constantly being rebuffed by her reforming daughter’s NEW friends and allies...

AARGH I really should stop typing now, mainly because when I think about what we COULD’VE got, compared to the cold, hard reality of the waste of space which is staring me in the face right now, I feel nothing but frustration and sadness. Also, partly because I spent three and a half seasons cheerleading this piece o’sh*t (I mostly tuned out after Zoe’s introduction when I saw which direction the show was headed in, and CERTAINLY didn’t stick around for S5).

Needless to say though, there wouldn’t be any pointless spin-offs set in other countries, unnecessary hidden powers by feeding junk to kwamis, more than one layer to the Miraculous box, set formulas such as a ‘monster of the week’  or Marinette having to ‘learn a lesson’ in every ep, not so much focus on the overwrought ‘Love Square’ plot (a few supporting characters might actually get their time to shine instead of GASP purely existing to push the overexposed central duo together), LOTS more strong continuity, much less time-wasting filler, and most EMPHATICALLY of all...

NO MARY-SUE WANNABE ‘SECRET SIBLINGS’ SHOEHORNED INTO THE SHOW HALFWAY THROUGH IT’S LIFESPAN WHO EVERYONE LOVES AFTER THEIR FIRST EPISODE, BECAME A HERO AFTER THEIR SECOND AND SYSTEMATICALLY STEAL EVERYTHING (their home, their dad, their Miraculous, what few friends they have etc) FROM A MUCH MORE ESTABLISHED AND INTERESTING CHARACTER.

Don’t know who I’m talking about? You must be new here. Hi! ^^

So yeah, that’s my impulsive pitch to become the new showrunner of Miraculous Ladybug. So all those in favor of turfing out the current dude who seems to possess all the vision and creativity of an anaemic sloth, please shout ‘AYE’ now. Then we can bury the remnants of his first misbegotten try in a deep, dark pit in the middle of the Sahara never to be rediscovered, and we can actually start producing something worthy of the name ‘Miraculous’.

Any takers? ;)

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

June of Doom 4

@juneofdoom Day 4: "Does that hurt?" | Fracture

(( abusive parent / broken bone / blood magic mention ))

fandom: Harry Potter whumpee: Lucius Malfoy (age 16) whumper: Abraxas caretaker: Narcissa (age 15) words: 1000

Lucius sent owls to properly ask for both of the Black sisters to meet him on Diagon Alley, under the guise of having Andromeda join him to perform their Prefect duties and help some of the younger students prepare for the next year. To that end, he also invited the next year's incoming Prefects, and the previous year's new students that didn't come from old or well-off families, so that they could be brought up to their classmates' level. He wanted Slytherin to be the best it could be, of course.

And of course, all of that was to disguise his meeting with Narcissa.

He arrived at the Leaky Cauldron first and paid for butterbeers for the dozen students he had coming, and for a while as they filtered in the Slytherin group dominated the pub. He was pleased that Severus made it; he had thought he might have difficulty…

Narcissa was out of place; she was watchful and dour, genuinely didn't like being around people and made no effort to engage, and had no interest in his social attentions like most of the younger ones. It looked very much like she was tagging along with her sister, or had even been forced to attend. 

Lucius made sure to pay her roughly the same attention as he did the other younger students, and not draw attention to her in the group setting. After a bit, he had them head out to the Alley and let Andromeda and the younger Prefects take the lead as they made their way to the bookstore.

Lucius mingled there long enough to be seen, paying for a book of curses he thought Severus would enjoy and the rest of his school books while he was at it, then caught Narcissa's eye and slipped out to the robe shop next door. She joined him in a moment, and they disappeared into the racks.

As soon as she was close enough, he reached out and twined his fingers through hers. She relaxed against him, silently holding his hand and her forehead against his temple. She felt good against his side, and for the first time in a while he was able to relax as well. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in her scent. 

He would have liked to just stay there. He would have liked to have that freedom. They could only steal a few minutes, though, before they were missed.

He opened his eyes in a moment and squeezed her hand. "I need you," he murmured against her temple. 

She glanced at his face. "What is it?" Her voice was equally soft. 

"My arm." 

She pulled back a half step and looked at his right arm as she held it, but swiftly understood and touched his other, perhaps noticing that he hadn't been using it. He bit back his breath for a split second as her touch drove pain up to his shoulder. 

She glanced at his face again; that didn't escape her notice. She didn't take her hand back, though, feeling his arm with exploratory fingers. Under his sleeve, his upper arm was obviously swollen and he knew there was no hiding that from her inspection. He didn't try to stop her. He loved that she would do that, not shy from the pain she caused to do what she must. Not treat him as something weak.

"This is broken," she said quietly, her voice very hard.

"I thought so." 

She held his hand tightly and reached up to hold his cheek with the other. "You sent those owls three days ago," she said, voice fierce and almost accusatory. "You've been hiding this for three days?"

