#but it's called: using your judgement to determine if a person is a reasonable threat to you

[blackpilljesus]

I find community discourse incredibly annoying. People are often like "Wheres's the community? We need community! People are so individualistic these days". Individualism gets a lot of criticism but nobody ever questions why this happens. While there are some merits to communities, historically communities have mainly benefitted the priviledged. Most communities evolve into divide-and-rule politics where some are seen as more deserving than others (based on things that cannot be controlled). If you're a marginalised person, more often than not you get bs from communities, not love and protection as advertised.

When you're on the short stick side of the divide-and-rule politics in communities, communities are dangerous for you. It will be seen as acceptable to abuse & put you in horrible conditions simply bc of what you are. Those who abuse tend to be in higher positions in communities so when you call them out people wouldn't care or believe you. You'll be punished when you fight back however. When you're marginalised in a community you receive the worst brunts from people and it's seen as okay to be less deserving of support. You wont be supported in community.

People talk about "safety in numbers" but when the community faces trouble, they will have no problem abandoning or sacrificing the marginalised to save themselves at large. Communities have no problem throwing others away or isolating them once it benefits them. Alot of the time people are used & abused in communities so they're fed up with that, fed up of being treated like second class citizens in communities.

Look at the way communties people reminisce about & yearn for actually turned out. "We had community back in the day" yeah the same ones full of predatory uncles that would abuse women & children and get defended, the same communities full of victim blaming & shaming women + girls for being abused, the same communities where some were implicitly told they were more inferior but if they obeyed those higher up in power they can be forgiven. People talk about a lack of a "third place" bc of the rise of secularism so less are going to places of worship but many people leave those communities (even if their faith is still intact) because of corruption & abuse. The judgements & hypocrisy in these places is a lot (one of the reasons I personally left religion & the community too).

Best believe if you can hold your own down, being in a community is more dangerous than being alone bc like i said when things go south your ass will be on the chopping block first. Hell if people just want to abuse, they'll go for the marginalised first & so much abuse is enabled in communities. They'll ostracise & shun you and the threat of that alone keeps many in line to uphold abusive structures in place in communities.

"But humans are natural social creatures that want to be in groups" is something I hear often & that should make you stop and think of how so many people going against this instinct to survive says a lot about how dangerous alot of communities are. It's our nature to socialise, be in groups yet it's chosen to be independent because of the danger groups actually present when you're not seen as a valued member of them.

At this point people would either say "look inwards" or "find better communities out there" but the problem is that status in communities isnt entirely based on the merit of the way you behave. Finding communities where you're accepted & valued IRL tends to be based on things you cant control. It's not like the internet where you put yourself out there & eventually find your community even if they live all over the world. In reality it's another ballgame, people are more closed off & judgemental if you dont fit certain standards so it's more difficult to find places where you'll fit in. Also, as mentioned the determining factors of the way you'll be treated in communities are based on things you cant control, your characteristics will do more speaking and determination for you. So it's not as easy as just "find a better community". Given the way activism is on the internet, many people forget how conservative & hostile the real world actually is. Things like sexism, colorism, racism, ableism, homophobia, lookism etc; play a big role in most communities irl which is why many people seek alt communities online even though those come with issues of their own but to not stray away from the point this is why many people arent fucking with -irl- community shit anymore.

This discource pisses me off because when you constantly receive crap from communities people blame you for it but when you leave you get badgered for not having or being part of community. Communities benefit the priviledged as they uplift those on top, they get to take more from communities & enrich themselves while those at the bottom get fucked over and it's no wonder so many people get fed up and decide to put things into their own hands than risk being in/trusting communities that wont hesitate to risk or end your life over bs. I know that not all communities out there will be horrible but as mentioned finding communities IRL where you'll be accepted as a marginalised person is difficult. Finding equitable communities where everyone is held accountable for their actions, where people genuienly help each other to get by & survive over divide-and-rule politics is difficult.

People complaining about lack of community but wont address the rampant abuse that happens in them tells me they dont care about community spirit as they claim they just want pools of people to exploit and are disguising it under communal spirit & protection. I dont fw communities & sometimes people will tell me i cant do everything alone, no man is an island -good thing i'm a woman then lol- but fr the people this crap comes from are the type of people that make communities suck & i wouldn't want to be in a community with them anyways bc they're horrible & would just exploit. Individualism is on the rise because so many of us marginalised people who grew up in communities realise we're better off alone & idc what anyone says if they feel they're better off within communitities then bet but a lot of the time others are better off alone. And icl one positive of capitalism is that it gives you a chance to rely on communities less & have a more independent lifestyle. Yes there's still a level of people/community engagement but we're not as tightly bound to a community like a small tribe in a village bc tbh i'd probably be dead by now if i had to live & rely on others that way.

Instead of just criticising individualism & guilt tripping people to join communities, if people actually care do inflection about your "communities". Except this wont happen bc this isnt about community spirit but looking for others to exploit which is why it's being aggresively pushed.

[walkingstackofbooks]

Hippocratic Oath + Julian's Genetically Enhanced Status

I love how in Hippocratic Oath (4x03), Julian is so determined to help the Jem’Hadar, and so optimistic about what he could do. (Although his tendency to overestimate his abilities is also poking through here, I’m sure there's something to be said about that… not now, though)

But last time I watched this episode, it was without knowing about his genetic enhancements - and so this time round, it really struck me how much that might play into what he's thinking. When watching The Abandoned (3x06), I wondered how the discovery of the Jem’Hadar being genetically engineered must have given him mixed feelings. We see in Dr Bashir I Presume that he considers the use of “monster” to describe himself acceptable, and we know that through Earth’s history, the term “augment” conjures up the picture of the most brutal and violent humans. If Julian has ever worried about his potential to become a genetically-enhanced killing-machine, what must it feel like to come face to face with a genetically-enhanced killing machine?

The Jem’Hadar have not appeared in an episode since The Abandoned (their presence in The Die Is Cast is only assumed), and so are probably not at the forefront of Julian’s mind, despite the Dominion becoming somewhat more of a threat. Now, however, a year later, we get to see assume Julian once again has to wrestle with what that slight kinship with himself means to him. For obvious reasons, as written, the script doesn't allude to Julian's own enhancements - but I think it’s interesting to explore the assumption that, on some level, he already feels more pity for these people than he does revulsion.

And in light of that I think it changes slightly why he is reacting to Miles the way he does. I mean, I do think primarily his anger is directed at the fact that people have died – in a manner he thinks could have been prevented, and he had been willing to risk his own life for that possibility. In addition, when he tells Miles it had been his choice to condemn those men to death, and Miles replies that he did it to save Julian, I think Julian feels very uncomfortable with the fact that anyone should have to die to save his own life. His desire to be a hero is also coming into play – not just for the Jem’Hadar, but also to be able to triumphantly rid the Dominion of their soldiers! But I think he also is taking it more personally then might be assumed if you didn't know his back story.

We know what the Federation think of genetic engineering. And because of the Eugenics Wars, augments like Khan are talked about in a very similar manner to the way people - and in particular, Miles – talk about the Jem’Hadar. Miles calls them killers, bloodthirsty, unable to change, and for Julian, Miles’ own unchanging view of the Jem’Hadar - no matter that Goran'Agar, unlike the others, is starting to break the mould - echoes what he thinks of augments. Or what he might think of augments. Julian is unable know how his friends would treat him, but this is kind of testing the waters. Obviously, the situations are far from the same, but the fact that Miles’ fear of these genetically enhanced beings overrides any care for their survival - or really any compassion full stop! – must sting. Not to mention that, while Miles seemed to have regret over destroying Julian’s work and disobeying orders, I don’t see that he regretted leaving the Jem’Hadar to die.

Julian's indignation is definitely about the fact that the Jem’Hadar have no control over who they are or what they are, and as soon as he sees any indication that they're capable of change he wants to help them because, as they say, he's a Federation Doctor who is compassionate. But I don't think it lessens this episode at all to say that maybe some part of him is thinking, “By your logic, I should be a killer. But I'm not. And maybe the Jem’Hadar don't have to be either.”

And maybe also, “If Miles doesn't trust me in my judgement as a doctor and a senior officer,  even while he believes I’m fully human, there's no way he'd ever trust me as an augment.”

Or, “I have no control over who I am or what I am, and if you knew who I was… I think you would hate me.”

Or, “Will there come a day when you condemn me to death?”

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

Scenes that especially made me Feel This:

BASHIR: [The Jem'Hadar are] not animals! They're people being used as slaves! And this is their one chance at freedom. O'BRIEN: And what are they going to do with that freedom? Stop being so naïve, Julian, and look at them for what they are. They're killers! That's all they know how to do and that's all they want to do. BASHIR: But they have the potential to be so much more. 

Hippocratic Oath 28:02

O'BRIEN: I wish things could have been different, Julian. BASHIR: So do I. O'BRIEN: And I'm sorry I had to destroy your work. BASHIR: You didn't have to, Chief. You had a choice and you chose to disobey orders, override my judgment, and condemn those men to death.

Hippocratic Oath 43:13

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Young!Max having a crush on you would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by my brain who wouldn’t let this idea leave it)

(Ah yes, the bi lifestyle: loving both women and Robert De Niro respectively)

- Moving to a different borough during his late teens gave Max the perfect opportunity to start fresh and find himself a girl who didn’t know what he looked like during his more gangly and awkward phases of adolescent growth. And that’s exactly what he did; though whether or not he was still gangly and awkward is definitely up for debate. 

- A pretty girl is a pretty girl but Max definitely has an especially stiff hard on for girls; or boys, who are “sinners”. He likes rambunctious people who get down and dirty, and who can hold their own against his equally unsavory “business practices”. He doesn’t see himself leaving this job of his anytime soon so he’s looking for someone who can roll with the punches, or at least someone who knows when to duck. 

- Max adheres to a pretty hard ‘love at first sight’ policy, if he likes someone, he likes them the first time he sees them, and it only spirals from there. That’s what’s good about him: your personality will be a plus but it technically doesn’t even matter. Whoever you turn out to be is irrelevant; he loves you from the beginning and he’s determined to love you no matter what. 

- For obvious reasons, the way Max goes about his crushes all depends on the type of person he’s managed to fall for. If the girl is sweet then he’s gonna find it a lot harder to get close to her, but if they’re on the “sour” side, he’ll find it a lot easier. He just knows how to handle and appeal to those types of characters a lot better. 

- He doesn’t really know how to act like a gentleman without it coming off as awkward and insincere so he’d probably just play into the whole “rapscallion thing” and teasingly make himself out to be some sort of thug: all the while behaving in an obviously good natured way so you; the “good girl”, don’t actually see him as a threat or think he’s willing to hurt you. He might pull your leg or act unceremonious and uncivilized but that’s just his personality; and the personality of most teenage boys in your area so it doesn't scare you off. 

- Although, as I said before: Max is typically attracted to people who aren’t very innocent and sweet. You don’t have to be born with a “how to pick pocket” pamphlet in your brain, but having a mind that conjures up insults and quick comebacks will definitely help your case.

- When you meet him for the first time, he’ll undoubtedly manage to get a rise out of you and though you’re trying your best to scare him off; what with all your insults and other signs of verbal distaste for him, all you manage to do is draw him and make him want to know you even more. 

- Unfortunately for you, Max’s usual method for making new friends is trying to prove that he’s better than or just as good as them. Impressing them by triumphing over them and making sure that they don’t write him off too quickly; even if it means that they initially dislike him. 

- Max isn’t shy in the slightest: he’ll interject himself into your life as soon as possible and probably piss you off in the process, all before redeeming himself in one way or another; forcing you to drop your animosity towards him against your own better judgement.

- If you’re the type of girl who’s willing to do some terrible shit for some money, he’d probably tease you about being “just a girl” but wouldn't miss the opportunity to get close to you; either convincing you to join forces with him after seeing how much potential you have or taking you in under his wing/letting you join his makeshift business after you approach him yourself. 

- He uses this newfound relationship of yours to get closer to you and otherwise cockblock you. Oh, what’s this? You’re talking to another boy? Time to call you over when he really doesn’t need to and either divvy up your cash or brief you on your next set of shenanigans. 

- He’d make jokes about your “new romance” with another boy but would grow annoyed and act somewhat betrayed whenever you’d blow him off to hang out with them. He’d never come up with an arguably valid excuse; mainly because he didn’t have one, but he’d say something along the lines of how the two of you are partners and that you need to stick together and trust no one else. 

