#anyway my little mourn watcher will be waiting for when I want to do a second playthrough

[selunesfavouriteprincess]

the door opened, I can finally leave! BG3 I’M COMING HOME SWEETIE-

-I’M BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 3 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆[chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] ☆[chapter 6] ☆[chapter 7]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 3/10 ☆ 2,204 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, more will be added.

That night you laid in your bed, looking up at the ceiling. Why exactly had you told her about Alice? She could use it against you if they ever caught you again… then again, did it matter? They couldn’t hurt Alice anyway. Only you. Ever since Alice died, life had kind of sucked ass anyways. Hadn’t Alice told you to figure out something that would make you happy, before you died, you might just have stayed locked up in the house the rest of your life.

Her hand had been cold those last hours before she died, even as you held it without a break. When she had stopped talking, so had you and you had just sat in silence, watching each other for those last hours. Both of you knew this would be the last time you would see each other.

You barely wanted to blink, afraid to lose a moment with her that you could never get back.

It almost seemed like she went to sleep. Her pulse got slower, her eyes closed. When you whispered “I love you,” she used her last energy to smile.

You closed your own eyes and let childhood memories pull you into sleep after a while.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You woke up the next morning and after a short shower, you put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, too tired to care about your looks - earning a raised eyebrow from Kate when she saw you. You raised your own eyebrow, almost as if to dare her to say something.

After letting Kate free to go to the bathroom, you changed your piercings, before chaining her up again.

“It’s highly unnecessary, you know,” She pointed out as you put the key in your pocket, “I won’t run away.”

“Don’t trust you on that,” you answered grumpily. You hadn’t slept that well, too worried about the whole situation and the memories of Alice keeping you awake.

Kate huffed, “I’m not driving that piece of shit you call a car. And I’m not feeling like walking.”

You wanted to point out that she could just call a cab. Then again, you had her bag.

“Oh, wow, sucks then,” you muttered as you turned your electric kettle on, waiting for your water to boil so you could get some tea, “You’re stuck with me then.”

“So, listen Fae, if you –”

“Fae?” you looked over at her, confused.

“Yes. Fae,” she had the nerve to look a little annoyed with you asking about it, “I’m calling you that since I don't know your name.”

You huffed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I called you hound?”

“... No.” you admitted, “ Just. Don’t call me anything. My name doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I think –”

“Drop it or you're not getting coffee.” You threatened and that finally shut her up.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Eating breakfast was a silent affair for a while, the toasted pieces of bread making the most noise whenever one of you took a bite.

So, you zoned out, wondering what you should do whenever you dropped her off. Should you lay low for a while? You couldn’t do that at home though and what if they followed you? A small sound distracted you and you looked outside - but nothing was there. The paranoia was creeping up on you, you figured. This entire thing was getting worse and worse. Maybe you should move the two of you - but you weren’t really sure of where to go and –

“So, what are you going to do?” Kate asked before taking a sip of her coffee, blue eyes watching you. She really wanted to know everything didn’t she? Maybe because she was a virgo. Not that you really believed in astrology, but Alice had loved it. Constantly told you about how people's behaviour was due to those stars. You didn’t feel like any stars had an effect on you - unless the stars took time out of their book to make you mourn your sister and spiral when you needed money, to the point of kidnapping a mob member.

“I’m not telling you,” You answered, a frown on your face, “I’m not that stupid.”

“Never implied that you were stupid,” Kate answered with a gentle smile, “I was just curious.”

“Well, I’m not telling you.”

“Fair enough,” she answered, “I mean, I guess I know that you’re going to pay off the medical bills after your sister.”

You hand tightened around your cup of tea, as she mentioned your sister again. The only relief was that you hadn’t told her Alice’s name. Anger of her being mentioned still crawled along your ribs, threatening to fill your lungs and spill over in screams.

“I told you not to fuckin’ ask about her, you muppet,” you snapped, “My god, why do you have to–”

The arm appeared out of nowhere, curling around your neck and pulling you backwards and off your chair, as a scared scream left you. Your airways was almost cut off, making you claw desperately at the strong arm keeping you up, a whimper leaving you – while Kate looked at you emotionless.

You watched her turn around on her chair and look towards the front door, where John fucking Price walked in, some of his minions following him, only adding to the fuel of your panic. You managed to look up and holy fuck, the face that looked down at you were covered by a fucking skull mask. You had seen him before, of course. There were so many pictures of him following different people along, like a scary shadow, like a grim reaper, ready to kill on command. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, if you weren’t wrong. Fitting nickname.

One your hands left his thick arm as you twisted in his grip, blindly searching for the butter knife. You just managed to get your fingers around the handle when it was pulled from your hand again - by one grinning Scot, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

“Nu-uh, lass, that's nae a good idea,” he said, throwing the knife onto the kitchen counter again.

More people entered your house, all of them taking one look at you, then looking back at Kate.

“Took you long enough,” Kate commented, not exactly sounding as sweet as before.

“Sorry, bosslady,” Price grunted, “Wasn’t really plannin’ on playing find and rescue, was I?”

You felt black spots begin to appear in your sight, as the air you could get into your lungs were restricted - you tried stomping on Ghost’s foot, but you weren’t wearing any shoes - and he was wearing military looking boots, so all it earned you was an annoyed huff.

Kate was given back her phone by Price.

“Wan’t me to kill her, Laswell?” Ghost asked calmly, as if he was asking what kind of tea she wanted and you let out a whimper.

“Nononono, please don-” the grip tightened around your neck, cutting off your air completely.

Kate looked over at you, almost looking like she considered it for a moment. She looked… different from how she had earlier, her face somehow colder than before.

More… Dangerous.

Was this it? Would you die like this, in the hands - or well, technically arm - of an actual monster who you knew had killed several? Would he choke you to death - or just take pity on you and break your neck?

“No,” Kate finally just said all calmly, “Choke her out though, we need information from her.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.

“You don’t seem hurt,” Price commented to Kate, as you saw people spread through your house, beginning to go through your things.

“Fae isn’t a good kidnapper,” she just answered with a shrug and Price laughed. If you weren't going to die from asphyxiation, you might just die from pure embarrassment.

You felt the spots in front of your eyes multiplying as you desperately clawed at Ghost’s arm.

“Calm down, lil’ bird,” he whispered darkly, “just let it happen, yea?”

Your feet felt heavy.

“Nae anythin’ lil’ bout that fat arse,” Soap mused next to you, “proper beauty.”

Hadn’t you been busy passing out from choking, you might have tried to hit him for that comment, mobster or not, but you felt weaker and weaker.

Your head felt heavy now. So did your arms. Even though she had told him not to kill you, you felt like you were going to die. Especially as you watched one of the men pulling down a picture of you and Alice, looking at it. You wanted to hit him too.

Wait… had Price called Kate for bosslady?

You passed out before you could think about it anymore.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The first thing you registered was pain. Inside and around your neck, pain pulsed through it with every breath you took.

Probably came from being choked out, you figured.

Your forehead was resting on wood, your body bent forward. You were sitting on a chair and as you tiredly blinked, you realised you were cuffed behind your back too. The floor beneath your bare feet was cold, sending shivers of it up your soft legs.

What the fuck happened?

There was a strong smell of cigars, the scent making you groan a little. You managed to sit up, blinking shortly…

And staring directly at one certain John Price who sat opposite the table you had just been resting against, leant back a little and smoked said cigar. A pleased, almost amused smile on his face.

You blinked - then you noticed a shadow behind him in an otherwise dark room. Ghost stared right back at you.

This was all just splendid.

“How are you feeling, love?” John Price asked and you looked back at him, but it was as if you were unable to even open your mouth. Instead, you looked down at the table, watching the dried up bloodstains that had been attempted to be cleaned off.

Were they going to kill you? Kate had mentioned getting information from you -… Kate Laswell. Apparently the dangerous Watcher. She hadn’t seemed scary in the maybe less than 24 hours that you had held her captive. But still.

Then John Price said out your full name.

You froze. He knew your full fucking name. It shouldn’t surprise you, they broke into your house but still. You had tried to stay anonymous from them for so long. Then you looked up at him once more and he was smiling again, still seeming amused.

“Do you prefer Faes and Hounds?” Ghost asked from the darkness, making Price laugh, smoke leaving his mouth.

“You got us well there, sweetheart,” Price mused, taking another drag of his cigar, carefully watching you, “we really thought you were a proper group. Not just some lonely loser who knows how to hack and hide their IP address.”

“Fuck you.” The moment the two words left your mouth, you regretted them. They weren’t really something you should tell a mob member, were they? Though, John Price just chuckled.

“Oh, so she does talk, hm?”

Once again, you refused to answer.

“You know, Laswell called you Fae. Rests easier on your tongue, doesn’t it?”

You should have called your fake hacker group something cooler.

Your throat fucking hurt, your back was sore and you wanted to sleep. Not whatever the fuck they wanted to.

“Listen,” you said, voice a little raspy, “I don’t have any information, I didn’t hurt you or her, I -“

“Oh?” The sarcasm in his voice was clear as he cut you off, “don’t have any information? Then, it wasn’t you who was a thorn in our side for the last coupl’a weeks? Threatenin’ us constantly? Demanding 60 thousand pounds. That’s a lot of money, lass.”

You just stared at him silently. Your bare toes curled beneath the table, the urge to cry or hide was growing.

“Why don’t you tell me how you found your way into our electronics, hm?” He coached, “those aren’t just something you accidentally get access too.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied on reflex.

“Hm, sure, apologies. How did you and that little group of yours get access?”