He didn't tell her how long he'd delayed in arranging this meeting before that. "Can you fix it?" 

She studied his face, gripping his hand painfully tightly, and nodded after a long moment. She perhaps should have let him go and stepped back to a professional distance, but instead she released his hand only long enough to slip her wand from her sleeve, then held his hand and stood close against his side as she focused on murmuring the healing spell over his other arm.

It worked swiftly. His breath was shaky for a moment as the pain suddenly disappeared, a startling feeling it took a moment to adjust to. 

She felt her way down his arm, squeezing where the break had been. "Does that hurt?" 

"No, you've taken care of it." He wrapped that arm lightly around her. He was lucky to have her. This was magic years more advanced than she should be expected to know, that most people never learned. She didn't have the natural temperament for healing magic, but she had practised to enable her blood magic hobby until she was skilled enough to rival a professional healer. He would have liked to be able to return the favour, but, for all his ability with magic, she had been unable to help him learn any but the most elementary healing. Most likely due to a lifetime of practising curses, he imagined. 

She leaned against him, with only just enough pressure to show she was actually allowing him to support her. "What happened?" she murmured. 

"It doesn't matter." She knew it was his father. More than that… the details really weren't important. Even to his father. It was just an excuse. 

"It's getting worse."

"No, it's not," he assured her. "It just wasn't healed."

"That isn't better."

"It isn't worse." 

Her wand hand came up to hold the blood-filled pendant on her chest. "Don't let it go too far." 

He didn't answer that, and she leaned against him. She would never say that she needed him, but it was clear she didn't want to let him go. He selfishly didn't mind. 

But it was difficult to think of her locked up silently in her grey house with nothing but that to hold onto. "We'll be back to school in a few weeks. Hold out." He rubbed his thumb over her pendant, and she closed her hand around his to hold it together.

They stayed that way until he heard someone else enter the shop. "We'll be missed." He reluctantly let go of her hand. "Give it a moment before you follow." 

She nodded without a word, letting him go after an extended moment, and he slipped away back to the book shop.

[warlock-enthusiast]

"Do you know a way out of here?"

Prompt number: 16 Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age (set after Inquisition) Rating: M Characters: Gaspard de Chalons, Persephone Trevelyan Warnings: some risky talk, swearing

Fuck Orlais.

Fuck Orlesians.

Fuck this stupid mask. 

Persephone tore it off her face, finally free of the confinements. She was tempted to stomp on it as well, but the delicate jewels stitched into the fabric were worth too much to simply throw it away. Some out of luck folk would be able to start a new life with such a high amount of gold, which is what she’d planned for it after this stupid day. Give it away and make someone happy. People still strove to find a new purpose after a new Divine took the golden seat and declared all wars over. 

First she had to escape this maze though. Some noble family, known for their splendor and summer gatherings, used magic to quickly grow the hedges and trap every guest in them. Persephone guessed that some heirs would not survive the next hours, because it appeared as a wonderful place for an assassination. 

And now she seemed lost as well.

Her skills concerning finding her way around the wilds were never great to begin with. Persephone preferred to hit things instead of solving them with her mind, but she neither wore armor nor did they allow her to carry her weapons. A single dagger stuck close to her thighs and she felt awfully naked without sword and shield. 

Her husband clearly didn’t care about her worries and promised a hunting trip after this, which suited her interests better than this fucking maze. Ten minutes later, Persephone got the impression that she was running around in circles. At least she was now joined by someone else. 

Gaspard de Chalons himself. All dressed in black and silver and cutting a rather impressive figure. He didn’t wear any weapons either and a mask that seemed so more simple than hers had been. 

She raised her brows, watching her better half pondering the way as well. Left or right? "Do you know a way out of here?"

“No, my dear. They forgot to grant the Emperor the privilege of a map.” He turned around, clearly not surprised by finding her at his side. His arms were held against his back and amusement was shown in his eyes. “Shit.”

“Indeed. We better be prepared to fight off my opponents.” Sighing, Persephone tried to listen to the quiet around them. Some voices sounded a few hedges away. Laughter, distant music, but nothing that spoke of assassins or affronted nobles. Some of them still could not get over the fact that he’d married a Trevelyan. Her lineage simply wasn’t impressive enough. 

“Why does everyone always want to kill you? We can’t go anywhere without someone being poisoned or stabbed.” “My charming nature for sure.”

Persephone huffed. “Charming, yes. One of the last words that I’d use for you.

“Hm, what words do you prefer when you think of me?”

She settled on a marble bench, pulling up her skirts, and showing him her tanned legs. The silken stockings were held in place by garters. Something that Gaspard only seldom saw on his wife.

“Lover, equal, stubborn bastard.” It was an invitation, though a stupid one, considering that they just talked about possible attempts on his life.

He laughed, slowly pulling off his gloves. “I can work with that.”