- Sometimes you’ll get into fights over his possessiveness or in your eyes; his moodiness/pushiness, but you’re never able to stay mad at each other for very long. You’ll walk down the street, swearing you won’t talk to him for the rest of your life but a few glances from across the road as he works for his mother; seeing the way he stops in his tracks to stare at you and the way his eyes hold a hope that you’ll approach him, and your resolve breaks little by little; even if you really want to punish him.

- Working for his mother gave him a surprising amount of strength and he likes to use it to his advantage from time to time: picking you up and helping you down from places regardless of whether or not you actually need him to; playing chivalrous. He always feels a wave of pride wash over him when you look to him whenever you need some help; especially if there’s other boys there that you could have or maybe even should have asked. It inflates his ego to consider the fact that you think he’s the strongest one in the vicinity.

- Whenever him and his mother drive around town; particularly if you aren’t very close yet, he likes to smile down and offer you a ride: helping you up happily if you shyly agree and sitting thigh to thigh as you ride on the little step in back.

- He walks you home and to school a lot as well; even though he doesn’t go himself (I think?). He gets up early to walk with you yet plays it off like he has things to do whenever you ask why he’s awake; even though his job doesn’t start for another hour or he took off just to come and take you. 

- His arm around your shoulders while he guides you around town. He always makes a joke out of it, slinging his arm around you while he makes some sort of teasing comment, but it allows him to be affectionate with you and scare off potential suitors all the same.

- He’s kind of a little asshole but he’s also sort of cute with it. Like yes, he pushed you into a pool of water; clothes and all, but he did jump in after you and the two of you did have a lot of fun. They’re the sorts of things that you brush off as stupid situations that all guys get into with their male friends; things you’d know nothing about since you’re a girl and always left out of them, but it’s definitely more of a “stupid things guys do when they have a crush” sort of thing and an attempt to tear down your walls and get closer to you. 

- He looks back at these moments fondly and thinks of them as proof that you have to like him back or at least be close to realizing that you have all along. He imagines that you can use them as evidence to choose him over someone else or that you’ll both be able to think back of them years down the line and reminisce about how the two of you fell in love. 

- He’s definitely stolen some kind of jewelry for you and though you have to hide it from your mother; knowing you’d never be able to explain or come up with an excuse, you still wear it every day and night. 

- If you’re particularly small or of the innocent variety then he’d definitely be fairly protective of you: acting like your knight in shining armor and keeping an eye on you, making sure you stay relatively out of trouble and always having your back against the dangerous fools of the city.

- Him getting into a fight over you is pretty much inevitable. The minute a guy disrespects or threatens you, he loses his temper and winds up rolling around on the ground with them; getting in as many punches as he can. 

- It isn’t often but he’ll occasionally get himself into worrying situations just to have you show that you care for him; especially if you’re a ‘play it cool’ type of person. He’ll pretend to drown or say something about him being in danger or he’ll purposefully scuff himself up to see if you’ll notice and care: and he’s always ecstatic to see that you do; even if you merely make a joke about it or pretend like you care a lot less than you really do. 

- There are definitely times during your friendship where you jokingly pretend to be husband and wife: jokingly because he’s absolutely only joking. He’s just calling you dearest for the bit haha. It’s so funny when you rest your head lovingly on his shoulder and stroll with him arm in arm. Finishing each others sentences really takes this comedic routine to the next level haha.

- Your ability to momentarily fluster him is unmatched; even if you don't quite notice the fact that you��ve made him nervous or the reason you've somehow attained this new skill.

- He’s got a lot of pictures of you on his camera. Most of them are joking, a sort of “oh, come and model for me” brand of over exaggerated poses, but he’ll also occasionally catch you off guard with a quick “look over here” and a flash of the light. Sometimes you’ll take them purposefully and try to look tough or cool; something he finds particularly adorable, and other times he’ll use the excuse of wanting to see how well it works to get close ups and candid photos of you. They’re some of his most treasured possessions.

- He looks you up and down and watches you under his lashes a lot: and if you were ever paying enough attention to notice or were just a bit more knowledgeable when it came to romance; you’d easily be able to tell that he was in love with you just from those little looks alone. 

- He spies on you but he’s a whole lot better at not being caught then Noodles is so sorry but you’ll probably never find out about his creepy occasional habit.

- At some point, he learns the usefulness of a bra and subsequently hands you things he needs you to hold and/or hide. Later looking at them like “oh dear, this has touched the tit of the woman I love” or sneaking glances at you as you dig everything out of your shirt once you've both gotten away from the scene of the crime.

- Okay, but him dressing you up in his old hand-me-downs in an attempt to keep you safe and make it easier for you to run and him falling even more in love with you as a butch, soot and sweat covered little girl; head over heels for you the same way a normal boy would react to seeing a girl in her Sunday best. 

- Speaking of clothes: at some point, you’ll find yourself in love with another boy; enough to where you’re attempting to dress up and make yourself more presentable, and though you insist it’s for another reason entirely, he’ll know why you’re doing it immediately and the thought of it will kill him. He'll feel betrayed and like the guy is unworthy and he’ll probably make comments about how “if a guy doesn't like you in your normal clothes then he wont like you in a fancy dress”. And though the comments bother you, you try not to take them to heart: responding with something like “I don’t know what you’re talking about” or how “if anyone if going to like [you] they’re gonna have to realize you’re a girl.”. 

- I don’t think that Max would confess, I think he’d just lay one on you one day and keep kissing you until you melted or wrenched yourself away from him; if only to look at him in surprise and ask what he “did that for”.

“Cause I wanted to.” He’d say out of breath and you’d pause before saying something like ‘oh,’ or ‘you could have asked’; as you took into consideration exactly what he was trying to tell you. 

“Can I” He’d respond and after a small pause, you’d agree and he’d grin; glancing down at your lips before crushing you to him once again. 

[writingwithcolor]

I'm writing an AU of a movie that takes place in the 1880s USA, where a travelling white character and a Jewish character are waylaid by Native Americans, who they befriend. Probably because it was written by and about PoC (Jews) the scene actually avoids the stuff on your Native American Masterpost, but I'd still like to do better than a movie made in the 1980's, and I feel weird cutting them from the plot entirely. I have a Jewish woman reading it for that, but are there any things you (1/1)

2/2 1880s western movie ask--are there things you'd LIKE to see in a movie where a white man and a Jewish man run into Native Americans in the 1880s? I do plan to base them on a real tribe (Ute, probably) and have proper housing/clothes and so forth, but right now I'm just trying to avoid or subvert awful cowboy movie tropes. Any ideas?

White and Jewish Men, Native American interactions in 1880s

I am vaguely concerned with how you only cite one of our posts about Native Americans, that was not written by a Native person, and do not cite any of the posts relating to this time period, or any posts relating to representation in media. 

Sidenote: if you want us to give accurate reflections of the media you’re discussing, please tell us the NAME. I cannot go look up this movie based off this description to give you an idea of what my issues are with this scene, and must instead trust that the representation is good based off your judgement. I cannot make my own judgement. This is a problem. Especially since your whole question boils down to “this scene is good but not great and I want it to be great. How can I do that?”

Your baseline for “good” could very well be my baseline for “terrible hack job”. I can’t give you the proper education required for you to be able to accurately evaluate the media you’re watching for racist stereotypes if you don’t tell me what you’re even working with.

When you’re writing fanfic where the media is directly relevant to the question, please tell us the name of the media. We will not judge your tastes. We need this information in order to properly help you.

Moving on.

I bring up my concern for you citing that one—exceptionally old—post because it is lacking in many of the tropes that don’t exist in the media critique field but exist in the real world. This is an issue I have run into countless times on WWC (hence further concern you did not cite any other posts) and have spoken about at length. 

People look at the media critique world exclusively, assume it is a complete evaluation of how Native Americans are seen in society, and as a result end up ignoring some really toxic stereotypes and then come to the inbox with “these characters aren’t abc trope, so they’re fine, but I want to rubber stamp them anyway. Anything wrong here?”. The answer is pretty much always yes. 

Issue one: “Waylaid” by Native Americans

This wording is extremely loaded for one reason: Native American people are seen as tricksters, liars, and predators. This is the #1 trope that shows up in the real world that does not show up in media critique. It’s also the trope I have talked about the most when it comes to media representation, so you not knowing the trope is a sign you haven’t read the entirety of the Native tag—which is in the FAQ as something we would really prefer you did before coming at us to answer questions. It avoids us having to re-explain ourselves.

Now, hostility is honestly to be expected for the time period the movie is set in. This is in the beginnings (or ramping up) of residential schools in America* and Canada, we have generations upon generations of stolen or killed children, reserves being allocated perhaps hundreds of miles from sacred sites, and various wars with Plains and Southwest peoples are in full force (Wounded Knee would have happened in 1890, in December, and the Dakoa’s mass execution would have been in 1862. Those are just the big-name wars. There absolutely were others). 

*America covers up its residential schools abuse extremely thoroughly, so if you try to research them in the American context you will come up empty. Please research Canada’s schools and apply the same abuse to America, as Canada has had a Truth and Reconciliation Commission about residential schools and therefore is more (but not completely) transparent about the abuse that happened. Please note that America’s history with residential schools is longer than Canada’s history. There is an extremely large trigger warning for mass child death when you do this research.

But just because the hostility is expected does not mean that this hostility would be treated well in the movie. Especially when you consider the sheer amount of tension between any Native actors and white actors, for how Sacheen Littlefeather had just been nearly beaten up by white actors at the 1973 Academy Awards for mentioning Wounded Knee, and the American Indian Religious Freedom Act had only been passed two years prior in 1978. 

These Native actors would not have had the ability to truly consent to how they were shown, and this power dynamic has to be in your mind when you watch this scene over. I don’t care that the writers were from a discriminated-against background. This does not always result in being respectful, and I’ve also spoken about this power imbalance at length (primarily in the cowboy tag).

Documentaries and history specials made in the 2010s (with some degree of academic muster) will still fall into wording that harkens Indigenous people to wolves and settlers as frightened prey animals getting picked off by the mean animalistic Natives. This is not neutral, or good. This is perpetuating the myth that the settlers were helpless, just doing their own thing completely unobtrusively, and then the evil territorial Native Americans didn’t want to share.

To paraphrase Batman: if I had a week I couldn’t explain all the reasons that’s wrong.

How were these characters waylaid by the Native population? Because that answer—which I cannot get because you did not name the media—will determine how good the framing is. But based on the time period this movie was made alone, I do not trust it was done respectfully.

Issue 2: “Befriending”

I mentioned this was in an intense period of residential schools and land wars all in that area. The Ute themselves had just been massacred by Mormons in the Grass Valley Massacre in 1865, with ten men and an unknown number of women and children killed thanks to a case of assumed association with a war chief (Antonga Black Hawk) currently at war with Utah. The Paiute had been massacred in 1866. Over 100 Timpanogo men had been killed, with an unknown number of women and children enslaved by Brigham Young in Salt Lake City in 1850, with many of the enslaved people dying in captivity (those numbers were not tracked, but I would assume at least two hundred were enslaved— that’s simply assuming one woman/wife and one child for every man, and the numbers could have very well been higher if any war-widows and their children were in the group, not to mention families with multiple children). This is after an unknown group of Indigenous people had been killed by Governor Brigham Young the year prior, to “permanently stop cattle theft” from settlers. 

The number of Native Americans killed in Utah in the 1800s—just the number of dead counted (since women and children weren’t counted)—in massacres not tied to war (because there was at least one war) is over 130. The actual number of random murders is much higher; between the uncounted deaths and how the Governor had issued orders to “deal with” the problem of cattle theft permanently. I doubt you would have been tried or convicted if you murdered Indigenous peoples on “your” land. This is why it’s called state sanctioned genocide.

This is not counting the Black Hawk War in Utah (1865-1872), which the Ute were absolutely a part of (the wiki articles I read were contradictory if Antonga Black Hawk was Ute or Timpanogo, but the Ute were part of it). The first official massacre tied to the war—the Bear River Massacre, ordered by the US Military—places the death count of just that singular massacre at over five hundred Shoshone, including elders, women, and children. It would not be unreasonable to assume that the number of Indigenous people killed in Utah from 1850, onward, is over a thousand, perhaps two or three.

Pardon me for not reading beyond that point to list more massacres and simply ballparking a number; the source will be linked for you to get an accurate number of dead.

So how did they befriend the Native population? Let alone see them as fully human considering the racism of the time period? Natives were absolutely not seen as fully human so long as they were tied to their culture, and assimilation equalling some sliver of respect was already a stick being waved around as a threat. This lack of humanity continues to the present day.

I’m not saying friendship is impossible. I am saying the sheer levels of mistrust that would exist between random wandering groups of white/pale men and Indigenous communities wouldn’t exactly make that friendship easy. Having the scene end be a genuine friendship feels ignorant and hollow and flattening of ongoing genocide, because settlers lied about their intentions and then lined you up for slauther (that’s how the Timpanogo were killed and enslaved).