“Real’ odd how your supposed little hacker group has stopped replying after we took you, innit?” Price asked, then pulling a fucking knife from his belt. You stared at the knife, watched how he used it to clean out dirt from beneath his fingers. It was a fucking massive thing, clean as a mirror, but he moved it with such ease and experience that you knew he could make it hurt if he decided to attack you.

“Could be a coincidence, isn’t that right, Fae?” Ghost sarcastically asked. This time you didn’t even bother to look at him.

“So, what was your plan? Take the money and run away?” Price asked, now looking at you again. You just nodded.

“Huh. I was pretty sure Laswell mentioned something ‘bout some medical bills.”

You felt numb. You shouldn’t have told her about it. This was proof it was a bad idea. What a shitty kidnapper you were.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, your voice a little raspy.

Price took a deep drag of the cigar. Held in the smoke for just a second before blowing it out again, watching you intensely. “So you say. Still, you decided that bothering a gang and kidnapping a member was worth it.”

“Seems a bit much for something that doesn’t matter.” Ghost added in.

“I didn’t know Kate was the leader.” You just admitted. Might as well be honest about that part, hoping that Price would confirm that Kate indeed was this Watcher.

Price watched you with a neutral face for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“Here I thought you weren’t a smart bird - but you still managed to find out that she was, hm?”

You couldn’t help your own small smile, that probably was more of a movement at the edges of your mouth.

“Well, you just confirmed it.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.

Then Ghost laughed.

“She got you there, old man.”

“Shut it,” Price grumbled, not looking too proud, “I see why she likes you though.”

You did your best to keep your face neutral. This was a messy, shitty situation and you didn’t feel in control at all. It was truly easier when you were behind a screen. Then you could control everything, hack your way into the things you couldn’t. You could just close the fucking laptop.

The knife was slammed down into the table, sinking smoothly into the wood.

“I still want to kill you,” Price casually said, while calmly watching his cigar now, before looking over at you, “promised to be nice though. Figured she maybe wants to do it yourself. She doesn’t kill a lot of people herself anymore, you know.”

You felt like you were going to throw up.

“I’m being a bad host though, hm?” He casually continued as if he hadn’t just more or less confirmed that you were going to die, “are you thirsty? Might be good for that neck of yours, being choked is never fun.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Ghost moved then, making you freeze, yet he merely put a bottle of water in front of you, before moving behind you and a moment later your hands were free.

Said hands were shaking as they took the water bottle but you pretended they weren’t, instead drinking some of the oddly cold water. Price just smiled.

“You know,” he then continued, “maybe losing a finger or two would jog your memory about how you got access to our devices.”

You almost felt like throwing up the water that you had drunk. It had an odd aftertaste anyways. You wanted to throw up a lot.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, past caring about how it made you seem weak to beg.

“No? It would make it harder for you to bother us again though.”

“I - listen I don’t know anything -“

“Bullshit,” Ghost said and then his gloved hand was on the back of your neck, in a grip that made you whimper, “nobody is going to help or save you, Fae. So I suggest telling the fucking truth.”

You knew that he was right. After Alice’s death, you had mostly been alone. The sad truth was that it would be quite a while before someone realised you had gone missing - it wouldn’t matter whether it was because a mob had kidnapped you or if you were just dead on the kitchen floor from a random stroke or from choking on a grape.

With a strong yank, Price pulled the knife from the wooden table again.

Then it was pointed towards you. You were stuck in between two different kinds of monsters, like some odd nightmare.

“So, did you send all the information to anyone?” Price’s voice had gone lower, eyes colder as he stared at you, the knife still pointed towards you.

“No, sir,” you whispered, “swear I didn’t.”

“No? Why should I believe you though?” He asked, “Kate might find you interesting due to your little kidnapping success with her - but be warned, Fae-“ he leant forward a little, “I won’t fucking hesitate to hurt you.”

You couldn’t answer, your tongue feeling numb. So you just nodded, feeling woozy from that mere movement.

“The drugs are setting in,” Price then declared as if he said it was going to rain.

Drugs? Your eyes flickered to the almost empty water bottle. Fuck. How stupid could you fucking be?

You felt yourself droop forwards a bit, a small sound leaving you. Ghost grabbed your arms, pulling you to your feet - and you barely got up before he almost squatted in front of you, hoisted you over his shoulder and rose up again.

The added height and feeling of his strong shoulder digging into your stomach made you whimper.

“C’mon then, let’s drop her off before we go talk to the others,” Price said, opening the door, but you felt your sight getting more and more blurry.

A part of you wanted to throw up over Ghost’s back and ass, just to be a nuisance, but you passed out before you managed to.

[bluiex]

Hello Bluie and followers! I’m having thoughts again. Specifically, I was going some of my favorite old reliable scarian tropes and taking some time to indulge in them and I had a question. In the “scarian have been married for years, possibly since even before Grian joined Hermitcraft, but nobody knew” trope, why did nobody know? Can you seriously tell me that Scar “Look at my husband he’s so handsome I love him so much” Goodtimes wouldn’t take every opportunity to tell people about Grian? And so I thought about it, and came to a conclusion.

The conclusion is that the decision to get married happened after Grian accepted the invitation to join Hermitcraft, which causes Scar to have a bit of a dilemma. He wants to invite all his friends to his wedding, but since they’re going to Grian’s future server-mates he doesn’t want their first impression of him to be “Scar’s husband.” Except he also doesn’t want to wait because he loves Grian so much and want to marry him right now.

Grian proposes a compromise: they can get married now, have a super small wedding, and then after Grian’s gotten to know everybody on his own terms they can break the news and have the huge awesome wedding that Scar wants.

So they do! The wedding consists of Grian and Scar (obviously) Cub and Pearl as best men (Cub knew about Grian from the start, he was the one who had to put up with all of Scar’s rambling about how absolutely perfect Grian is, have you seen this picture of us? Look at him, I love him so much. Incidentally, this is why Scar never told anyone else earlier: he talked about Grian so much with Cub, he never realized that he never said anything to anyone else) and Mumbo officiating. Mumbo isn’t quite sure how he ended up in that role, but neither of them could agree on whose best man he would be since he was friends with both of them, and besides, he’s the one who introduced them is the first place so he should be the one to marry them. Is he at all qualified? Probably not, but it’s the thought that counts.

Oh and also in this… AU? I guess it’s an AU. Anyway, in this version of events evo is just a fun experiment with a little bit of role play. Grian as the admin constructed all of the Watcher towers in creative as fun puzzles for his friends to solve, then played along and “figured out” the riddles himself if it seemed like people were getting stuck. Everyone knew about and was on board with this because who doesn’t love a little bit of role play now and again? When Grian announced that he was leaving the server to be on Hermitcraft full time, they all got together and decided that in their little story he was going to be kidnapped by the Watchers and they would all mourn him appropriately. They threw him a preemptive funeral as a going away party. Cue Martyn:

“My good friend Grian passed away yesterday.”

“One, we decided I’m getting kidnapped. Two, that’s tomorrow. Three, quit talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Sometimes I can still hear his voice 🥺”

OOOOH I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! It fits it well, cuz youre so right about Scar “Look at my husband he’s so handsome I love him so much” Goodtimes- he wouldnt have been able to keep his mouth shut ajkfdshjdf

THE EVO BIT IS PERFECT

[cannibalisticskittles]

im going back to the game again as my mourn watch rook because... because. because fuck it. i wanted to go through and make her really cohesive now that i understand more about nevarra and the mourn watch. ive stuck with my hero of ferelden for a decade and a half, i ought to do some real thinking about this protagonist, too

i have. much and many thoughts on various events throughout her life, but here's some little deets about ward

makes seed bead flowers for mourners as a comforting token. started with the really simple 7/8 bead ones but eventually learned to make ones w/ layers n separated petals (which still aren't particularly complicated or even much more time consuming to do, but were harder to grasp as a wee bab). if she has the time to sit with a mourner and have them tell her about the deceased, she'd make one just for sewing on to her watcher regalia, as a show of remembering the dead

a collection of possible flowers you might get. type n size n number very dependent on how long she's able to sit n listen to you. it's pretty quick to bang some of these out but she does have Real Watcher Duties Now, not just busywork being given to a child

she's been doing this for about 30 years but if you ask her who a given flower was for, she'd be able to tell you their name and something about them. considers it an important aspect of her job as a watcher.

was really really attached to the mourning masks, especially as a child. way, way more comfortable around the dead in the living, so the mask was an easy way to be around people without making her discomfort quite as obvious, and also helped her feel like she was there As A Watcher/Aligned With The Dead so it was easier to come across as confident because she was feeling a role in knew what was expected of her

fucking comes at you with this on with the boundless energy of an 8-year-old. are you comforted yet. how about now. how about now. how about now.

could be surprisingly effective with other small children tho. yes, startle a grieving child out of remembering that their mother is dead. follow the grinning skeleton mask and tell it what flowers and colors she liked and come pick out something to put on the grave. so, it reinforced this as a habit. it helped! sometimes! so she just kept doing it

as a consequence, she struggled to school her expressions for a long time. she would get so used to wearing it that when she wasn't, she felt very naked and would forget to do little things like not grimace when someone said something she didn't like, so came across... strange in this aspect as well.

annnnnnnd absolutely 100% met and developed a little baby crush on johanna hezenkoss.

hezenkoss was never exactly Her Teacher but she got to sit in on a couple of her classes, was exceedingly impressed, and really fought to be picked as an assistant. probably didn't get a super official role but would offer her services anyway to free up johanna's time. ("hi professor! loved your latest paper; SO fascinating. excited to hear the next one! i heard you mentioned you needed to collect more samples for your research, and, well, im headed down to the west hall later anyway; would you like me to summon up some spirits there and get those samples for you? it's no trouble, really!")

i think johanna has always thought of herself as hot shit so this is nothing new to her, so yeah, sure, she'll accept being doted on. yes, make her life easier so she's free to spend more time pursuing her research and true passions. it's only right that lesser minds take on the grunt work.

i also think ward had... interesting theories about spirits that nevertheless sometimes worked -- 'if you sing to wisps you will often attract more :) i think it's partly because of the resonance but mostly about their innate curiosity and fascination with living beings; they like imperfect loud songs better than practiced perfect ones, so far. im still collecting data to support that thought, though" -- so it was a Wait for her to do some of her own research and develop new theories, so it wasn't all bad even though [spongebob voice] you used me........ for spirit exploitation

contemplating something like, ended up with hezenkoss as her advisor on her practicum, and then had to suddenly switch to another professor to supervise her really close to the end without explanation, which kinda futzed with her progress but which she muddled through with markedly less enthusiasm, BUT that might be Too Much of a connection and it might be better to keep pre-game brushes relatively brief

[blackjackkent]

It occurs to me that after punching so many Steel Watchers into small pieces, Hector's knuckles must hurt like all nine of the Hells.