Utah had already done most of its mass killing by this point. The era of trusting them was over. There was an active open hunting season, and the acceptable targets were the Indigenous populations of Utah.

(sources for the numbers: 

List of Indian Massacres in North America Black Hawk War (1865-1872))

Issue 3: “Proper housing/clothes and so forth”

Do you mean Western style settlements and jeans? If yes, congratulations you have written a reservation which means the land-ripped-away wounds are going to be fresh, painful, and sore.

You do not codify what you mean by “proper”, and proper is another one of those deeply loaded colonial words that can mean “like a white man” or “appropriate for their tribe.” For the time period, it would be the former. Without specifying which direction you’re going for, I have no idea what you’re imagining. And without the name of the media, I don’t know what the basis of this is.

The reservation history of this time period seems to maybe have some wiggle room; there were two reservations allocated for the Ute at this time, one made in 1861 and another made in 1882 (they were combined into the Uintah and Ouray Indian Reservation in 1886). This is all at the surface level of a google and wikipedia search, so I have no idea how many lived in the bush and how many lived on the reserve. 

There were certainly land defenders trying to tell Utah the land did not belong to them, so holdouts that avoided getting rounded up were certainly possible. But these holdouts would be far, far more hostile to anyone non-Native.

The Ute seemed to be some degree of lucky in that the reserve is on some of their ancestral territory, but any loss of land that large is going to leave huge scars. 

It should be noted that reserves would mean the traditional clothing and housing would likely be forbidden, because assimilation logic was in full force and absolutely vicious at this time. 

It’s a large reserve, so the possibility exists they could have accidentally ended up within the borders of it. I’m not sure how hostile the state government was for rounding up all the Ute, so I don’t know if there would have been pockets of them hiding out. In present day, half of the Ute tribe lives on the reserve, but this wasn’t necessarily true historically—it could have been a much higher percentage in either direction.

It’s up to you if you want to make them be reservation-bound or not. Regardless, the above mentioned genocide would have been pretty fresh, the land theft in negotiations or already having happened, and generally, the Ute would be well on their way to every assimilation attempt made from either residential schools, missionaries, and/or the forced settlement and pre-fab homes.

To Answer Your Question

I don’t want another flattened, sanitized portrayal of genocide.

Look at the number of dead above, the amount of land lost above, the amount of executive orders above. And try to tell me that these people would be anything less than completely and totally devastated. Beyond traumatized. Beyond broken hearted. Absolutely grief stricken with almost no soul left.

Their religion would have been illegal. Their children would have been stolen. Their land was taken away. A saying about post-apocalyptic fiction is how settler-based it is, because Indigenous people have already lived through their own apocalypse.

It would have all just happened at the time period this story is set in. All of the grief you feel now at the environment changing so drastically that you aren’t sure how you’ll survive? Take that, magnify it by an exponential amount because it happened, and you have the mindset of these Native characters.

This is not a topic to tread lightly. This is not a topic to read one masterpost and treat it as a golden rule when there is too much history buried in unmarked, overfull graves of school grounds and cities and battlefields. I doubt the movie you’re using is good representation if it doesn’t even hint at the amount of trauma these Native characters would have been through in thirty years.

A single generation, and the life that they had spent millennia living was gone. Despite massive losses of life trying to fight to preserve their culture and land.

Learn some history. That’s all I can tell you. Learn it, process it, and look outside of checklists. Look outside of media. 

And let us have our grief.

~ Mod Lesya

On Question Framing

Please allow me the opportunity to comment on “are there things you'd LIKE to see in a movie where a white man and a Jewish man run into Native Americans in the 1880s?” That strikes me as the same type of question as asking what color food I’d like for lunch. I don’t see how the cultural backgrounds of characters I have literally no other information about is supposed to make me want anything in particular about them. I don’t know anything about their personalities or if they have anything in common.

Compare the following questions:

“Are there things you’d like to see in a movie where two American women, one from a Nordic background and one Jewish, are interacting?” I struggle to see how our backgrounds are going to yield any further inspiration. It certainly doesn’t tell you that we’re both queer and cling to each other’s support in a scary world; it doesn’t tell you that we uplift each other through mental illness; it doesn’t go into our 30 years of endless bizarre inside jokes related to everything from mustelids to bad subtitles.

Because: “white”, “Jewish”, and “Native American” aren’t personality words. You can ask me what kind of interaction I’d like to see from a high-strung overachieving woman and a happy-go-lucky Manic Pixie Dream Girl, and I’ll tell you I’d want fluffy f/f romance. Someone else might want conflict ultimately resolving in friendship. A third person might want them slowly getting on each other’s nerves more and more until one becomes a supervillain and the other must thwart her. But the same question about a cultural demographic? That told me nothing about the people involved.

Also, the first time I meet a new person from a very different culture, it might take weeks before discussion of our specific cultural differences comes up. As a consequence, my first deep conversations with a Costa Rican American gentile friend were not about Costa Rica or my Jewishness but about things we had in common: classical music and coping with breakups--which are obviously conversations I could have had if we were both Jewish, both Costa Rican gentiles, or both something else. So in other words, I’m having trouble seeing how knowing so little about these characters is supposed to give me something to want to see on the page.

Thank you for understanding.

(And yes, I agree with Lesya, what’s with this trend of people trying to explain their fandom in a roundabout way instead of mentioning it by name? It makes it harder to give meaningful help….)

--Shira

[plus-size-reader]

Those Eyes

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1605 words

Warnings: A bit of an AU so keep that in mind

Summary: You knew there was something familiar about the man

——————————————————————————————————

You still had nightmares about the day your parents were murdered.

At the time, you had been a kid, no more than six years old, but you still couldn't get the memory out of your head. You were supposed to go with them, while your older brother Tony stayed behind but they never made it to the Bahamas.

When the car crashed, you had been asleep though you woke rather quickly when the car jolted to a stop.

The events that followed were a blur now, but there was one thing you remembered. There was a man there, a man who you had never been able to forget. When the car slammed into the hill, you slipped down behind your mother's seat, just as your father whispered for you to do.

Looking back, it was clear to you that he knew they were going to die, but he thought perhaps in trying to hide you, you may be spared.

You heard your mother shriek your father's name once or twice as he was struck, then she was killed shortly after. At that age, experiencing a car crash and a double homicide was too much to handle, which resulted in several developmental struggles growing up.

All you remembered was looking up and coming face to face with the man who killed your parents, though most of his face was covered with a dark mask. At this point in your life, you only remembered one thing

...Those blue eyes.

No matter what you did, you couldn't get that image out of your head.

For some reason, you had made it your personal business, even at that time to recall that one thing to memory. It was as if you thought a pair of eyes would be able to help you identify the person who murdered your parents.

Still, as foolish as it seemed, you couldn't help but see them everywhere. When you dreamed, you tried to recall any other details, but all that was left were those eyes.

For the life of you, you couldn't recall anything other than that. Maybe that was the reason you kept it to yourself, when you finally did realize what happened that night, many years later. After you were sure that man had left, you got out of the car and started walking down the road.

It wasn't long before a nice older couple picked you up and drove you to the hospital where you were positively identified and they called your brother, seventeen at the time.

Several people visited for the next few days, asking you questions about what had happened, but you had no idea. Eventually, they concluded it was an fatal car accident and the trauma had just affected you more than anything else.

For a long time after that, you didn't talk to anybody other than Tony at all, and while you'd come a long way since then, the nightmares had yet to stop.

In fact, you managed to do really well for yourself as an adult, using your above average I.Q and inheritance that you inherited to get several degrees in microbiology and chemical science.

He had always had much more of that dramatic flair, while you chose to focus more on the physical mediums and functionality of it all. However, as busy as you were being a creative genius, Tony was quick to bring you in on the Avenger's initiative.

It was just something that seemed so obvious to him.

S.H.I.E.L.D and more specifically, everything that the Avengers stood for had been your father's pet project and was in many ways, his legacy. There was no way he was going to be able to partake in that without his Brainiac little sister.

In general, you kept to yourself, helping out remotely or technically but something like a threat to national security was the kind of thing you had to get in on. There was no way that you were going to be there through facetime and scattered texts.

So, you got a flight.

That was how you met the rest of the Avengers, and in turn, The Winter Soldier.

The first person who greeted you at the door was Pepper, who you had begun to regard as a friend as well as the sister you'd never had. "Hey, you made it" she smiled, reaching you in a huge hug.

You only smiled, setting down your bags to envelop her fully, greeted fully by the smell of her lilac perfume that she wore almost every day. It was the same as every other time you'd been around her, but it felt like home in a lot of ways.

In your life, few things brought you that comfort of home so you took it where you could get it. It was the same feeling you had when you hugged Tony and smelled the mix of expensive cologne and bourbon on him.

That reminded you of your father.

"It was a bit of a flight but I'm glad I got in before midnight" you grinned, separating from her after a few seconds and turning toward the small crowd that had gathered behind her in your greeting.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" you heard, only getting a few seconds warning before your older brother tackled you in an equally huge hug, not even bothering to keep from nearly knocking you off your feet.

He hadn't seen you in months and for the two of you, that was far too long. Growing up, you had been nearly inseparable, even with the age gap between you with Tony practically raising you. In a lot of ways, it felt right to be here again, even with all that had changed.

...Even with that huge group of strangers right behind you.

"Tony, are you going to introduce me to all your friends?" you asked, doing the socially acceptable thing, even though you had read all there was to read about every single person here.

The only complete and total strange was the dark haired man in the back, leaning against the wall. You had no clue who he was, but you thought it best to just wait until he was introduced to you to admit that.

"Everyone, this is my sister. Sister, this is everyone" he winked, earning an eyeroll from you. Of course he wasn't just going to react normally to this sort of situation. He had to make everything so much more difficult than it had to be.

You smiled, an awkward little wave all you could come up with now that the pressure was on. It made you want to crawl into a hole and never leave, but luckily, everyone seemed to be just as gentle as possible.

If nothing else, they respected you.

"You've been studying my DNA, isn't that right?" Steve piped up, thinking back to when Tony had asked him for a blood sample, citing something about his nerdy little sister trying to figure out what made him the way he was.

You nodded, doing your very best to ignore the strangeness of the sentence. It was true that Howard had raised you with a bit of a super soldier obsession and you'd been determined to crack the code to the serum since you were fourteen.

"Yeah, it's a slow process but I'm making progress nonetheless" you allowed, smiling as a way to somehow convey how thankful you were that he allowed such a strange request with minimal judgement.

Someone had come up with a successful serum all those years ago, when the technology was far less advanced, so there was no reason you shouldn't be able to reverse engineer it with your current skill.

It was just going to take time.

"Well, maybe you could take a look at Bucky under a microscope. A second trial couldn't hurt, right?" the blonde suggested then, and as much as you didn't really want to talk to the mystery man in the corner, Steve was right.

More data was always a good thing, and these two men where the only living specimen for your project. If you had a chance to survey him, it would be in your best interest to do so.

"There you go. We'll just keep you busy while you're here so you can't leave" Tony chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek before heading to the other side of the room, down a long hallway.

At first,  you didn't venture to follow him, assuming he was just going to go get something but that changed rather quickly when he turned back to you.

"Come on, I've been working on a surprise for you"

...And a surprise it was.

You followed your brother down the long hallway to the final door on the end, where you found a huge lab. It was beautiful, and with the mounting promise of more data just on the horizon, you couldn't wait to get to work.

"I'll leave you to it. Love you kid" he hummed, leaving without so much more to you, which left you with the dark haired man. You had yet to get a good look at him yet, intimidated by his hulking, musclebound frame.

It wasn't until you spun around to ask him if he actually wanted to give you a blood sample that you stopped in your tracks, dropping the test tubes you'd been fiddling with to the floor. The glass shattered at your feet immediately but you hardly noticed.

As soon as you turned toward him, you once again came face to face with those blue eyes that haunted you.

[nahimjustaworm]

BkDk Titanic AU

the moon is on fire

Chapter 2 | Up, up, a little bit higher

Against his better judgement, Katsuki found himself on the Bridge deck, scanning the passengers for a curly head of green hair. He was dressed more casually than he was normally allowed, hoping to blend in a little more and not attract any attention for people that might recognize him. He was still thinking about Himiko’s thinly veiled threat, and though try as he might to wipe the shorter man from his memory, he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep easy, replaying the events from last night over and over in his head. He tried forcing these thoughts out of his head- they would do him no favors to fixate over, and worrying about his well being was of no use. In fact, it could put him in more danger.

But he thought that he owed it to this stranger to at least give him a little warning. That was the only reason he was over here.

After pacing around for what must have been a half hour, he stationed himself against a pole, leaning on it for support and crossing his arms. Perhaps it had been a long shot to come across him again. Perhaps it had been a little insane as well. He had barely even spoken to this person- in fact, most of their interaction had involved their fists. The most he had even learned about this mystery person was their name.

He was just about to give up and head back when he got a glimpse of green in his peripheral. There he was, finally. He was coming up the deck, face shoved into a notebook of some sorts, without caring to look at the environment around him. Katsuki huffed out a small laugh as he walked right past him.

“Oi, twerp,” he called out as Izuku kept walking. He startled and frantically looked around him, trying to see where the voice was coming from. “Behind you.”

Izuku turned around, and his eyes widened slightly once he recognized Katsuki. Katsuki raised up his hands, gesturing that he didn’t intend any ill will.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to attack you.” He took a couple steps towards him and crossed his arms.

“I see you managed to lose the rest of the fancy getup.” He gestured to Katsuki with his pencil.

Katsuki sputtered then turned away. “Let’s not mention that again.”

“My lips are sealed,” Izuku said, nodding seriously. “About… all of it.”

Katsuki gave him a careful look, trying to determine if he was being genuine. “...Thank you.”

“Is uh... that why you came down here… to assure that I wouldn’t say anything?”

“That is… part of the reason,” Katsuki said, glancing around them as he shifted on his feet awkwardly.

“Oh, only part?” the shorter man questioned, his interest piqued. Katsuki’s brow furrowed with slight irritation, not being able to pinpoint if it was because of the way his green eyes appeared to glow even brighter with curiosity or that his own heart seemed to quicken at that.

“It’s nothing to excite yourself over.” He gestured for the other to follow him to a more secluded area. This way if one of the bastards (or his mother, for that matter) happened to walk by on the deck above they wouldn’t be spotted.

“Firstly, I wanted to… apologize,” Katsuki said between clenched teeth, looking anywhere but the person in front of him, “for my behavior. It was very improper of me to have done that.”

“Well, I did hit you back.” He laughed a little, and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “You’re not the only one at fault. And I’m sorry for your jaw.”

Katsuki flushed a little, thinking about the purplish spot below his ear. He was just thankful it wasn’t a black eye and discreet enough to ignore.

“Though I’m a little confused about why you decided you needed to pick a fight with me in the first place. I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Katsuki spat out before he could even think better about it. Quickly regaining his composure and wanting to beat himself for letting it slip in front of this stranger again , he shook his head. “It was very out of place for me. It will not happen again.”

Izuku, seemingly unfazed, pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said slowly and sounding utterly unconvinced. “Though, would you like to talk about how you were throwing your belongings overboard?”

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t mention it again,” he gritted out.

“Well it appears to me that maybe you did want to talk about it, seeing as though you went out of your way to find me today.”

“It really isn’t any of your business what I do, regardless,” he said firmly, trying not to snap at him again.

“It does feel like you’re trying to make it my business, Mr. Bakugou.”

“Or maybe you’re just butting in to things that have nothing to do with you.”

“ Maybe ,” Izuku said, eyes full of challenge, “you’re not as opaque as you think you are.”

“You-” Katsuki cut himself off, trying to keep his fuming temper at bay. Who even was this person? And why was he having such a hard time keeping his composure around him? He had endured far more irritating and enraging people and circumstances before. Almost daily he had to censor himself and watch his tongue. This individual hadn’t even really done anything to warrant this behavior. So why was he having such a hard time controlling himself?  “This is not what I came here to speak to you about.”

“Alright then, what did you want to speak to me about?” he said, looking like he was tabling this discussion for another time.

“A warning,” Katsuki started, still unable to look him in the eye. “There are a couple people I believe you should be on the look out for. The blond girl and the guy with the black hair she was with. The ones that were.... insulting you last night. They also have another “friend” who might cause you trouble. He’s got white hair, hard to miss him. And Jin- he has a long scar going down his forehead.”

Izuku chuckled nervously.

“Is that so? Does my poverty offend them?”

Katsuki’s eye twitched. “Himiko likes to fixate on things and you’re well on your way to being the next thing. So if you see her or any of her lackeys, you better walk the other way.”

“Why would she even bother with me?” Izuku frowned, still not understanding. “I didn’t even say anything to her.”

“It’s because… she…” He scoffed. “I don’t know. She’s fucking crazy, and dangerous . So take this seriously!”

The shorter man still looked rather confused and not totally convinced. Katsuki wanted to shout, but knew that this wasn’t the place to make a scene.

“As you wish,” he finally said. “I’ll try to avoid them. Though that may be an issue if they’re coming to dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“One of the gentlemen with you last night invited me. Uh.. I believe his name was Toshi?”

“Shit,” Katsuki hissed between clenched teeth. “You can’t come.”

“Believe me, I’d really rather not,” he mumbled. “But I promised him I would and I don’t go back on my promises. Plus I think you could use the company.”

“Excuse me?” Katsuki snapped his head to finally look at him again. “There will be plenty of people there- it’s getting them to leave me alone that’s the issue.” Then, as an afterthought he added, “And how would you know what I could use?”

The green haired man shrugged, avoiding answering. Katsuki clicked his tongue. Did this stranger have no sense of self preservation?

“I’m serious, you cannot come to dinner. I can tell Toshi that you will be unable to make it.”

Izuku balked and waved his hands in front of him.

“That’s incredibly rude to have someone else refuse an invitation for you! I may be a third class passenger but I still have manners.”

Katsuki snatched the tattered notebook out of his hand that was still flailing around.

“H-hey!” He went to grab it back, but Katsuki just held it out of reach.

“Don’t wave things in my face then if you don’t want them taken.”

“That’s not- hey don’t open it!”

Katsuki wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to find. And honestly, he still wasn’t sure what he was looking at once he did open it. Pages upon pages of words and little drawings scribbled amongst them. Some passages lasted for pages, some were little notes squeezed where they would fit. Some looked like poems, some like journal entries. There must have been some method to the madness, but Katsuki was unable to sort any of it out when it was snatched out of his hands.

Izuku clutched the notebook to his chest and glared. For a moment, he looked like he might punch him again.

“Speaking of rude,” he said a little breathlessly. “Didn’t they teach you in those fancy schools not to touch things that aren’t yours.”

“What is that?” Katsuki asked, ignoring him.

“My notebook.”

“Obviously, I’m not an idiot. What’s in it? It looks like the scribblings of a mad man.”

Izuku bristled. “Well it’s not meant for other people to look at! It makes sense to me, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look through it again.”

“Are you a writer?”

“W-what?” he stammered, looking a little flushed. “I-I mean, not professionally or anything.”

“Then what do you write for?” Katsuki crossed his arms.

“I don’t know, my personal enjoyment,” he said a little defensively. “It’s not like I had the opportunity to pursue it, even if I wanted to.”

“It appears to me like you’ve had plenty of time to scribble in that thing. It’s almost filled.”

“Well, that’s because…” He looked down as a shadow crossed over his face. “Lets just say I’ve been doing a lot of traveling lately.”

“And just your luck you happened to end up here, getting yourself into a mess.”

The sad look on his face quickly vanished as he gave Katsuki a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’ve been unlucky meeting you. Maybe it was fate.”

His heart quickened- all together unwelcome and utterly confusing. What on earth was wrong with him?

Read More | Read Chapter One

[thedragonnerd]

we forgive ourselves last

‘We’re not going to give her a choice,’ she says, and the underlying threat is clear enough to Namaari that her blood runs cold.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘That’s no longer your concern, my love,’ Ma rests a hand on her shoulder, fully in the role of Chief now. ‘You’ve done enough.’

The finality of her words is obvious, but as Namaari watches her walk away, all she can think is: maybe I’ve done too little.

Read on ao3, or under the cut!

Namaari doesn’t allow the royal army to slow down for the entire ride from Spine back to Fang, pushing them through the night. Her mind remains in turmoil over what she has just witnessed, the logical side of her in disbelief over the fact she saw a genuine dragon, alive and in the flesh, roaring so loudly that her battle-hardened warriors staggered back in fear. The magical fog still lingers in the distance, obscuring the pathway that lies behind them.

Deep in her heart however, she knows it to be true. She knows that it was Sisudatu herself who stood before her, that it was Sisudatu who stared directly into her eyes and through to her soul. Guilt has always been an unwelcome companion for Namaari, following her through life and scratching at her brain whenever she sees a new face turned to stone. It now rears its ugly head again, as she fears what Sisu saw within.

She arrives to the Fang Palace several moments before the rest of her warriors, slipping down from her serlot’s back and striding ahead even as she hears the others come clattering to a halt behind her.

‘Mother! We need to talk!’ Namaari calls out, bowing her head and raising her hands in the appropriate gesture of respect; her distraction and growing enthusiasm over seeing Sisu making her forget to say “Chief Virana” in front of Fang citizens.

Her mother has been entertaining small children, and they all look to Namaari in undisguised delight.

‘It’s Princess Namaari!’ she hears a small voice exclaim, and then they are bowing and crowding around her even as her mother is gently ushering them away.

‘Alright, alright…now run along, kittens,’ her mother commands. Namaari allows herself a moment to wave and smile at them before her attention is directed straight back on topic with her mother’s next words. ‘I have to speak with the Princess.’

‘Mother, you won’t believe what I saw,’ she says, the excitement creeping into her voice at last. If Sisu really has returned, she would be able to save everyone, to fix what has been broken for so many years. And maybe, just maybe, the era of dragons could exist again. The child-like wonder that she always feels when she reflects on dragons for too long is beginning to awaken inside her.

‘You saw a dragon,’ Ma says, and the excitement inside Namaari dies at once in the face of her mother’s disapproval. ‘General Atitaya informed me that you’d be returning home without the gem pieces.’

The rebuke is clear.

‘It was Sisu,’ Namaari tries, desperate for her to understand. ‘She can fix what we broke – she can bring everyone back.’

We can undo my mistakes, and maybe I can be free of this guilt, she thinks, but dares not say out loud.

‘And that’s what scares me!’ Ma says, banging her staff on the ground. The Dragon Gem piece glitters in the sunlight. ‘When everyone comes back, who do you think they’ll come for? You forget; the other lands blame us for what’s happened.’

‘But we…We never meant for anyone to get hurt,’ Namaari says, and yet the reasoning sounds weak to her own ears. The image of the different leaders fighting over the Dragon Gem springs unbidden into her mind, as does Raya’s look of devastation as it smashed to the floor. Another wave of guilt hits her, and she is reminded of Sisu’s unspoken judgement.

‘Yes, but if we had the dragon and the Gem pieces, we would be forgiven. We could save the world,’ Ma continues. ‘But more importantly, our people would remain safe.’

It sounds tempting, so tempting. If they had Sisu and the completed Dragon Gem, they could save all the lands and be heroes. No more would Namaari have to see stone people in her nightmares, no more would she have to tell another Fang family that their loved one has been caught by the Druun on one of their expeditions. Perhaps even Raya could forgive her, in time. And yet…

‘But Raya isn’t just going to give Sisu to us,’ Namaari argues, and her mother sighs deeply.

‘We’re not going to give her a choice,’ she says in response, and the underlying threat is clear enough to Namaari that her blood runs cold.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘That’s no longer your concern, my love,’ Ma rests a hand on her shoulder, fully in the role of Chief now. ‘You’ve done enough.’

The finality of her words is obvious, but as Namaari watches her walk away, all she can think is: maybe I’ve done too little.

--

Later, Namaari sits on her bed and broods. Her heart is torn in two, and she cannot decide which path to take. She is desperate to save her people, first and foremost, and yet the best route to achieve that is unclear.

On one hand, her mother’s concern has awoken the same fears inside her. Even before the breaking of the Gem, Fang was perceived as a harsh land of assassins and warriors, cutthroat in business and too proud to interact much with the other lands. It’s never mattered that all the leaders had a hand in the destruction of the Gem. Everyone remembers the ‘greed’ of Fang in targeting what they thought was Heart’s source of prosperity, and the rest has slipped from people’s minds. Now, they are pariahs, a land which has survived better than most during the Druun reign due to its willingness to stand alone and close its doors as much as possible. If they don’t have direct involvement in saving the world, then when everyone returns, they could be pushed aside even more. Trade could cease to exist, and along with that comes a risk of famine and poverty. Namaari never wants her people to see those dark times again.

On the other hand, Namaari fears what her mother has in plan for Raya. She knows the other girl will never back down from a fight, and even less so if she has Sisu, the other Gem pieces, and clearly some sort of plan.