Anyway, let's finish this place and get the hell out of here.

"The Neurocitor. I can hear its hum - familiar, yet painful. I helped design the Steel Watchers, toiled night and day on the first bipedal prototype. It is fitting it ends this way. I will bring down not only the Steel Watch but the very Foundry itself. This place will be smoke and rubble when I am finished. Are you ready, my friend?"

Why do I get the concerning impression that you are about to go down with the ship, Toobin?

(Gods, Hector looks tired.)

"What are you going to do?"

"Like the Foundry, the Neurocitor's exterior is near impossible to penetrate. However, its inner circuitry is highly unstable. I'm going to rain fire upon it - from the inside out."

This is not doing anything to assuage my concerns but I don't really seem to have the option to stop you at this point.

"Do it."

"Gond - let your hammer be my courage, your furnace my heart."

-----

Astonishingly, he actually wasn't sacrificing himself, and we got a very fun little sequence of everyone booking it out of the facility before it exploded.

And, of course, guess who's waiting for us outside. >:(

"That was a hell of a show, my friend. Watchers collapse in the street as we speak. And the Foundry? Well, it won't stain this beautiful city with its abominations - not anymore."

Oh, man, Wulbren, Hector is SO not in the mood to deal with you right now. Go away.

"But it's not over. So long as a single parasitic Gondian remains, Baldur's Gate is under threat."

"Wulbren. Enough. The Gondians are no more. I am all that is left. You've won. Take the city - let the Ironhands reign supreme. I just wish to go home and mourn my daughter in peace."

(A/N: This quest is definitely a bit confused about itself at times. Most of what Toobin just said is incorrect - there are at least two Gondians still alive from the Foundry besides him, not to mention all but two of the hostages from the Iron Throne - one of whom is his daughter that he claims to want to go and mourn. I suspect this line will be the target of a humorous patch note at some point in the future.

The main point of course remains the same, which is that the Gondians have suffered terribly and Wulbren is being an enormous turd.)

"Toobin is right," Hector says wearily. "It's over." There is just the slightest hint of muted threat in his voice. This has been a long physically taxing and emotionally draining day and he is more than ready for it to be over. He doesn't want to be Wulbren's enemy, but he is pretty sure he's also no longer Wulbren's friend, and if the Ironhands try to push this issue Hector is fully ready to throw them over the horizon.

Wulbren laughs coldly. "Please. If a Gondian told me the sky was blue, I'd look outside and check. Toobin will lie, torment, and scheme until his dying breath. Kill him - or the Ironhands will."

(A/N: Hector kept making this incredibly sad-puppy face through this whole scene, which is definitely a face he has made in a lot of other circumstances, but is actually not appropriate for this one. He's tired, and he's MAD - at Gortash who is not within immediate reach, and at Wulbren who is the nearest available target.

We have the option for a [CLERIC OF SELUNE][PERSUASION] check here but I think this is one of the few scenarios in which Hector doesn't want to take it. There's another, much harsher line that is much more in line with his mental state right now given how shaken up and upset he is at the moment.)

Hector is silent for a long moment, then lifts his head and meets Wulbren's eyes with a steady, hollow stare. No more. I can't stop all the cruelty in this city, but I can stop you, right now.

[ROGUE][INTIMIDATION] "I know a hundred ways to kill you, Wulbren," he says. His tone is flat and hard, like an unbreakable wall. "So I'm only going to say this once." He takes one step forward in the gnome's direction. "Walk. Away."

Wulbren's head snaps back and his eyes narrow to slits.

"I thought you a rebel in arms," he hisses. "I see now you were but a snake waiting for its moment to strike."

He turns a sneering gaze across each member of the group in turn, and then spits on the road between them. "Keep your blind Gondian," he growls. "I have no use for broken things. But know that I will not rest until this city is rid of the Gondians and their bootlickers. When the day comes, my hammer will find your skulls and crack them wide open. Ironhands - move out!"

------

Karlach knows Hector very well by this point and she has seen him reach his breaking point a couple times. She can see the signs of it now, and as Wulbren turns to walk away, she darts forward and throws both arms around Hector's torso from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. She feels the tense of his muscles in her grip and knows she guessed right - he was about to leap forward, to lash out.

"Easy, soldier," she mutters. "He's not worth it. Let him go."

For a moment she thinks he is going to try and struggle away from her, but he hesitates, then sags a little in her embrace, his weight sinking back against her chest. "Bigoted bastard..." he mutters. "Does he not see the suffering these people have endured? Does he not care?"

"Don't think he does," Karlach says grimly. "Too caught up in his own anger. Wish I could say I don't know what that's like, but I guess I'd be lying. But that doesn't make it right."

He nods slightly. "Gods, what a day. What a bloody day..."

"Lets go home, soldier," she says quietly. "Let's just go home. We did it. The Watchers are done. We can go after Gortash now, come morning. We did what we had to do."

"It doesn't bring Toobin's people back," he says hollowly. "It doesn't bring that little girl back..." A long pause. "So many years I lived in that cloister and never realized how much cruelty there is in the world. How much anger..."

She hesitates, then presses a cautious kiss to the back of his neck. He shivers, closes his eyes and turns in her embrace to rest his face into her shoulder.

She just holds him a little while before speaking again. "I was stuck too, the last ten years, you know. Not able to do much good for anyone. Maybe we would have done more, if we were here before, but we weren't. We're here now, and we're doing a hell of a lot. Don't you fucking lose sight of that, Hec. Not for a moment."

He draws a slow breath and lets it out heavily. "Thanks," he says quietly. "Let's just... let's just go. I need to put this place behind us."

[staysaneathome]

The Lonely Boy

(A second part to the Entity-swap WIP, where the swap is the places the Entities hold in the world rather than the people who serve them) Jon is cold, and tired, and hungry.

But he’d rather be all of those things than back in The Collection.

He stays away from libraries, from universities and schools, from police stations and research institutes, from everywhere that has learning and investigating and knowing. They call to him, sing to his mind with the promise of knowledge and answers, and that’s how he knows they’ll betray him.

That’s where the man found him the first time, after all.

He compromises with large bookstores and cafes, places of learning that have become diluted over the years with the need to turn a profit, making them safer for him while still making the pouding, watching thing in his head go quieter. Plus the staff usually derive more satisfaction from letting him sleep outside of their places of work and sneaking him food and water on the sly than in turning him over to the management that treats them so poorly.

He learns quickly that he’s in London, capital city of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

It’s something of a blessing to be left in a city this size.

That when he gives in and guiltily Asks someone the Right Question to satisfy his cravings for stories, he can disappear back into the crowd much more easily than he could back in Bournemouth, or in some of the tiny villages down south or up north The Collection passed through.

Nobody really looks twice at another kid left alone and homeless in this place.

He learns quickly that he’s not alone here.

He goes into the house because it’s pouring and he’s soaked to the skin. It takes him far longer than it should to realize that the wet schlurp schlurp schlurp noise is coming from the inside rather than outside.

The Hive wears a red dress and smiles at him when he screams at the sight of her.  But she stops smiling very quickly once he Asks, “Where did you first hear the Song?”

She tells him, each word torn from her lips, exposing her essence to him, filling in a way none of his other meals have been before. He’s so transfixed, he doesn’t notice her attempt to bring him down with her. He’s lucky, really, that the silver worms could only get to his leg before she collapsed, unmoving and pale, and that there were so many sharp things left around the discarded house.

He’s more careful after that, limping on the leg that the Watcher told him how to bandage properly.

Not long after his first ill-fated encounter with servants of other fears, he finds another one.

Jon’s looking for a place to spend the day so nosy people like irritable old people and police officers won’t ask him why he’s not in school. It’s most difficult to do now it’s late autumn, when most other children are safely sequestered away in various schools. Luckily London has a tendency to attract school field trips, so if Jon just hovers around the edges, most people assume he’s part of that other, larger group of screaming children even if he isn’t in uniform and are more likely to overlook him that way. He’s just found one such group in a large park that he can use as protective coloration, content to much on the contents of an unopened packet of prawn cocktail crisps someone threw away as the kids on this school trip gorge themselves from colorful lunchboxes and chase each other around the playground they’re too old for.

It’s then that he spots him.

There’s a boy in the playground.  He’s round and soft-looking and see-through, wearing the same uniform as the others. He’s picking at the splinters on the balance beams he’s sitting on. Thin fog wisps around his ankles.