At the end of the day, she knows Raya is coming for her – or at least for Fang. There is one Gem piece left, and it sits within her mother’s staff. At the same time, Raya could be walking into what could end up being a deadly trap.

For the last six years, Namaari has lived with the guilt of what she has done to Raya, in a more deeply personal sense than her responsibility for the rest of the world. She isn’t sure she could survive being to blame for even more tragedy to befall Raya.

Just then, an animal screech comes from outside her window. Whirling around, she sees a small package dropped onto the windowsill, along with a note, although the messenger themselves is nowhere in sight, no matter how much she peers around.

She unfurls the note first, but it is little more than a crude map, with a small ‘x’ marking a spot on the riverbank across from the Palace. She can already guess who it is from, but unwrapping the package to reveal her childhood pendant confirms her suspicions.

She stands by the window, her mind at last resolved.

--

Dawn is breaking by the time she reaches the place at the riverbank marked out by Raya, but the others are not yet there. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and her hand is clammy as it clutches the piece of Dragon Gem she has stolen from her mother’s staff.

The fact that her mother lies there asleep and unprotected weighs heavily, but she is determined to see this through. If they are successful, if Sisu can really bring back everyone, then they will never have to worry about the Druun again, and her betrayal can be forgiven – or so she hopes.

She holds the Dragon pendant in her other hand, reminding her why she has really come. It keeps her grounded whenever she feels the desire to bolt back to the Palace and agree to her mother’s plan instead.

‘I see you got my gift,’ a soft voice breaks through her thoughts. It is strange not to go directly for a weapon, but Namaari allows herself to appreciate the sight of Raya standing in front of her with a small smile on her face instead. It’s been so long since they last had a conversation without it ending in a fight, and even longer still since Raya looked at her with any sort of a welcoming expression.

‘I never thought I’d see this again,’ she feels herself say, and her own voice sounds far, far away. Raya shrugs a shoulder awkwardly.

‘Well, uh…I tried to take good care of it,’ she says. ‘You’re not the only dragon nerd here.’

They gaze at each other for a moment, and Namaari emits a slight chuckle, before becoming serious. The time is now or never – no going back once she has taken this next step.

She places the Gem piece on the ground, and accepts her fate. Raya nods, an understanding passing between them, and then her concentration is broken by the arrival of none other than Sisudatu herself.

Namaari bends low into a bow, raising her hands in respect. The awe of seeing a dragon in front of her for a second time is not lessened in any way, and as she straightens up, Sisu smiles back at her. She can’t help but tuck her hair behind her ear self-consciously, hoping this time that Sisu will see something better in her than before, will see that she is trying to atone for her mistakes.

‘The final piece,’ she hears Sisu say, and then Raya is reaching down to open her bag.

‘Raya,’ Namaari finds her voice again. ‘Raya, I came her to warn you also. My mother-’

‘Is very proud of her daughter,’ her mother announces, and the sound of many crossbows being loaded rings out in the clearing. A large group of Fang warriors emerge from the forest, dragging Raya’s companions with them, Chief Virana leading the way. Namaari’s breath catches in her throat.

‘I must thank you, Morning Mist, for bringing us straight to the Dragon Gem and to Sisu herself.’

‘You tricked us?’ Raya asks, her voice shaking. It is a flashback to six years ago – Raya looking upon Namaari with utter betrayal and disgust.

‘No Raya, I-’ Namaari tries to choke out, but Raya turns away, two red blotches on her cheeks showing just how angry she feels.

‘Take the rest of the Gem pieces,’ her mother commands, and just as Namaari expected, Raya draws her sword immediately, stepping in front of Sisu.

‘If you want Sisu or the Gem pieces, you’ll have to go through me first,’ she calls out, her voice strong despite being outnumbered. The large man dressed in Spine clothing is already beginning to fight his captivity, and all at once there is chaos as the yelling starts and a brawl breaks out between Raya’s companions and some Fang warriors. The rest stay focused on Raya and Sisu, clearly reluctant to shoot towards the dragon but unsure how to carry out their Chief’s order.

Through all the shouting and fighting, a voice reaches out to Namaari.

‘I believe you,’ Sisu says, and the dragon is staring at her with a soft and open expression. ‘Namaari, I believe you came to help us.’

The tears rush unbidden to Namaari’s eyes, and she takes a shuddering breath at those words, barely able to believe what she has heard. Hope is blossoming from her chest, that she can help resolve this misunderstanding and endless cycle of mistrust.

And then Namaari watches it all happen as if in slow motion. General Atitaya’s crossbow raises slightly, wavering towards Sisu, and her finger twitches on the trigger. Raya notices in the same instance, striking out with her sword and knocking the soldier’s hand.

The crossbow swings back towards Raya, and there is a small click as the arrow breaks free, shooting straight and true towards its target. Namaari watches it aim directly for Raya’s heart, Sisu’s words still ringing in her mind.

And then she steps forward, and feels the arrow pierce her skin.

--

‘…maari? Namaari?’

Someone is calling her name.

She feels very cold through her entire body, except where there are two warm arms wrapped around her. It is difficult to open her eyes, and the darkness seems far more welcoming. She lets her mind drift slightly.

‘Namaari, wake up!’ The person is now shaking her shoulders, causing a pain to rip down her left side. It startles her into opening her eyes properly, where she has to blink away water droplets. Rain pours down around them, and when she shifts her head slightly, her cheek comes into contact with Raya’s chest.

‘Raya, the rain isn’t going to hold them back forever,’ Sisu’s voice calls from afar. ‘They’re gathering in number…I think they were attracted by the fighting.’

It takes a few moments for the meaning of the words to sink into Namaari’s brain, and when she focuses on something other than the pain, she can hear the unearthly howls above the rain. The druun are here.

‘Namaari, we have to get you to the doctor,’ Raya is saying, looking down at her with large, worried eyes and damp hair plastered to her skin. One of her hands is trembling slightly, as she raises it to Namaari’s face, and her fingers are smeared with blood.

She has never looked so pretty to Namaari before.

‘I can take her back to the Palace,’ Ma says, and she realises her mother is kneeling down on her other side, clutching her hand and disregarding the mud smeared across her white clothing. ‘Give me back a piece of the Gem so I can get us there!’

‘You won’t make it through the Druun,’ Raya snaps back. ‘Let me take her and Sisu…we’ll travel faster.’

Namaari lets the sound of their disagreement wash over her. The pain is becoming stronger now, and breathing is difficult. Even if they get her back to the palace, she is not sure there is anything to be done. She’s so tired.

But maybe that is the point, a voice whispers in her mind. It is the same voice that has plagued her nightmares all these last years. You were the one who broke the world. You were the one who brought this hatred and distrust to your people, to Raya. Maybe your ending can fix it.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she whispers through numb lips. Raya and her mother break off their argument to look down at her.

‘Morning Mist, you don’t have much time,’ Ma says, stroking her hair. Raya grunts in acknowledgement, and unwraps an arm from around Namaari’s shoulders to slide it under her legs. But before she can be lifted, Namaari raises a weak hand and knocks her back.

‘I’m not going anywhere until you put the Gem back together,’ she insists, trying to sound firm even as her strength is failing her. She isn’t sure that this will be enough, that their concern for her will be enough. But she plays the only card she has to left to play, and lays down her ultimatum anyway. ‘Save everyone, Raya. I believe in you.’

Raya loosens her grip slightly, clearly unsure what to do. Then suddenly, Sisu is there, dropping Fang’s piece of the Gem next to them.

‘You heard Namaari! Let’s fix this big ball of power, save the world, and then get our girl the medical attention she needs!’

Namaari feels herself being transferred gently from Raya’s arms to her mother’s lap, but the movement still makes her cry out in pain.

Raya glances her way once more, and nods in determination. She gathers the Gem pieces into her hands, slotting them together into a perfect orb once more. A bright glow seeps through her fingers, and the last thing Namaari sees before darkness takes her is Raya, lit with an ethereal blue light from the Dragon Gem.

--

When Namaari next awakens, she is in her own bed. The blankets are warm, her body is in considerably less pain, and Raya is curled up on the other side of her mattress.

Wait, what?

‘Raya?’ she croaks, her throat dry, but it is enough to disturb the sleeping figure, who sits upright with a start.

‘You’re awake? How are you feeling? I mean, I guess probably pretty bad considering you were shot by a crossbow,’ she rambles, a hand awkwardly patting her hair. Namaari laughs at her softly, and then can’t help but wince as the movement causes her wound to throb ominously. Raya leans over to hold a glass of water to her lips, and she manages to swallow a few mouthfuls.

‘Did it work?’ she has to know. She wants to see with her own eyes, but can tell she won’t be leaving this bed for a while. ‘Is your father back?’

Raya looks at her for a long moment.

‘Yes, it worked,’ she says finally, and a smile breaks out across her face. ‘Everyone has returned. Ba is in fact downstairs right now…I think him and your mother are trying to write a hundred trade deals at once. And he’s demanding a celebration for the return of Kumandra.’

Relief hits Namaari all at once, making her feel slightly dizzy and sick. She tries to subtly turn her head so Raya can’t see the tears in her eyes.

‘Of course, it would have also worked if we had waited until AFTER we got some binturi to the doctor,’ Raya adds suddenly, her voice taking on a disapproving tone. ‘Why did you insist we fix the Gem first? The doctors said another ten minutes, and maybe…’

She trails off, but Namaari understands the end of the sentence. Another ten minutes, and you might not have survived.

‘I wasn’t sure if I would make it anyway,’ she confesses, staring up at the ceiling rather than look Raya in the eyes. ‘And I wanted to make sure I made up for my mistakes before I died.’

Raya is quiet for a moment. Namaari can feel the bed shift slightly as she lays down next to her and rests her head back on a pillow.

‘It wasn’t just your mistake to atone for,’ Raya says eventually. It sounds like forgiveness. ‘I hope you’ll see that one day.’

Her hand slowly shuffles across the covers, and Namaari inhales slightly when she feels their fingers entwine.

They lie there together in silence, watching the sun rise on Kumandra through the window.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Fencing Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 击剑约会, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Do note that this date features S2 Victor, but doesn’t contain S2 spoilers.

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

The date begins on a weekend, with MC at a fencing trial class. The coach just left her to do warm ups

MC signed up for the class because she developed a sudden interest in fencing after watching a competition on television

She notes how fencing involves agility, quick judgement calls, and maintaining a knightly demeanour

Elegant. Swift. A single, certain strike...

MC: I keep thinking it’s a little bit like Victor.

I mumble aloud accidentally before hastily returning to my senses.

This fencing hall is the most professional training hall open to the public in Loveland City. In the surroundings are adept students, and the coaches give oral commands mostly in French.

Although warm ups don’t require me to don the full attire, I carefully put on the face mask since I’m a newbie and somewhat at a loss.

After a while, someone walks over to me suddenly. He’s very tall, donned in full attire, and he stands before me.

Before I can react, he speaks.

??: Hello. Coach Lin asked me to come here.

My coach’s surname happens to be Lin as well, so I make a guess that perhaps this is his assistant for today. As such, I nod amicably in acknowledgement.

For some reason, I find this person’s aura slightly familiar...

??: Etes-vous prêts?

[Note] In French, this means “Are you ready?”

His voice is slightly muffled from the mask. I freeze for a moment before realising that he seems to be asking if I’m ready.

MC: Oui.

[Note] In French, this means “Yes.”

He nods, then returns to the starting line, raising his fencing sword and saluting to me.

I tilt my head to take a look, then mimic his pose to return the salute.

In the next second, he suddenly points the fencing sword towards me, and lunges over quickly.

MC: !

A silver light flashes before me. I instinctively retract my arm to cover my face, shifting backwards by a few steps.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds... the feeling of being hit doesn’t come.

??: Beginner?

Hearing his voice, I slowly put down my hands, nodding awkwardly.

??: Sorry, I was mistaken.

His tone once again gives me a sense of familiarity. Before I get to ask, Coach Lin returns.

When he sees our swords facing each other, he’s stunned for a while, but quickly reveals a knowing expression.

MC: Coach...

Coach Lin smiles at me, then greets the person opposite in a friendly manner.

Coach Lin: Mr Victor, you’re here.

MC: ...Mr Victor?

Could this person be...

As though the both of us are seeking to verify something, we take off our masks at the same time.

My fringe rides up along with the mask. While I hurriedly smoothen it down, I look at the person before me.

That person’s hair has also been messed up. He casually lifts his hand to pat down the slightly curled up strands, revealing the pair of eyes I’m most familiar with.

MC: Victor!

Victor: It’s you?

Coach Lin: The two of you know each other?

Victor nods, turning to Coach Lin, who is standing at the side.

Seeing that both of us have no idea what to make of this matter, Coach Lin smiles apologetically, and starts to explain.

It turns out Victor is a regular visitor here, and has always been Coach Lin’s partner.

However, as he had to take charge of the trial class, Coach Lin had arranged for another coach for Victor, who Victor had mistaken me for.

Coach Lin: There, the coach should be at the second fencing lane.

Coach Lin identifies the coach to Victor, and I follow his line of sight. It’s a young female coach.

Victor: Got it.

Although Victor says this, he doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. Coach Lin looks at the both of us, slightly hesitant.

I clear my throat, breaking the silence.

MC: Coach Lin, the two of you have been partners for so long. Why don’t you duel with Victor? I could have a class with that coach instead. Anyway, I’m just a student from the trial class, so there’s no need to trouble so many people.

Coach Lin: Our rules prohibit having replacement classes at short notice. She doesn't have any classes scheduled today, so...

Coach Lin seems to be in a bind.

Victor: What if it isn’t a coach?

I freeze. Victor glances at me, speaking softly to Coach Lin.

After a moment of hesitation, Coach Lin finally smiles and nods.

Coach Lin: I’ll have to trouble you then.

Coach Lin nods in my direction, leaving soon after. Puzzled, I look at Victor.

MC: Why did the coach leave? What did you say to him?

Victor: I told him that this student is difficult to teach, so I’ll do it for him.

MC: You sure know how to manipulate...

MC: Wait. Who says that I’m difficult to teach!

Victor ignores my quibble, looking at me with his arms crossed.

Victor: Why did you think of learning fencing?

MC: I heard that fencing can train one’s reaction and judgement speed, so I wanted to give it a try.

Victor: You should train them. But these aren’t things that can be gleaned simply from sports.

MC: If you’re the teacher, I just might be able to glean them!

Victor: Looks like you have a large ambition this time.

I laugh while taking a step back, raising the fencing sword and giving him a serious salute.

MC: Is CEO Victor willing to impart his skills to me?

The corners of Victor’s lips curl as well, and a familiar phrase drifts to my ear.

Victor: It depends on how you perform.

-

Victor teaches MC some foundational moves using a dummy model

MC notes how Victor makes movements look casual even though they are very tiring

I take a breath, recalling his earlier demonstration, lunging forward in a large step.

Although my feet are slightly unsteady, the fencing sword hits the dummy model.

MC: I did it!

I turn to him happily, and happen to catch a sliver of a smile on his face which disappears in the next second.

Victor: When you strike with the sword, don’t move your wrist.

MC: ...okay.

I secretly purse my lips, and a soft laugh floats to my ear.

Victor: You weren’t bad just now. Do it again on your own three more times.

His “teaching” style and the one in my memory are exactly the same. There aren’t many pointers, but they always hit the nail on the head.

I follow his instructions obediently, the sword and the dummy’s metal attire meeting with clanging sounds.

The repeated movements are a little boring, so I try engaging Victor in a conversation while he supervises me from the side.

MC: Victor, Coach Lin mentioned that you’re a regular visitor. Have you been practicing for long?

Victor: I guess so. When I have time, I’ll come by once every week.

MC: No wonder you’re so professional.

Victor: It’s just a pastime, so it doesn’t count as being professional. Although when it comes to teaching you, it’s something I’ve done more than enough times.

I meet his teasing gaze, and stop my actions in defiance. 

MC: Don’t underestimate me too much. Who knows, I might have "peculiar bones”, and might discover your weak points!

[Note] I translated “unique skeleton” from 骨骼清奇 (“gu ge qing qi”), which is part of a quote from an action-comedy movie called Kung Fu Hustle. The full quote is: “I think your bones are peculiar. You are a martial arts prodigy.”

Victor: Looks like you’re very confident now. I wonder how you’ll fare in the next test.

Victor walks across the middle line, puts on his mask, then lifts his sword. 

Victor: If you want to find my weak spots, try scoring some points from me. Once you’re ready, we’ll begin. 

I gulp, slightly nervous. But this time, Victor doesn’t advance for a long time. He simply waits at the other end. 

Perhaps due to my reaction being overly exaggerated when faced with his attack earlier, he is exceptionally patient this time.

As a “student” who was carefully taught by him, I’m determined not to disappoint him.

I take aim at potential areas of attack, then lunge forward, crossing the middle line.

As though wanting to exert more pressure on me, he takes a few steps forward.

The few seconds seem to become infinitely long as the distance lessens, causing his smooth movements to slow down.

He bends his arm, ready to strike. In the moment before he straightens his arm, I act first, lunging towards his elbow.

MC: I hit it!

Victor: Very good. Continue. 

After experiencing it once, Victor no longer waits at his original spot to wait for me.

He doesn’t take large strides, but still easily blocks my way, and I have no choice but to pull back. 

Guessing that I’d be stepping out of the boundary if I keep retreating, I grit my teeth, taking a few frantic steps towards him.

Victor seems to freeze for a moment, but very quickly shifts backwards to avoid my threat.

Victor: You’re very bold in taking risks. 

MC: Haha, it’s more like sinking my own boat...

Victor: In that case, don’t waste this opportunity. 

I try to settle myself, my vision gradually becoming clearer with our ever increasing proximity. 

Victor maintains a defensive posture as he faces me, but his abdomen area below his arm doesn’t seem to be guarded.

Perhaps this was a weak spot he specially left open for me, and I just happened to notice it. 

But a faraway memory suddenly surfaces in my mind, resulting in a headache. Although I know that it’s unrelated to the current situation, it leaves me halting in my footsteps. 

Victor: What are you hesitating about? 

Victor suddenly speaks up. Startled, it’s as though I’m jolted from a dream. 

The distance between us has closed. Based on a conditioned reflex, I instantly step backwards, but am too late.

With a slight tap on my chest, a tiny hollow appears on the fabric. 

Victor: You lost.

I lift my head, and can vaguely make out his brilliant gaze from the holes in the mask. 

He moves the sword away very quickly, but my heart beat doesn’t calm down.

Several emotions are blending together. Together with the echo left in my heart from the hit, I’m left frozen to the spot for a very long time. 

Seeing that I’m not speaking, Victor removes his mask, bending over to observe my expression. 

Victor: What’s wrong? 

MC: ...nothing. My mind accidentally wandered off earlier. 

Victor: There’s no need to be too apprehensive. You’re just following the rules.

I nod. Victor hesitates for a moment, then pats the top of my head, which is separated by the mask. 

Victor: You need to be more resolute. Opportunities and risks co-exist. Don’t let it slip away to your opponent.

His tone becomes more gentle. His dark coloured eyes reflect my profile.

Even when he’s consoling people, he remains deadpan. But precisely because of this, his consolation is all the more effective. 

I adjust the mask, pumping myself up again. 

MC: I’ve got it. Could Teacher Victor give me another chance? 

Victor laughs, putting on his mask again. 

Victor: Just this once. 

He gives her some advice and she tries it out, poking his outfit with the sword timidly

MC: Like this?

Just as I’m about to ask if I’m doing it correctly, I lift my head to find that we are standing very close to each other.

The soft laugh and slightly lilted tone initially hidden behind the mask finally drift to my ear clearly.

Victor: This time, I’ll consider it as you scoring the point. 

-

The class experience is over. While I’m wiping my sweat with a towel, Coach Lin walks over. 

Coach Lin: Are the two of you taking a break? 

Victor nods. He receives the bottles of water from Coach Lin, then hands me one. 

Coach Lin: Thank you for your help today, Mr Victor. Shall we have a match before you leave?

Victor turns to me, giving me a look over. 

Victor: I won’t trouble you today. We’ll leave it till next time. A certain student is too physically weak, so she has to return early to rest.

I frantically tuck strands of sweat drenched hair behind my ear. 

MC: It’s just that the masks made it a little warm earlier. I’ll be fine after resting at the side for a while. It must have been slightly boring having to teach me all this time. Have a good duel - I can observe and learn from your example.

Victor stares at me for another moment. He sighs lightly, then hands me the bottle of water in his hand. 

Victor: Since you want to learn, watch carefully. Your mind isn’t allowed to wander.

The duel commences

MC never takes her eyes off him

Elegant. Swift. A single, certain strike...

This sport really suits him.

The spectating students comment on the match

As compared to the Victor who accompanied me to practice, the him before my eyes seems to have become a completely different person. 

Although the mask and attire serve to conceal his features...

I can still sense the strength underneath the wrinkles of his fabric, and the pressure exerted when he made his quick assault.

So this is what a true confrontation looks like. 

If he were to have free rein in his assault, he wouldn’t lose at all.

The scoreboard buzzes again. Victor and Coach Lin look at it, then shake hands.

After the two men part from the middle line, I finally look at the scores. 

MC: He won!

Although he won by only a few points, the spectators and I can't help but applaud. 

Cheers resound. Victor removes his mask, walking straight towards me. 

Drops of sweat glide off the side of his face, the tips of his hair sticking onto his forehead. 

At this moment, the eyes that are always cold and restrained have become illuminated by the lights. They radiate with an impressive light.

When I gaze at him, I can’t help but laugh even more happily.

Victor: What’s with your foolish laughter?

MC: Because you’ve won!

Victor: I recall you mentioning that you’d be observing and and learning from example. What did you learn?

I’m rendered speechless. From a technique point of view, I didn’t observe any tricks...

MC: At least I could tell that this match was very exciting. It makes one...

Want to cheer for you.

I don’t say the second half of the sentence aloud. But from the smile in Victor’s eyes, I know he definitely understands what I mean. 

He takes the bottle of water in my hands naturally, and I take the sword in his.

Amid the clamour in our surroundings, his deliberately lowered voice drifts to my ears. 

Victor: Being able to understand the match - to you, it’s not an easy feat. But, thank you.

After changing out of our attire, Victor and I head to the front counter to return the equipment.

He converses with the staff in a familiar manner, while my mind keeps returning to the earlier match.

I rarely see such a nimble and driven Victor. But that profile overlaps with several moments in my memory.

When he rejected my application for an investment. When he kicked open the door when I was trapped in the darkness. When he calmly held onto my hand when faced with difficulties...

He has never changed. No matter what identity he takes on, he’s competent in all of them. 

No matter what, he seems to always be running ahead of me.

At this moment, the staff returns our cash deposit, and Victor hands me my bag.

Victor: What are you thinking about?

I turn to look at him.

MC: I always feel like as long as you put your mind to it, there doesn’t seem to be anything that can defeat you.

Victor: Not necessarily. Didn’t you “defeat” me just now? 

MC: That’s only because you lost intentionally...

Victor: I won’t lose intentionally to any opponents. I just made some adjustments according to your standard. 

MC: ...does this mean I still have some hidden potential? In that case, could Teacher Victor continue teaching me?

Victor: There is no such thing as a free lunch.

I think deeply on what I could offer as remuneration.

MC: If I manage to learn it properly, I can help you “attack” next time, and shoulder more burdens for you.

Victor glances at me with surprise, but he quickly smoothens his expression.

Victor: If you want to share burdens with me, this meagre effort won’t suffice.

MC: ?

Victor arches his brows. 

Victor: Or were you just full of hot air earlier?

I look into his eyes. As though wanting to prove something, I straighten my back.

MC: Of course it’s not just hot air. I’ll come here to practice often. Someday, I’ll be like Coach Lin, becoming your genuine opponent. Maybe I’ll triumph over you even when you don’t lose intentionally.

Victor glances at me, the corners of his lips lifting upwards. 

Victor: This declaration - I’ll remember it. I’ll wait for you to surpass me.

We walk towards the entrance of the hall together, the sunlight outside encasing us.

Time seems to slow down, enabling me to distinctly remember how it feels like to walk next to him.

We still have countless tomorrows, allowing me to tread in his shadow, step by step, returning to his side.

[renaissanceduroi-archive]

drabble ; deserving

Hi I accidentally wrote a 5 page drabble(?) where Elysia meets Lysandre for the first time after seeking him out when he doesn’t attend Sycamore’s funeral. It’s relatively sparse and unedited because I am tired and did not intend for this to happen, but I am excited by it nonetheless so here it is: 

---

“You’re weak.” What a way to introduce herself. She should be shocked, or afraid, or heartbroken, but Elysia is angry. It doesn’t matter that a dead man is breathing before her; it only matters what he has done. 

Despite her rancid tone, Elysia gently lets the honchkrow out of its ball, as the poor thing is not responsible for the deeds of its master. It looks so frail. Old. Like Sycamore, but without that undying glint of hope in his eye. What would Lysandre do, without the bird? Would he care enough to check in on her? Or would it have been a relief to him, to not be able to know about her or Sycamore anymore?