His eyes are very large and liquid as his head suddenly whips around and he stares up at Jon, blink-blink-blinking like he’s gazing at the sun.

He’s obviously a servant of the Forsaken, but unlike the Hive he doesn’t seem like he’s about to hurt Jon for seeing him. He’s still feeling full from the stories he pulled from a man who stank of alcohol last night, so he’ll hold off on Asking anything for now. He tentatively nods his head to the soft-looking boy. “Hello,” He mutters through a mouthful of crisps.

“You’re very pretty.” The boy tells Jon, almost absent-mindedly. Then his mouth snaps shut and he goes ridged like he’s stuck his finger in a power socket. He’s got a bit more color to him now, like he’s been brought into focus.

Jon stares at him. Stares down at his mismash of clothing pulled from bins. Then back at the boy. “No I’m not. Are your eyes working?”

The boy sputters, high-pitched. “Wh-I-um, um? I-I, I think so?”

Jon shoves another handful of crisps into his mouth. “What’s the best animal?”

”U-uh,” The boy stutters, twisting his fingers together. “I-I don’t know? I, I like fluffy ones, like there was a nice spaniel I met earlier that made friends with me, and, and some kinds of spiders can be very cute and fluffy, did you know, like tarantulas?”

Jon doesn’t disguise his shudder. Obviously this boy has something wrong with his tastes if he thinks things like spiderscan be cute and things like Jon can be pretty. “Cats are the best animal, obviously.”

”O-oh.” The boy says timidly. “W-well, I like cats. Too. Um. Sorry. Who are you? Are you here with your parents?”

He curls in around his crisps, feeling uncomfortably small. “No. They died when I was small. I’m on my own now.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy gets up from the balance beam and drifts closer, fog faintly eddying around his heels. “My dad left, a while ago now. So it’s just me and my mum. But she’s not well, and I dunno what I’d do if she—if she—” He takes in a deep breath, shakes his head like a dog shaking off water, and sticks a hand out. “A-anyway. My name’s Martin. Martin Blackwood. Nice to meet you.”

Jon eyes the hand, then wipes off one of his own on his too-big, stained trousers. Martin Blackwood is warmer than he expected, but cooler than a normal human should be. Maybe the Forsaken doesn’t have as tight a grip on him yet?

”Jonathan Sims.” He recites mechanically, a little rusty with introductions. Then, desperate to break the awkward silence and cover up his discomfort, Jon does the worst possible thing he could do. He Asks a Question.

“Why is the Forsaken attached to you?”

And he stares in horror as Martin’s large, liquid eyes go soft and unfocused. “There were all these adults in for this careers day thing, at my school, like firemen and lawyers and things. And one of them was this tall ship captain, like out of a storybook. And he kept talking about his ship and how even if his crew had nobody on land, they could enjoy hard work alone out on the waves, and it felt like he kept looking at me while he said it, and—”

”Stop.” Jon clamps his hands over Martin’s mouth, pretending he doesn’t feel the Watcher’s flare of anger as Martin’s eyes come back into focus and he tenses up. “I-I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to, I—”

”Di-did you do that?” Martin breathes. “H-How did you do that? That was amazing, it, it was like I was right there…” He’s fully solid now, like someone has turned the colors on him all the way up. He has very nice colors.

“It’s not.” Jon mutters, sourly. “The Watcher lets me pull stories out of people, to, to feed it. Like how the Forsaken makes you go invisible—“

”I can go invisible?!” Martin all but yells, covering his mouth when several other kids look over and snicker.

”Yeah?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “It’s the entity of the fear of being alone. Didn’t you notice the fog and people ignoring you?” ”Lots of people ignore me anyway.” Martin says, far too matter-of-fact for comfort, and gaze fixated on the fog around his feet. He leans down and drags his hands through it, giggling as it swirls away from him. “It’s kinda tickly?”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted as his stomach growls loudly.

Jon looks down at where his prawn crisps fell in his rush to stop Martin and mourns. He’d been looking forward to finishing those… ”U-um. You can have half of my sandwich, if, if you want it.” Martin says, pulling a squashed, cling-wrapped object that the Watcher tells him contains cheese and bread within. “And you can tell me more about these fear things?”

They end up talking so long, Martin’s teacher has to come over to shout at him that it’s time for the school trip to leave.  She looks suspiciously at Jon, so he quickly makes himself scarce as Martin scrambles over to where all of his classmates are lines up in disorderly rows.

Jon hides behind a tree and watches Martin’s school trip leave the park.

Martin Blackwood sticks near the back of the class, even as some other kids keep pushing him every time he slows. When he spots Jon, he smiles widely, and waves his hand. Like Jon’s a friend of his, or something.

Against all logic, Jon tentatively waves back.

Martin can’t come into London often, of course. He lives too far away, up north, and he and his mum aren’t the richest people in the world, from what Jon will later gather. Train rides are a luxury that it’s pushing it to afford, and he’s got to take care of his mum into the bargain.  And it’s not like he can send Jon emails or text messages or letters, given that Jon has very limited access to electronics and no address to send post to.

But somehow, against all odds (and likely using the Forsaken more than is probably healthy), Martin does make the trip down to see Jon, always waiting for him in that playground where they first met.

And Jon gets used to dropping by the park several times a week, just in case Martin’s there.

[theninjamouse]

Ocean on Fire Phantom of the Opera AU Master List (To be added to as I see fit)

Strap in, this is gonna get long. Big thanks to @thaylepo for indulging me and sending many brilliant ideas. 

This is a basic rundown and ideas that would happen at some point in the story. Obviously some things could change or be added but I’ve just got to get this down before I go nuts

Shore and Grillby were childhood friends.

Shore is the child of a wealthy business man, taught from childhood that the arts are to be treasured and appreciated

However, while she may learn instruments and dance and music, she is to take over the family business, not run away to star in the opera like she wants

Grillby's father (he has parents in this au) was a famous violinist who often was called by Shore's father to perform for parties. He wound up teaching Shore fundamentals of music

Little Grillby was a shy flame. Always trailed along behind his father, clutching his tailcoats

Shore saw the tiny elemental and decided instantly: I'm going to be his BEST FRIEND

Queue stuttering, hesitant Grillby being dragged around the manor, getting into all sorts of trouble and adventures. He's a lot more hardy than Shore is, so he rather often found himself acting as a sort of guard dog. He was utterly distraught when Shore fell and broke her arm. Shore teased him about crying because she couldn’t stand to see him so upset

They also learn music together from Grillby's father. First time Shore hears Grillby sing, she grabs his face and screams with delight until the poor little guy is fully bright blue with blushing

Then Grillby's father dies. A family friend takes Grillby away to one of the opera houses to work. Grillby and Shore are 13 and 10 at this point and have spent the last 6 years together. Shore makes Grillby promise to keep singing, to keep the spark of his father alive through music. He promises

They both wait until they are out of sight of the other to cry

Grillby cries every night for the first 3 months in the opera house. As a monster, he is bullied by many of the other students. He mourns his father's passing and he misses Shore to a near unbearable level. The only comfort he has is when he sings quietly to himself in those few moments when he is alone doing his chores

Then he hears a voice, a soft and gentle voice that asks him why such a bright flame weeps. He runs away in fear and hides in his bed

But the voice asks him again and again. 'Why does such a bright flame weep?' Slowly, over the course of a year, Grillby tells the voice his story

The voice says he is the Phantom of the opera house. Grillby thinks he sounds rather young to be a Phantom

The Phantom replies that Grillby is rather young to have such a lovely voice. He offers to teach Grillby. The fire monster agrees upon hearing the Phantom's beautiful and haunting voice

After all, he did promise

15 years pass. Shore has taken over her family business and is finally able to offer herself as a patron to an opera house that has shown remarkable growth over the years, becoming well known in the arts circles

Partially thanks to the star of the show, a humanoid robot named Mettaton. Most of the monsters we know work the show behind the scenes, so having a monster in the lead is a new leap in gaining treatment that is more fair for monster kind as performers

But Mettaton is also a diva. The day Shore arrives with new managers, he throws his tantrum and quits after a rather suspicious accident.

Shore only has eyes for the fire elemental standing frozen with the rest of the crew. She suggests letting him take the lead role. Promising that she knows he can sing.

Grillby is so quiet most assumed he couldn't even talk so naturally protests break out and Shore maybe uses her power as a patron to insist. 'He promised me,' is all she says, looking right at him

So he sings and everyone is stunned at the strength and grace of his voice. The managers instantly whisk him away to prepare for the show

After the show, Shore goes to his new dressing room and they fall into each other's arms. They speak of times past, of the loneliness of being apart. But when Shore says that she wants to take him out to celebrate, he hesitates. The Phantom will not be happy if he leaves, he knows this

But he agrees and she leaves to let him change

Enter in The Phantom. Showing himself for the first time, a figure in black wearing a simple white mask over his face. White hands punched through the palms. Grillby is enchanted, dazed and follows The Phantom into the tunnels under the opera house

*Music of the Night noises*

Grillby has a bit of a Crisis because he genuinely cares about Phantom and they became very close friends as much as teacher and student but this is kind of odd?? A little frightening?

Phantom sees this, backpedals real hard but hides it and sends Grillby back upstairs before falling into bed and screaming into his pillow

When Shore finds Grillby vaguely wandering back into the theater, she goes, uh??? What happened?? Were you kidnapped? I kind of stayed up all night looking for you??

Grillby, still a little in shock because what the heck just happened "Kind of?"