“I have always wanted to see what you look like,” is all that Lysandre has to say for himself. He looks rather comfortable, sitting on the ground, himself looking quite frail, but not a day over forty, despite how many years it has been. 

“Shut UP!” Her voice is a screech. They are so isolated, it hardly matters -- and if they are overheard, being found out is what this pathetic excuse for a man deserves. “You have no idea how much you hurt the professor. He hurt, for you. Every. Single. Day. Every single day. You get to run away and disappear, he is left to wonder. Worry himself sick. It’s selfish. It’s disgusting of you.” 

“I knew our royal genes were strong, but you are nearly the spitting image of your grandfather. Though much prettier, of course.”

“We have both known what you’ve been doing. Sending your poor honchkrow all the way out to Lumiose City to watch him. What, did you want to make sure he was still alive? Because clearly you care so much!” 

“I did not intend for it to be secret.”

“Professor Sycamore thought of you every day of his life, and in his final moments. But you did not care enough to show up to his funeral. Not a care in the world. Why? Not worth the potential of being seen? Too much of a hassle? Didn’t want to have to witness how you left the world? How you left him to DIE?! He is-- was… is, the cornerstone of my life. I have loving family and friends, but he was, in a way, a soulmate. Not romantically of course, but beyond that. He taught me everything I know. He taught me how to pour love into something and create something beautiful. He taught me the virtues of balance, patience, forgiveness. He forgave you, Lysandre. And that’s a true testament to his character, because I don’t think I ever will. Not for the destruction and devastation you caused, but for how you betrayed the only person left alive who still loved you.” 

“We can bring him back.” 

“Don’t. Don’t say that to me.” 

“We can.” 

“Don’t SAY THAT TO ME! That is the last thing he would have wanted. Did he teach you nothing? Do you even now move through your life so self-absorbed that you cannot understand that someone may have different desires than you?” 

“I acknowledge peoples desires.” 

“You just do not care.” 

“I dismiss ones that are unproductive, yes.” 

“How could he have spoken so highly of you.” 

“Are you seeing that he perhaps was not always of sound judgement?” 

She freezes for a moment, but only a flash. “Stop. You’re trying to sow seeds of doubt into my mind.” 

“I am merely attempting to show you that all is not as perfect as you want to believe.”

“What do you know of perfection? You are a flawed man who caused ugly destruction, nothing more.” 

“I know more of perfection than any person. I have witnessed it, embodied it, believed in it, created it.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“If I were insane, would your pure Augustine have loved me so?”

She wants to spit on him. To vomit. To scream. She had imagined meeting Lysandre many times, asking him all sorts of questions, wondering what bond they would form. But today was the day she pushed herself to truly discover him, fueled by the sole desire of yelling at him for continuing to be so weak as to betray his only friend in his final moments. 

“Would he?” Lysandre presses. 

“Clearly, he did.” 

She expected Lysandre to smirk at that, to be haughty, but he remains emotionless. “Clearly.” … “Is this all you wanted from me? You came all the way out here to scorn me?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

“Such a distance, fueled by the fire in your heart.” 

“Everything you say is nonsense!” 

“Even when I try to show my appreciation for you? What a shame.” 

“The last thing I want is your appreciation.” 

“Ah, but you are doing so marvelously.” 

She wants to bite back with I haven’t done anything, but her curiosity overrides her. “...How so?” she asks, suspicious. 

“Your beliefs are strong. Your passion consumes you. Your values dominate your every decision. And of course, you have taken wonderful care of the professor for me.” 

“There was nothing stopping you from taking care of him yourself! It’s all he wanted!” 

“But if I had, I would have interfered with the balance of things. Don’t you see? He imparted his value of balance upon you, correct?” He waits for an answer.

“Correct.” 

“I could not have forced myself back into his life. It would have broken the delicate ground upon which he rebuilt his world. I tried to raze and rebuild the world, but the force of destruction was too strong that the force of balance overcame me, and then he, and his force of life, was meant to override that. Life must go on, Elysia.” Hearing her name in his voice sends an indescribable shudder through her body. It’s like, a snake, or an eel, something shocking and wet and cold and wrong. “And now you are the life that must go on. You see it now, don’t you? You have his teachings, but my temperament. His values, but my blood.”

“I wish I had your blood on my hands.” 

“I wish you would stop threatening me, but I suppose neither of us will get what we want.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Elysia slyly pulls her hand out from her pocket and tosses a pokeball in the air. The professor’s charizard -- her charizard, now -- lands on the ground with a hard stomp, shaking the earth. It wears a mega stone around its neck, matching one of the rings she wears on her right hand. The pokemon recognizes Lysandre instantly, and is visibly confused, wary, unsure of how to act. How much does the charizard understand of what Lysandre has done? It surely witnessed its trainer, its original trainer that is, cry from the anguish caused by the man below him. But Lysandre also cared for this pokemon once, too. He gave it pets and treats, looked after it while the professor was away, and looked after the professor itself. Why is it being used to threaten him, now? But the charizard can sense Elysia’s anger. And he must trust the person that Sycamore entrusted him with, rather than the man who has been absent for years.

So as Elysia fumes at him, the charizard growls at a man who once was a friend.

“Do not allow yourself to be overcome by wrath, Elysia. Anger is not becoming on you.” 

“I will not be calm only when you stop inciting my rage. And I will get what I want.” She gestures forward and charizard leans in, snarling in Lysandre’s face, small embers inadvertently flurrying out of its nose as it begins to carry the same wrath as its trainer. “You have caused so much suffering to a wonderful man. And you 

“I admire your determination.” 

“I do not want to be someone you admire.”

“Then stop acting admirably.” 

“...”

“If Augustine saw you right now, what would he say?” 

This makes charizard simmer down, as well. 

“Is this your way of begging for mercy?” 

“I do not need your mercy.” 

“How immortal is immortal, hm? Surely being decapatated by a dragon would be enough to strip the gift of life away from you.” 

“I thought you said Augustine taught you about forgiveness.” 

“You do not DESERVE forgiveness!” 

“Ah, so people are only given what they deserve?” 

“You are hardly people.” 

“Yes, I am a god.” 

“You are a MONSTER!” 

“Do not lose track of your emotions, Elysia. You are angry about nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Then tell me, what are you angry about? My not attending the ceremony of our friend’s death?” 

“Your remorseless betrayal of a man who would have done anything for you.”

“Would he have? Elysia. He never came looking for me.” 

“...What do you mean.” 

“He never came looking for me. He never contacted me. You perceive my honchkrow as me being too weak to approach, but it was an invitation, open to being responded to. You found me so easily, and that was by design. He didn’t do anything for me.” 

“You’re lying. The professor was passionate, and driven, and--” 

“Weak. He was too weak to confront the fear of what he would find when he looked deep enough. He was like this before I fired the Weapon, and remained as such to his dying day.” 

She’s still angry. She’s still so, so angry at him, a lava still sitting in her stomach and wrists and wanting to explode again. But for the first time so far, the tides change, and water strikes her now. Tears begin to prick in her eyes and warp her vision, and she falls backward, sitting on the ground. She is no longer standing over him, now. 

“Call off your pokemon.” 

“No.” 

Lysandre looks the charizard in the eye and commands, “Dracaufeu. Retourne.” 

The dragon hesitates, unsure of what to do. It continues its locked gaze with Lysandre until it decides… to not listen to him. The charizard snuffs a small ember at him and retains its stance. 

“Don’t speak to the professor’s pokemon like that.” 

“Its allegiance to you is admirable. And isn’t it your pokemon, now?” 

“...Yes. It’s just taking some getting used to.” 

“Adjusting always takes time.” 

“It does.” Elysia wants to rest her head on her knees, give her body a moment’s rest, but for some reason she is afraid of letting her guard down around this man. Rationally, yes he is a threat, but she also does not feel as though he will be violent toward her. And yet, she is still on high guard. The two of them exist in a brief silence, together but separate. The air around Elysia is filled with solid utter grief and warping distorting rage; the air around Lysandre is stagnant nothingness save for the threatening dragon’s head looming above his own. Finally, though, now the calmest she has been this entire time, Elysia asks flatly, “Why didn’t you come to the funeral.” 

Lysandre answers simply. “I have not seen him since before I fired the Weapon. To see him decaying, ravaged by age would have corrupted my memory of him.” 

“You disregarded dignity and respect for a loved one because you did not want to perceive him as something other than perfect.” 

“Yes.” 

“You disgust me.” 

“I know. … What are people to one another if not projections of stylized impressions?” 

“Love is raw, intimate, messy, difficult. Love is not pristine, nor is any person. Relationships are more than distant idealization.”

“Then why did you yell and threaten me when I suggested Augustine was flawed?” 

For the first time, she has no answer to this. 

“Now. Do you have anything else to say, or will you leave me be? This was quite a lot of interaction for someone who has been isolated for as long as I have.” 

“You cannot make me take pity on you.” 

“I do not want your pity. I just want to be alone.” 

In a huff, Elysia plants her feet firmly on the ground and stands up, fists clenched by her sides. “It’s what you deserve.” She begins to mount her charizard, only catching a quick glimpse of Lysandre’s face as she turns. He’s smirking. 

“Exactly.” 

Without another word, she and charizard fly off the mountainside, back toward town. 

[trilliastra]

 [Here, have a fluffy Xicheng fic where Jiang Cheng is loved and treasured by everyone.]

 -

Yu Da lost his sight almost forty years ago, trying to protect his Sect from rogue cultivators. He was deemed, then, a useless fighter, but his brain still worked well enough so he was assigned as Madam Yu's adviser, her only ally, as she moved to Lotus Pier. He survived the massacre, helped hide the children in the forest, trusting his ears and his Golden Core to keep them from harm until Jiang Cheng found him and the children months later as he reclaimed his Sect, the group weak and starving, but alive nonetheless.

 He was the first cultivator to recognize Jiang Cheng as a Leader, the one who bowed to him, thanked him for coming back for them and not giving up on his people. Yu Da was there on the aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign, giving orders when Jiang Cheng was locked in his room, grieving his sister's death and his brother's fall, shielding Jiang Cheng from the stares and the gossip.

 Jiang Cheng held Yu Da in the highest respect and Yu Da, in return, was fiercely protective of his Sect Leader. Just like, Lan Xichen would come to realize, the rest of the Jiang Sect.

  -

 “Master Yu,” Lan Xichen bows deeply. Despite being in the company of a Sect Leader, the man does not stand up, only nods in return, polite, and gestures to the chair on his left. Lan Xichen understands the message clearly, this is his Yu Da’s house, his Sect, and Lan Xichen is merely a guest and will be continue to be treated as such until he proves his worth.

 Lan Xichen smiles, “Master Yu,” he repeats, “I’d like to marry Jiang Cheng.” He announces, makes sure not to word it as a question. He’s not asking permission, Jiang Cheng does not need to be shielded from the world, but he should be treated with respect, care and love.

 Master Yu arches an eyebrow, takes a sip of his tea and hums quietly. “He’s a special man.”

 “Yes.” Lan Xichen agrees immediately. He did not notice it at first, did not want to notice. He admits Wangji’s distaste for the man helped cloud his judgement, but he’s seeing clearly now. “Yes, he is.”

 “He’s strong, opinionated and easy to anger.” The man keeps saying.

 Lan Xichen nods. “He has flaws. But he also has virtues.” His kindness, his spirit, his dedication. “I admire his strength.” Lan Xichen confesses. It was one of the first things he noticed, after what happened at the Temple. He was hurt, both physically and mentally, but he still held his ground, kept doing his work because he knew that his Sect had no one else, that his people depended on him, while Lan Xichen went on Seclusion, left his brother and his uncle to do his job.

 He had never realized how privileged he was, and how lonely Jiang Cheng must have felt during those long years, without parents, siblings or friends.

 If only Lan Xichen could turn back time, if only he could have done his job better.

 “Guilt is not a good enough reason for a marriage.” Master Yu says, making Lan Xichen flinch. “Sect Leader Jiang, my boy,” he stresses, “deserves love and not pity.”

 “I would never.” Lan Xichen promises. He thought about it so much, meditated, wondered and cried, for months when he first realized his feelings.

 He was wrong once, he did not wish to repeat his mistakes, but Jiang Cheng – oh how could Lan Xichen not fall in love with a man so selfless, who would give up everything for those he loves, who did give up plenty for his brother, for his nephew, for his father.

 An honest man, a brave leader, a lonely boy.