Now that won't STAND

Shore starts digging to find out everything she can about this opera ghost, keeping a close eye on Grillby. There is no gaslighting here folks like in versions of the story that to this day drive me crazy

As Shore digs, accidents start happening. Loose floorboards, unlatched equipment, a falling sandbag or two. Shore catches on pretty quickly what’s happening when she catches just a flash of shadow more than once right before or after these little ‘incidents’ 

Finally plants herself down in the middle of the stage and calls for the Phantom to show his face. It takes a while then she sees a shadow just barely move. He’s up in the rafters, crouched like some kind of bat

“What is your freaking deal?” 

“Why are you trying to take what’s mine?” 

“Yours? He belongs to himself you dingbat”

That makes him laugh for reasons Shore doesn’t get

Conversation happens, a lot of dodging questions, shifting blame. Phantom is oddly charming. For being an attempted murdering/kidnapping jerk

“Are you the one who keeps trying to kill me? The sandbag dropped on my head, the broken trapdoor, the spiders in my hat??”

“Oh my God, I’m not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong in this place. It’s an old building, accidents do happen. 

“The sandbag was me though.”

Grillby materializes just to smack him in the head for that

And so it goes, Grillby and Shore trying to reconnect, Grillby trying to maintain a level of friendship (and maybe more?) with Phantom and Phantom attempting various levels of accidents to get Shore to leave the theater

Until one day he finds Shore on the stage. She’s singing to an empty theater. She’s not...good exactly but...rather unpracticed. He’s startled enough that he stops his evil giggling and untwisting of the hidden trapdoor in the stage to listen. 

He comes up silently, creeping on the edges just out of sight. When he speaks, Shore shrieks and nearly falls off the stage anyway. Her blushing does a weird thing to his Soul. Like a sort of flip flopping squeeze. 

“Well, if you’re going to think yourself worthy of my Flame, you’d better have a voice to match. Let me hear you sing again.”  

Many ‘threat’ filled lessons later-

“Hmm. Maybe there’s hope for you after all” 

“Maybe there’s more to you than a creepy stalker personality.” 

Past the Point of No Return scene happens at some point. I don’t make the rules

Also Phantom and Shore have a sword fight that maybe starts out as anger fueled but rather quickly changes to a pent up Feelings kind of deal

Grillby’s concern is quick to fade and he watches the two idiots dance around each other, wondering why exactly they don’t see how much they actually do like each other. 

It’s also at this moment he realizes fully that he loves them both

“Well shoot, I love these two morons and they love each other but won’t admit it. This is going to be very ‘fun’ to sort out”

Eventually, Shore asks for Phantom’s name. 

“My name...died with the person I was long ago.” 

“Maybe it’s time you reclaim it.” 

His name is Wing Dings Gaster and for countless years he was held by the Void. He doesn’t fully remember how he escaped, nor what he looked like before. All he knows is that his face is broken with terrible cracks and skeletal in only the vaguest sense with a body that ebbs and flows with darkness. When he first stumbled back into the light after the darkness of the Void, people screamed and ran from him. Or worse, they chased him, calling him an omen of death. So he retreated down below the theater and resigned himself to always be a watcher and made a mask to cover his face. 

He was alone for years until he heard young Grillby crying in a corner and sat as close as he dared. It took a while for him to gain the courage to speak to the elemental

Given the fluid nature of his body, it’s easy for him to change his voice to sing. It’s the only part of himself that he can see as holding any worth. 

Grillby was his only source of socialization and he’s terrified of losing him, which makes Phantom a tad bit clingy with some pretty severe separation anxiety 

Phantom is a sad, sad boy who needs a lot of hugs and therapy

Shore is kind to him despite it all (and despite the irritation at the ‘death threats’) 

Phantom finally admits that she was never in any actual danger because he might be a messed up guy but he’s not a murderer. He might have even nudged her out of the way with blue magic a few times to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Eventually Phantom realizes he no longer wants her to leave. He wants to stand with her and Grillby. He wants to be a better monster but he doesn’t know how to do that so kind of retreats into his lair 

Grillby and Shore have to track him down. And queue the heart to heart, the great Crying Session, the Unmasking or whatever you wanna call it

And they all live an OT3 happy ending, the end

[theneircarebear]

My Infinity War Rant (And MCU Rant, by Extension)

Spoiler-free TL;DR: I’d give Infinity War a 4/10. Pretty action movie with some fun humour, but plot was executed poorly and the current state of the MCU is so annoyingly amatonormative, that I was honestly annoyed and bored throughout Infinity War and unfortunately likely will be for future films.

Some spoilers and expansion on my ideas under the cut. Please note that I am not an MCU expert (I have not seen every single title, nor have I read Marvel comics).

Avengers: Infinity War Critique

Too many characters and, by extension, too many storylines plagued this film. I suspected that this would happen, but hoped for some coherence anyway. Viewers were granted little. I think that a big fault of this film was that the writers/director tried to cram too much into one film. I found a few of the individual plots really interesting (e.g., Gamora and Thanos’ storyline, the execution of the Asgardians and Thor’s mourning over his people and his brother AND ALSO the fancy axe weapon that was not given nearly enough explanation, why exactly Scarlet Witch is powerful enough to destroy the Infinity Stones but no one else), and I would have loved separate movies that addressed these. Because they were crammed into one film, though, they seemed rushed. Loki’s death was sad, but I found that I didn’t really care all that much because Thor was given a five-second sad scene about it and then proceeded to be reserved for the rest of the film. Gamora and Thanos’ relationship was well-explored, and I remember that part of the film best; but I found that the cuts to the other superheroes and their storylines took away from that main story and just made me wait longer to watch the storyline I actually liked. Also, the end of it where Gamora was sacrificed (out of love) was really cheesy and stereotypical. I think that this film could have been decent even with all of the characters still in it, but the problem I had was that too many of the characters got Center Stage. I think that the film would have flowed better and been more coherent if many of these characters took supporting roles instead of being explored just as much as the main ones. Alternatively, since I know that many superheroes owned the Infinity Stones that were crucial to the plot and therefore had to be Center Stage at some point, concentration on those characters and cutting unnecessary other characters would have worked well. Did we really need so much focus on Ironman (and, by extension, Pepper)? No, not really, in my opinion. Did we need to bring Black Panther into the fray when the whole plan of Shuri taking out Vision’s Infinity Stone ended up being a waste of time anyway? No, I don’t really think so. Little scenes that detracted from the overall plot plagued this movie and just made it more incoherent.

The message of this film was not readily apparent to viewers. This is a consequence of cramming so much into one film, I think. I noticed that the ending of the film confused everyone in my theatre. Spoiler alert: half of the superheroes disappear into dust (i.e., Thanos wins). The obvious message here is that not everyone wins all the time (and that includes superheroes). I don’t take issue with this message necessarily, because I think it can be good to remind people to be realistic, but I do think that it was an odd direction to take for a movie of the superhero genre, and in the Avengers titles in particular. Superhero movies are meant to be escapist, and people go to watch them to see the hero win through some fantastic fireworks. “Well then obviously this film was meant to counter expectations and subvert the genre, so it’s Art,” you might say. If this was the goal, though, then I think it was executed poorly and with the wrong franchise. The Avengers titles are big frontrunners in the superhero boom of the present. When the average movie-watcher wants to see a typical superhero movie they will probably go to a popular one like the Avengers. You don’t have the art-appreciating people go to these films. Those people go see indie films or films that they already know exist to subvert the superhero genre (the Deadpool films come to mind here - so if the MCU already has a “genre-subverting” franchise, then why would they do that again with something very popular that was never designed to stray so much from genre norms?). I think that Infinity War could have still gotten the “not everybody wins all the time” message across in the film pretty well while still sticking to the superhero formula by having a conclusion beyond the one that we saw. Audience members might believe that Thanos smugly watching the sunset is the end of the movie but SURPRISE, one last battle fixes things or something. That’s something that many other superhero movies make use of and I think is effective. You can still convey the idea that battles are sometimes lost, but the point of superhero movies is to show that, no matter what, the war will be won. OK, so if that was the message the director wanted to go with, I think it was poorly executed mainly because of the ending. But I also think it was poorly executed in its writing and flow of other parts of the plot. I could tell that there was an attempt to focus on relationships between the supers: romantic plots, getting over rivalry (between Captain America and Ironman after Civil War’s happenings, for example), learning to team up with new and foreign supers, etc. Those attempts were all right, but could have been way better if, again, there weren’t so many of these subplots happening at the same time. They also distracted from the main message. Captain America and Ironman got over their differences pretty quickly and with no confrontation, which I thought was strange, even in the “ignore our grievances for the greater good” scenario. Wakanda was very quick to open itself up to participate in a war, considering its history and general distrust of others, honestly. The first thing Wakanda did after opening itself up publicly was fight, which is the absolute last thing anyone wanted to do. Because the film flip-flopped between so many ideas and morals, I found myself getting annoyed or confused or bored with the film because not much progress was being made with the main plot and I didn’t really get what the main message of the film was supposed to be. Every scene in a film should have a purpose, and there were many scenes I watched that honestly didn’t seem to have one except to appeal to niche viewers (that, again, probably weren’t the majority of the population watching this movie).

This brings me to my issue with the MCU in general, and with much of other media (it wouldn’t be fair to say only superhero movies have this problem): unnecessary romantic subplots and pretend feminism. Man, was I completely bored with Scarlet Witch and Vision’s relationship. Man, was I so annoyed that nearly every single main female superhero was paired off at some point in the MCU. Black Widow had a completely unnecessary stint with the Hulk. Scarlet Witch pretty quickly shifted from mourning her own brother to pursuing a romance with an AI. The idea that every female needs to have a romantic relationship is annoying and, frankly, unrealistic. As someone who identifies as aromantic, as well, I am so tired of seeing many of the superheroines I admire be forced into random relationships. This idea is harmful even for romantic people: romance is not the be-all-end-all of life. I didn’t take issue with Wonder Woman’s pursuance of romance. It was realistic and made sense for her character, and it was also not her character’s defining role in the story. It was also afforded a lot of development relative to the random romances we have seen in Marvel’s titles, namely the Avengers ones. I’m tired of films bowing to amatonormativity, and giving characters love interests when there aren’t any coherent logical bases for them. Individual superhero movies (like the Ironman titles, for example) can [more] successfully develop relationships, but in action-centered titles with a tonne of characters (like Avengers), there isn’t the time or place to be dealing with such things. Scarlet Witch and Vision’s relationship (as much as I hated it existing in the first place) felt incredibly rushed in the film. Ironman’s random kissing scene with Pepper was not important to the film at all - Pepper made little to no further appearance in the film later on. Her concern over the phone was enough to let us know that Ironman’s superheroing bothered her and put strain on their relationship. We didn’t need an additional scene to reaffirm their relationship, or establish it because, let’s be honest, Infinity War was not made to cater to audiences that hadn’t seen any of the previous films. Now the pretend feminism. Giving every female up to romance is one way the MCU perpetuates stereotypes that every girl wants to be in a relationship. But another big thing I have seen in many recent Marvel films (and other superhero films or just films where women are fighting anything) is that women are almost always and exclusively paired up to fight other women. The main villains are predominantly male, and the male superheroes get to fight them. One particular scene in Infinity War comes to mind that really gets at this well. Scarlet Witch, Black Widow, and Okoye are all fighting a female baddie. Just before this fight sequence, Scarlet Witch got to show off her incredible power by wiping out a large portion of the enemy horde sprinting into Wakanda. Okoye’s comment about Scarlet Witch’s power made me think that now that she’s on the field, the lads can have her help to take everyone down. But she doesn’t do that. Instead, she’s made to fight the female antagonist. If Scarlet Witch had such power, why wasn’t she on the team to go fight Thanos? Especially if she has enough power to destroy the Infinity Stones. I suspect it has something to do with the relationship she has with Vision and wanting to stay near him, which I think is a mightily convenient excuse and kind of boils her character down to one that will put romance above everything else in her life. This fight scene isn’t the only time Marvel (and many other films) does this female vs. female thing. I find that while these films claim to be feminist because they have literally super strong female characters, they very quickly send the women away to fight other baddies while the men get to deal with the main threat. I still see women being saved by men way more often than I see the other way around in these films. It’s like, women’s strength is being acknowledged but still laid inferior to men’s.

Something more subtle that I noticed (that is unconfirmed, btw) was in the post-credits scene Marvel always does. Audiences saw the Captain Marvel symbol flash on the screen, likely signalling that Captain Marvel will fix the whole situation. I had a few issues with this. 1. I thought that including some sort of hope like that would have better fit in the movie proper, but 2. I recognize that only non-casual Marvel fans (i.e., people who know the comics) would even recognize that symbol anyway. And also, 3. When I looked up Captain Marvel to see how the character could possibly fix the wacked up situation Thanos caused, the most popular result was the female Captain Marvel (Ms. Marvel) and she does not seem to have any sort of powers that I can imagine would fix everything. But, upon further reading, I found out that there is another version of Captain Marvel (male) who fixes the Thanos problem in the comics by essentially turning back time to before Thanos caused everything to go to shit. That’s great! And apparently there’s a Captain Marvel movie in the works (keeping Captain Marvel female, instead of making her male like the alternate comic version... right?). However, with this, the MCU is adding another character to the already confusing mix. We’ll have to watch her movie to understand her. This is a money grab. I know that it’s always been a money grab, but this is a little silly.

There were many points in Infinity War where the protagonists almost defeated Thanos, but were deterred because of too-convenient reasons (Starlord, I’m looking at you). There were many points in Infinity War where I or my friend sitting next to me thought of a much easier way to solve the problem and defeat the baddie than the characters did. As a result, I felt more and more disconnected from the characters, because so much of what they were doing wasn’t logical and I wasn’t entertained. Doing illogical things for the flashiness is fine, but in moderation. There was unnecessary drama in the fight sequences, and also not enough drama from other parts of the movie, to the point where I was so incredibly bored unless I was watching an action scene, which never really delivered completely because most of them were failures. I felt like I was watching amateurs, not seasoned superheroes.

The film started off decently, and it did have some good scenes, but I was overwhelmed by unnecessary plotlines and scenes, too many characters, and constant failure to really enjoy the movie past the first 45 minutes. I love action and superhero movies, but this one was one of the worst I’ve seen in recent years. You could have done better, Marvel.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

I think I’ve floated the idea before but Transformers/Overwatch crossover y/y

Skyfire and Mei bond over issues with polar research and about waking up to find that the worlds they knew have been completely upended. They share a want - no, a need - to save the world through science.

Blaster, Jazz, and Lucio as a trio of popular musicians who also FIGHT CRIME. You know. As you do.

Hot Rod and Gerard hit it off alarmingly well. They spent so much time together that Hot Rod came to have a similar accent. Everyone fucking hates them both. “You’d miss us,” Hot Rod says, and the crew all roll their eyes, but then Gerard is killed and Hot Rod goes AWOL soon after and the base feels hollow without obnoxious French laughter echoing the halls.

Brainstorm makes Winston a little uncomfortable. He’s a little too interested in the chrono accelerator, and all of his ideas seem alarmingly dangerous and unnecessarily destructive. Torbjorn bounces ideas for turret upgrades and the like off of him, though. Brainstorm is the only one who doesn’t think Torbjorn babying his turrets is weird. Likewise, Torbjorn makes no issue of the briefcase thing.

Prowl and Jack Morrison, you would think, would get along. They really don’t. Their straight-laced humorless personalities work fine together but Morrison plays just a little too much within the rules. Prowl’s operating style meshes better with Reyes, but in personality, they clash. Reyes is too friendly, has too much of an easy casual air and too many jokes and asides.

Years later, though, Prowl gets on alarmingly well with the vigilante Soldier: 76. There’s a job to do and a war to end, and they’re damn well going to do it and not let any rules but their own get in the way.

Perceptor is intrigued by Ana and her biotic technology, by the way she easily and comfortably straddles the line between healer and soldier. Creation and destruction, scientist and warrior, are warring roles that Perceptor has never truly figured out how to balance. They get along well, perched high above the fray, with single well-placed shots to take out anyone who threatens their friends. It still always takes him by surprise whenever Ana sets her scope on one of her allies and launches one of her concoctions into their shoulders. He knows it helps, it’s just...weird.

Human lives to Cybertronians are fleeting, he knows, whether they are violently cut short or end naturally, and he has reminded himself of this again and again and again - but still, he mourns her. 

Years later he is in pursuit of something else, something ultimately inconsequential, and he picks up traces of a biotic technology. He takes the casings, the scraps, a bit of spilled formula, and analyzed them to be sure, but that tech is unique. He abandons whatever task he had and traces her back to the Necropolis, settles in to the crypts that have been sparsely outfitted as living quarters, and he waits for the occupants to get back. Soldier: 76 and the Watcher return and Ana notices something out of place. They never had a microscope here. “Hello, Perceptor,” she says, and he transforms, crouched, doubles over and head and back still scraping the ceiling.

Optimus Prime likes humans. Some - a lot of - Cybertronians don’t. They think humans weak, worthless, inferior, and it isn’t just the Decepticons who believe such. Optimus fancies himself an idealist about humanity’s potential, about protecting them, but truly - they are terribly like Cybertronians, for good and much much more for evil. He hopes, perhaps naively, that some of the worst horrors and tortures are ones that only Cybertronians could invent by virtue of their mechanical nature - mnemosurgery, shadowplay, empurata. Needles slipped into human minds don’t reprogram them.

After the fall of Overwatch he is tracking down Talon, continuing the job of so many dead friends, one after another gone - Gerard, Ana - until in a blaze of flames everything was over - Jack and Gabriel. It is in Talon’s ranks that he sees a face he thought long dead.

“Amelie Lacroix?” She raises her head defiantly at her name, upped though she is in Optimus’ hands the way a human holds a hamster.We thought you were dead,” he says even as he realizes that she very well looks dead, pale with a waxy corpselike pallor, skin gone blue like too long spent in the cold.

“Do not try to appeal to my heart, Optimus Prime, for I have none left.”

“What did they do to you?”

“It is better this way.”

“Amelie-“

“Amelie Lacroix is dead. You remember the woman she was, but I am not her.”

He could have easily stopped her from grappling away and disappearing across rooftops into the evening, but he doesn’t. He remembers someone else’s words, long ago, before the war. Remember me as I was.

The humans still have shadowplay. They just don’t call it such.

Deadlock is...amused, that this human gang has the same name as him. He’s begrudgingly impressed when he plucks up one of their young upstarts only for the kid to fearlessly, and with incredible accuracy, shoot him straight in the optic.

Deadlock hangs around Route 66 for a time but moves on, without a warning, when he gets wind that Overwatch is on its way. He doesn’t feel like getting involved in that, and he’s been questioning all his life choices lately anyway. He finds himself in Nepal, falls in with some omnic monks, continues reconsidering his life. He stays for a time, under their guidance finds some semblance of peace, but ultimately he does not wish to stay in isolation. He meets some interesting characters on his travels, finds a sort of kinship with a wandering assassin named Hanzo and their dual quests to find atonement and redemption for events in their pasts.

Eventually he finds himself back in the American Southwest, near the same territory that he used to roam. It’s hauntingly empty now, a ghost town but for a few criminals floating through the area who are dispatched with ease by a lone gunslinger, a man who then turns and in one fluid motion draws his revolver and puts a bullet dead in the eye of the Cybertronian who has crept up to watch the proceedings.

“You again?” Mccree asks.

A hand over his shattered eye, remembering when this happened years and years ago, Drift asks, “You again?”

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 22)

“Day 7 of my imprisonment:

“From what little news of the outside world I've been allowed, the expeditions in the Valley have officially stopped. Regardless of if the people thought that Ruby was real, or she was just a new terrorist group using the monicker, no one is planning on returning any time soon, for superstitious beliefs, or the massive damage my father has caused to the SCP's coffers and the company's already poor reputation.

“Speaking of whom, the official story is that his removal as CEO of the Schnee Power Company and the corporate boards he sat on is temporary, that the vacation he's taking to some far-off, isolated resort is to give him time to mourn and relax, escape the stress and the ugly aftermath of my 'death.'

“But I'm pretty sure anyone can read the writing on the wall, know that his thrones won't be waiting for him when gets back, if ever.

“There's already rumours of plans to buy Manor Schnee via eminent domain and renovate it into a proper military base—the personnel and the equipment are already well-established there, the location is very secure and has numerous important facilities already constructed, and the troops rather enjoy the horde of servant drones, and are more than willing to put up a fund to keep them around.

“Meanwhile, here in the Bastion, the Eldan Council are still busy discussing what exactly to do now—apparently all the equipment they'd salvaged, and the information they gotten from their numerous 'interrogations' into the survivors from previous expeditions has created a gigantic backlog of paperwork, unforeseen issues, and new research projects.

“And though it pains me to admit it, I am very, very low on their list of priorities.”

She heard footsteps from outside her cell; she paused and sat up, until they passed by and faded away. She laid back down, shifted a while to get comfortable again on her cot, then continued to speak.

“No one had expected that I would make it impossible—or at least, very, very difficult—to return to human society, least of all myself. No one wants me around, and those that do are either Ruby, or 'Makers' who are far too eager to study me for mysterious, undisclosed reasons. And no one has the heart to throw me out out of the walls and leave me to the wildlife, as befitting the Fae's rather humane and charitable philosophy towards governance.

“Hope is fading ever faster, but I'm slowing down its decay by looking at the bright side of things:

“I have a very nice prison cell!

“It's high up in one of the tallest trees of the Bastion, a window to let sunshine and fresh air in, a curtain I can pull down at any time, a comfortable cot, bright light for when it gets dark, even indoor plumbing! Though it's limited to a sink, a toilet, and a bucket with a dipper in it, the nigh unlimited supply of hot water makes up for it.

“Whatever minerals are in the hot springs, they are doing wonders for my feet, skin, and sanity.

“The Watchers were nice enough to let me keep Eluna, treat me with respect and never use more force than is strictly necessary, and feed me regularly with a decent variety of food—nothing gourmet, for sure, but a far cry from the nutriblocks and protein paste some jails in Avalon use!

“I tasted one when Winter got it mixed up with her luggage. It was terrible, and I doubt they've gotten any better over the years.

“Ruby has even been kind enough to use her influence in Fae society to get me this very recorder I'm using, and some copies of books in Nivian to occupy myself with, the originals used by the thriving black market of unofficial Actaeon translations.

“They're mostly incredibly trashy romance novels or painfully predictable and simplistic 'adventure' stories, and reading them makes me feel like my brain cells are slowly committing suicide, one by one, but the thought is much appreciated.”

A voice echoed from her cell’s PA system—a series of hollowed out wooden tubes. “Schnee, you’ve got a visitor,” one of the watchers said.

Weiss turned on her other side, to the receiver beside her bed. “Let her in,” she said.

To the recorder, she quietly added, “I actually have no control about who enters my cell and when, but it's nice to feel like I have some control over my life, after my attempt to be free of external influences went horribly, horribly wrong.”

She stopped recording and sat up as the door opened. One bulky Fae guard walked in, her giant axe clearly on display as came over and cuffed Weiss’ hands. She was a political prisoner and no one thought for a moment that she could be dangerous, but the Fae liked to err on the side of caution.

A second guard came in, ushering in a familiar guest.

Ruby waved with her free hand, the other carrying a small sack. “Hi Weiss!”

“Did the Eldan Council decide already?” Weiss asked, feeling Hope stir in her chest.

Ruby's smile turned uneasy. “Uh, yeah, no. They’re still talking, and it doesn't look like they're going to be done soon.”

Weiss felt Hope get brutally crushed once more. “Oh.”

“I’m sure they’ll finish soon! It’s been like, what, a week? They’ve got to be reaching a decision about you soon!”

Weiss decided not point out that this was almost exactly what she’d said the other six visits.

“Anyway, I've got great news: Uncle Qrow finally got permission to try and contact your sister!”

Weiss blinked, then beamed. “Really?!”

“Yup! He knows some people who owe him big favours! You, uh, owe him a 'fuck-ton of favours’ now, however many that is.”

Weiss nodded. “Fine with me! I can’t believe he actually managed to find an in with the Queensguard!”

Silence.

Weiss smile slowly faded. “… He’s just going to call the Anonymous Tip Line, isn’t he?”

“Yeeep… BUT!” Ruby pulled out a data-stick—human design, not Fae, complete with an adapter. “He can pass on a message from you. The Watchers will have to approve it for sending, and you’ll have to be careful not to mention anything like where you are, exactly, or that our cities are totally a thing, but they agreed to let you tell her that your death was totally fake, so long as the details never reach your dad!”

Weiss snorted. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Great! So, you want to go think up something, or just go full improper with this?”

“'Impromptu,' you mean?”

“Yeah!” Ruby paused. “What did I say?”

Weiss shook her head. “Just ask Penny. Hand me my recorder, please?”

She made her message. It took a few tries, from either the Watchers telling her she put in too much info, or her bursting into tears and spilling everything, but eventually, they got something that both parties were happy with.

“Can he make sure it’s going to make it to her?” Weiss asked as her guard kindly mopped up her tears and snot for her with a tissue.

Ruby shrugged. “We’re shamans, craftsmen, and scientists, Weiss, not miracle workers.” She smiled. “But knowing my Uncle Qrow, he’ll find a way—he always does.”

They stuck around for some idle chatter—it was impromptu hunting season again, as the wild animals were getting too populous, too daring, and too close to the walls for comfort—until Ruby's visiting hours were over.

“See you, Weiss!” she said as she waved goodbye as she dropped off the sack.

“Bye Ruby,” Weiss replied.

The Watchers were obliged to check thoroughly check it again—like humans, smuggling contraband in new and interesting ways was nothing new to them. It had contained the same thing as always, though:

Chocolate chip cookies, and a big container of milk from the local “cows.”

The trick was to go in a crowd.

Face recognition technology had advanced so much that they could pick out individual faces in a densely packed sea of people spanning several miles, but that was only if you knew the exact face you were looking for, and Qrow took great pains to make sure that the ones he put on was one wanted to remember and would avoid recognizing in a high-definition holograph.

It helped that it was easy to switch out his prostheses—new pair of fake ears, different nose, all new made-up skin condition, “alternative gene-modification,” or horrific lab accident to tell anyone who bothered to ask.

But in the end, it all boiled down to merging into the right groups of people, taking care to never be caught alone in the middle of the street, leaving some other guy to catch the Peackeeper's attention—“just like a herd animal,” he thought, smiling to himself.

Eventually, he dropped off a bus and to his destination—the “Dark Side” of Candela, home of the people that had been left behind, wanted to be left the fuck alone, or were on the left side of the tracks. He sighed happily as he could finally walk down the streets freely; no one was going to bother remembering his face, and he would do the same for them.

All the gaudy neon signs and chintzy advertising made it difficult to see anything properly, anyway.

He continued onto the Null Set—an illegal bar, didn’t officially exist in the city records, with an owner that had a love for programming humour. It wasn't his scene—too many hackers, “modding” enthusiasts, and would-be revolutionaries for his taste—but it was the best place for discrete exchanges of information, legal or otherwise, business or pleasure.

Qrow headed up to the bar, ordered a drink that was a far too colourful and named weird, tried to enjoy it for a while until he finally found an opportunity to talk to the tall, lithe cyborg beside him. “Hey, Fish, I got a question: why is it that every single one of you I meet is fucked up in the head in some way?” he asked.

“We are forged in strife./ Broken. Fixed. Broken again./ Powerful, but scarred.” Kajiki replied.

“Huh. That explains a whole lot actually.”

“Indeed.”

Qrow discretely passed on the data stick with Weiss’ message. “Sure it’s going to make it to her?”

Kajiki loooked at him disdainfully. “If you can’t trust me/ The shady ‘borg at the bar/ Then who can you trust…?” they said as they downloaded the info, before they crushed the stick in their hand.

Qrow smirked. “Ain’t that always the million Uroch question...?”

They sat there for a while, Qrow drinking and Kajiki “trancing” for a while, before Qrow left the bar and rented one of the heavily encrypted lines on the side.

“Queensguard Anonymous Tip Line,” a curt, professional female voice said, slightly distorted and broken up.

“Got a message for one Winter Schnee: your little sister says you shouldn't do anything drastic. If you do, she's going to be real pissed, believe me,” he said, before he hung up.

He left and went to find a much better bar to spend the Urochs he'd been lent as he'd called the Queensguard Tip Line, just like he told the other Watchers.

Elsewhere, in a section of the Bastion few knew about, and even fewer could access, the Eldan Council continued their meeting, Glynda sitting alone at a table with projections of her fellows before her.

<… Well, I think we’ve discussed this matter to death—shall we all take a vote on it, or give it another day of reflection?> Ozpin asked.

<My decision is as firm as the day I made it: she stays!> Port cried. <There’s no question she can prove herself a very valuable asset indeed. After all, one does not slaughter the pups of a killer wolf, one takes them in, raises them with love and care, so they may grow up to lend you their power, their majesty, brothers in tooth and claw!

<Especially if her lineage has proved very formidable indeed...>

<I concur!> Oobleck added. <There’s simply too much valuable data at stake, and many future opportunities that would be lost without her—no to mention the leverage she can provide us with, ahem, certain individuals.>

Glynda sighed. <And for what it’s worth,  I still vote 'No.' There’s too many unknowns in this decision, much potential for catastrophe, not to mention the eerie parallels...>

Ozpin nodded gravely. <Indeed.> He smiled. <All the more reason to monitor her very carefully. Second thoughts, anyone?>

There were none.

Ozpin hummed. <Then it’s settled: Weiss Schnee will be released to the Viridian Valley on parole, and trained accordingly under Glynda’s guidance.>

<May I speak freely, Archon?> Glynda asked, keeping her voice level.

<But of course!>

<I would just like to say that it’s extremely easy to agree on something when you yourself are not personally responsible for it.>

<Oh, come now, Glynda; we both know that there’s no joy in any endeavour without a bit of challenge and uncertainty!> Port cried.

<Maybe you’ll even find a valuable ally in her—stranger things have happened.> Oobleck added.

<Maybe,> Glynda said. <But for the moment, she’s just a load that most everyone would rather see locked up than walking the streets as a fellow citizen.>

<And that’s where care and nurture comes in. The Valley was once just a patch of fertile land, rife with potential, was it not?> Ozpin asked, smiling.

Glynda's nose twitched. <I’ll begin drafting the terms of her release immediately.>

Ozpin smiled. <Excellent. Meeting dismissed, back to the day to day grind, everyone.>

Glynda watched the projections of her fellow council members disappear, finally letting her lips curl into a scowl. She sat there brooding for a few moments, before she magicked a scroll into her hand and started thinking.

There was going to be a lot of precaution to make it work this time, and the precedents were not encouraging in the slightest...

[theconservativebrief]

In a world where fashion increasingly doubles as a form of political statement or protest and the first lady’s jacket choice is a partisan tinderbox, it’s no surprise that a possible new example of fashion-based progressive idealism is making headlines.

What is surprising is the source: Queen Elizabeth’s jewelry. A viral twitter thread is suggesting her majesty may have been using her trademark brooches to send subtle messages repudiating the Trump administration and its policies during the president’s much-discussed visit to London last week.

The queen wore three brooches during Trump’s visit, and each of them — at least according to the online fandom with an appetite for Intense Brooch Politics — was an act of subtle nose-thumbing.

The inciting Twitter thread was published by Twitter user SamuraiKnitter, who is apparently the internet’s preeminent brooch decoder. A writer based in Pennsylvania, SamuraiKnitter described herself to Vox as a longtime history and fashion nerd who’s gifted with “an ability to put together jumbled facts into a coherent picture.” Her theories have caused the hashtags #BroochDecoderRing and #BroochWarfare to spread, and inspired Vice to label the affair “Broochgate.”

#BroochDecoderRing The following data relies heavily on the work of the blogger at “Her Majesty’s Jewel Box”. If you swing by there (I will be linking), BE ADVISED THE BLOGGER WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS POLITICAL STUFF THAT IS NOT WHY SHE IS THERE so take it easy.

— Bitch. STILL my superhero name. (@SamuraiKnitter) July 15, 2018

But what does it all mean? Is there a meaning behind the queen’s jewels? Was she really sipping subtle tea over Trump while having actual tea with him?

In a word: possibly. Let’s take a closer look.

Her majesty’s brooches are a ubiquitous fashion statement — they’ve been a prominent part of her wardrobe her whole life, and her fondness for them is so well-known that they’ve become a common gift presented to her by foreign dignitaries and other guests and friends. And on the internet, there’s a small but thriving band of jewel watchers and bloggers, broadcasting the #TiaraAlert and documenting royal jewels from around the globe, with an eye toward Queen Elizabeth’s in particular. One of these blogs, Order of Splendor, drew so much interest for its posts about the queen’s brooches that its author created a spinoff, the Queen’s Jewel Vault, just to chronicle the royal bling.

As that blogger has explained, “There are brooches representing countries, organizations, and regiments as well as brooches given as gifts and brooches inherited with great historical and sentimental significance.”

And these jewels are frequently interpreted to carry significant meanings beyond “here’s a shiny thing on my lapel.” For instance, there’s the huge True Lover’s Knot brooch, which the queen wore at two royal weddings — the 1960 wedding of her sister Princess Margaret, and the 2011 wedding of her grandson Prince William.

Additionally, there are multiple brooches that have been given as gifts to Queen Elizabeth or her predecessors by various countries, and which she has subsequently worn — you guessed it — while attending state functions hosted by those countries. Thus, it has become generally accepted among jewel watchers that the queen frequently uses her jewels to indicate loyalty and friendship between the UK and other nations.

Hence the great attention being paid to the brooches she wore during Trump’s visit.

Queen Elizabeth wore three brooches during Trump’s visit. She donned the first one on the day of his arrival, at the height of the publicity surrounding his appearance as well as the height of the controversy.

The brooch in question is colloquially known as the “American state visit brooch.” That’s not an official name — it was made up by the author of the Queen’s Jewel Vault blog (which SamuraiKnitter cites many times throughout her Twitter thread). The media seems to have run with it anyway, perhaps because up until now, very few people outside these royal fashion fans were keeping a close eye on what jewels the queen wore.

The so-called “American state visit brooch” is an antique gift, made in the US in the 1950s in and given to the queen by the Obamas during an official state visit to the UK in 2011.

The so-called “American state visit brooch,” which the Obamas gave the queen. Queen’s Jewel Vault

Small and relatively unassuming, the flower made of gold, diamonds, and agate attracted little attention at first. But when sharp-eyed observers realized the queen was wearing a gift from Trump’s most prominent political enemy, tongues started wagging.

The US has given QE jewelry before over the years and I bet her dresser could put hands on any and all of it given five minutes. But she chose the most SENTIMENTAL piece in the collection, the one that was given OUT OF FRIENDSHIP WITH THE OBAMAS AS PEOPLE.

— Bitch. STILL my superhero name. (@SamuraiKnitter) July 15, 2018

Next up: day two of Trump’s visit, during which he sat down with England’s prime minister at a state banquet that was notably not hosted at Buckingham Palace and was unattended by Queen Elizabeth, in contrast to her treatment of the Obamas. Throughout the day, Elizabeth wore a gift presented to her by the governor general of Canada in 2017.

Queen Elizabeth wore the Sapphire Jubilee Snowflake Brooch on July 14 while meeting the king and queen of Belgium. Getty Images; Queen’s Jewel Vault

It’s the Sapphire Jubilee Snowflake Brooch, and it was given to commemorate her 65 years on the throne. But to SamuraiKnitter, Queen Elizabeth’s choice to wear it during Trump’s visit was an in-your-face demonstration of loyalty to a country Trump has had serious issues with of late:

It’s called the Sapphire Jubillee Brooch, and it was given to the Queen of England as a gift for ruling for eleventy billion (okay, 65). From Canada. You know, who Trump’s been screaming about and insulting. The commonwealth country and one of the UK’s greatest allies. Them.

— Bitch. STILL my superhero name. (@SamuraiKnitter) July 15, 2018

If all that sounds pretty baller, it arguably gets better.

For the last occasion — the awkward moment when the ruler of the British Commonwealth stood around waiting for nearly 15 minutes to meet Trump — the queen wore an un-ostentatious diamond teardrop brooch.

Getty Images

The brooch was a gift passed down to her by her mother, who wore it during the 1952 state funeral for her husband, King George VI (Queen Elizabeth’s father). It appears prominently in the famous “Three Queens” photo from the occasion.

Jewel watchers nearly died, because it is the brooch worn in the famous “Three Queens in Mourning” photo, worn by the Queen Mum: pic.twitter.com/3xS2C56Xcj

— Bitch. STILL my superhero name. (@SamuraiKnitter) July 15, 2018

Of course, it’s impossible to know for certain that the queen intended to send the message that dining with Trump was the social equivalent of attending her father’s funeral — or, just to toss out another metaphorical possibility, that Trump’s presidency represents the symbolic death of the American experiment.

But either way, Trump detractors seem to be delighted by the idea of Queen Elizabeth supporting the #resistance with bosom gemstones.

“The irony to all this,” SamuraiKnitter told Vox, “is I don’t actually pay that much attention to brooches. I like the tiaras.”

And even though jewel watchers can only speculate over the queen’s intended brooch symbolism during Trump’s visit, the popularity of the discussion has made it overwhelmingly clear that there is a growing audience for those seeking confirmation of their political opinions in even the most unexpected places.

We look forward to discovering what sort of coded shade her majesty might be tossing the next time she breaks out the Burmese Ruby.

Original Source -> “Brooch warfare,” explained: what Queen Elizabeth’s jewels might be saying about Trump

via The Conservative Brief