 Master Yu does not say anything else, only waits patiently, for Lan Xichen to sort out his words. “I wish to make him happy.” Lan Xichen confesses. “To take care of him, to share his burdens. And to see him smile.” Jiang Cheng’s smiles are usually reserved for Jin Ling, but Lan Xichen is confident on his ability to make him laugh. He’s been doing it for the past few months.

 “I hope, Sect Leader Lan, that you do make him happy.” Master Yu says, and Lan Xichen understands it as the threat it is. “And I hope he makes you happy as well.” He offers, at last, before standing up and shaking off the disciple trying to help him. “May your marriage be blessed.”

 “Thank you.” Lan Xichen stands up as well, watches him move to greet the children playing in the yard. As he tries to follow him outside, Lan Xichen is stopped by a group of disciples, not one of them trying to hide their glares.

 “We have a message from Sect Leader Jin,” one of them says.

 “He respects you tremendously,” another offers, “but he will not tolerate seeing Sect Leader Jiang hurt. Accidentally or otherwise.”

 Lan Xichen swallows heavily, equal parts impressed and intimidated. Jin Ling might have forgiven him for his part on Jin Guangyao’s death, but he will surely not forget. And when it comes to Jiang Cheng, the man who raised him and who loves him fiercely, Lan Xichen does not doubt Jin Ling would raise hell.

 The disciples give him one last warning look before joining Master Yu outside and Lan Xichen feels his heart swell with affection for these people. Jiang Cheng really has no idea how much he’s loved and it breaks his heart to think about that.

 He must change this immediately.

 -

 “Where have you been?” Jiang Cheng asks, looking up from his papers when Lan Xichen joins him in his office.

 Lan Xichen doesn’t answer immediately, takes his time admiring the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes when Lan Xichen smiles, still not used to being watched tenderly.

 When he was in seclusion, the first time Jiang Cheng visited him was awkward. Lan Xichen was angry, hurt, had spent countless nights awake, thinking about his mistakes and his bad decisions so the last person he needed to see was Jiang Cheng – the man who nearly lost everything because of Jin Guangyao.

“I do not blame you.” It was the first thing Jiang Cheng had said. “And I don’t hate you any more than I hated Wei Wuxian.” Lan Xichen had flinched, lowering his gaze as the other man stood in front of him, fierce stare, honest words. “You might have been naïve, but he tricked all of us. There’s no use thinking about the past and the things you could have done, should have seen. You can’t go back, you can only move forward and hope not to make the same mistakes again.” Lan Xichen remembers feeling incredibly pathetic, crying in front of a man who had stayed strong through the hardships of his life, who had every reason to be angry and still willingly tried to help others. “If you close yourself now, you will miss on the good things. Like watching your Sect grow, your people smile, and your brother getting married.” Jiang Cheng had pointed out, a hint of regret on his voice. Lan Xichen watched him go, a new-found admiration for the man.

 One week later he was back to being Sect Leader Lan to his people. Two months after that, he became Lan Huan to Jiang Cheng. And soon, hopefully, he will be Jiang Cheng’s husband.

 The thought makes him smile, excited. “Wanyin,” he says, reaching out for Jiang Cheng’s hands. The man lets himself be pulled into a hug, not before making a questioning noise, “I love you.”

 “I know.” Jiang Cheng answers, confused. “I love you, too.” He whispers. It’s getting easier for him to say the words, Lan Xichen notices.

 “I love you so much.” Lan Xichen keeps saying, pulling back to look him in the eye. He kisses him slowly, tenderly and smiles. “And I want to marry you.”

 He watches Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, surprised, and perhaps, confused? “You – Lan Huan –”

 “I do.” Lan Xichen interrupts. “I would not have gone to meet Master Yu Da if I didn’t.”

 “You did not.” Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. “You told him – you –”

 “Yes, I did.” Lan Xichen answers, cheerfully, not letting go of Jiang Cheng’s hands. “He threatened me, and so did Jin Ling, and a couple of disciples as well.”

 Jiang Cheng blushes, looks away. “I should have words with them –”

 “Don’t.” Lan Xichen laughs, pressing a kiss on each of Jiang Cheng’s hands. “They are looking out for you.”

 “You are a Sect Leader.” Jiang Cheng insists. He’s still not looking at him and Lan Xichen feels like his heart is about to leave his body, it’s beating so fast.

 “Wanyin,” he calls, patiently, always patient. If Jiang Cheng is not ready, he will wait. If Jiang Cheng refuses, he will leave. But if Jiang Cheng is willing – “my love –”

 “I am not good enough for you.” Jiang Cheng says. Lan Xichen is about to argue with him because that could not be more untrue, when Jiang Cheng turns to look at him, determined. “But if you think I am, if you really want to marry me, then – then I believe you.” He nods.

 Lan Xichen smiles, circles his arms around Jiang Cheng’s waist. “Would that make you as happy as it would make me?”

 “Yes.” Jiang Cheng answers, immediately. “Nothing would make me happier.”

 Oh, oh, Lan Xichen laughs, openly. “Then I shall be your husband.”

 “And I shall be yours.” Jiang Cheng adds, smiling as well.

 And they will be happy.

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Six

Masterpost

“Oh. I see. Yes. Allow me to call you back momentarily.” Logan set the phone down.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“It was Emile. He wanted to know if we could house Remy, if only for a short time. His house is likely to be caught in the sweep this evening.”

“Who are they?” Roman asked.

“We met with them while considering what we ought to do with Virgil.” Logan explained. “Remy is a vampire, and is… at the very least, he will resort to violence to protect Emile.”

“Why would we keep him here? There’s plenty of room in the warehouse.” Roman asked.

“Roman, I am well aware of your stance on the matter, but please try to consider that others have differing positions. Emile wishes us to keep Remy and release him afterwards. To protect and hide him from the sweep.”

Roman frowned. “Why would he…?” His voice trailed off. “He wants us to keep a vampire alive, and let it go afterward. To go against the goal we’ve been working towards for years, and to do it behind the backs of the other hunters.”

“Yes. That is what he has requested. Though I am not certain that he is aware of our participation in the sweep.”

“No. I’m not doing it. It’s not—it’s just not right, Logan!”

“I am not in a position to make a moral judgement on this either way. However, I will say that I am inclined to allow him to stay.”

“Why?!”

“Because in all that I’ve seen of him, he acted to protect someone. And it is that person asking us to help him.”

“I just don’t understand. Just because Virgil is good at acting suddenly you both go and get all soft on vampires.”

“Surely you don’t entirely agree with the sweep. You seemed just as distraught as Patton the other night.”

“I don’t like how it’s playing out, but I still think that it’s the right idea. How could you not? Vampires have been hurting and killing for hundreds, probably thousands of years! If they were just gone, we could stop all that.”

“There. That is the point on which we differ.”

“What? That vampires hurt people?”

“No. I agree with you that vampires have caused pain and death, but I do not believe that it will stop if they are killed. It could just as easily be argued in the exact same way from their side. Humans have hurt and killed vampires for just as long as vampires have.”

“But if there’s a war from us to them, and from them to us, and it’s the war causing the problems, wouldn’t it be better for it to be over?”

“I do believe that there would be less pain if people didn’t hurt one another, but attempting to wipe out an entire subsection of people is not a cessation of fighting. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“But they aren’t people!” Roman insisted. “As long as there are vampires around they’ll hurt us.”

“I would have been inclined to agree with that sentiment a month or two ago, but since then I’ve opened myself to the possibility of vampires retaining their humanity. And I have found that at least 60% of them retain some aspect of the person they were before, and at least 20% of those are only marginally changed by the turning.”

Roman frowned.

“I still do not know what is the determining factor in the change,” Logan continued. “And I admit that my own experiences are much of what I can draw upon to support this hypothesis. Despite this, I intend to continue to explore this possibility and to seek out more data and obtain other people’s views on this.”

“And what is it that first made you think that vampires count as people?” Roman asked.

“It was Virgil. I believe I have recounted the result of the second test I put him through?”

Roman nodded. “So he’s a good actor. I can be a good actor. And at that point he was still under the threat of being put back in the coffin. He’d have done anything.”

“He was not under any kind of direct threat. While I could have done so, I did not, and certainly did not inform him of any consequences to failing the test. Neither did I inform him that it was a test. I believe that his decision, while possibly influenced by fear of retaliation, was mainly for the purpose of not harming another person.”

“And what, not wanting to hurt someone makes him a person? He’s dead. Or was.”

“Your position that vampires are not people seems to hinge on the fact that they invariably hurt people, so it is reasonable that a desire, and action supporting that desire, in the opposite direction would indicate the opposite.”

Patton came downstairs, walking heavily, and his eyes were red with bags underneath.

“Dad wants me to come to his house, and he wants me to bring Virgil.” Patton poured himself a coffee, something he rarely drank.

“I can come with you,” Roman offered.

“I’d appreciate that.” Patton came and sat down with his coffee. He hadn’t put anything in it other than creamer, which was even more unusual.

“Emile called,” Logan said. “He’d like if Remy can stay here for tonight.”

Patton shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Logan looked at Roman.

Roman grimaced. “Fine. But I’m not having some random vampire wandering around and trying to kill us. He has to be in the cell, and muzzled at least. Cuffed would be even better.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll remain here, and deal with that, then.”

•^*^••

Patton felt awful. If his dad hadn’t called he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. The scene from a few nights ago kept replaying in his mind. Over and over. The blood, and… and the scream. And the worst part was that it was all his fault. If he just hadn’t gone…

Virgil was following him quietly. Because they were going to be in public, and especially since they were going to his dad’s house, Virgil had on the leather muzzle and his hands were cuffed. Patton could see that Virgil was on the line between nervous and scared, but what else was he supposed to do? His dad had been very specific. He wanted Virgil there.

And both Patton and Roman would be there in case anything went wrong.

Patton walked up to the house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. After a minute he called his dad.

“Hello?”

“Hi, dad. Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m in the barn. Sorry about that, Pat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

It was fine, until they neared the barn. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away Virgil suddenly stopped, and pulled away from Roman when he tried to pull him forward.

“What’s wrong?” Patton asked.

Virgil couldn’t talk with the muzzle on, but he shook his head. His eyes were panicked, and he kept trying to pull away from Roman.

“Oh, come on. I’ve been in there loads of times. We aren’t handing you over or anything.” Roman said, pulling at Virgil’s arm again.

Patton laid a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll keep you safe.”

As soon as he opened the door Patton regretted not listening to Virgil. The sound of heavily muffled crying filled the air, not loudly at all, but all the more appalling for it. Patton looked around. Stacked five and six high, all around the barn, were coffins. His dad was standing in front of a row of cells, and in several of them were vampires, mostly laying on the ground.

“Dad. What-?”

“Patton!” His dad’s voice was far too loud, too cheerful. “Finally!”

His dad came and took him by the arm, pulling him towards the cells. The vampires inside were covered in burns.

Patton fought to breathe. His vision was swimming, and his legs threatened to buckle with every step.

“W-what..? Dad… what are you doing?” His voice only barely escaped his rapidly closing throat, and trembled the whole way out.

“Are you alright? You sound sick.”

Patton was shaking. He knew his face had to be deathly pale. The crying seemed to get louder, until it was all he could hear.

“Here, sit down, Pat.” His dad’s voice was all concern, but somehow that made it sound worse.

Patton collapsed into the cheap foldable chair. Soon Roman was there, kneeling in front of him.

“—on. Pat, come on. Talk to me.”

Patton suddenly realized that Roman had been trying to get his attention, his dad also there, but standing awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do.

Patton wasn’t sure that he could talk. He set a hand on Roman’s arm, and Roman smiled in a tight sort of way.

“Why don’t we go back to the house,” his dad suggested.

Roman picked Patton up, and Patton didn’t even have the strength to protest at all. Virgil followed, keeping himself where Roman was between him and Patton’s dad. He was shaking worse than Patton was.

It took several minutes of sitting on the couch with a cup of cold water for Patton to come back to himself. Roman was sitting next to him, and his dad was sitting in his chair just across the room. He looked around for Virgil, and found that he was sitting on the floor near the couch, his head bowed where Patton couldn’t see his face past his hair.

“Are you feeling better now?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “A bit, yeah.”

“What happened?” His dad asked. “If you were sick you could have told me. I’d never have wanted you to come all the way out here sick.”

“No, I-I’m not sick. Not that I know of.”

“Perhaps you should get checked out,” his dad suggested. “You nearly passed out back there.”

Patton nodded, still rather dizzy-feeling. “What did— what did you need me for?”

“It can wait, I have time.”

“No, I’m already out here, I can just…” Patton trailed off, but he knew his dad would understand anyway.

“Well, when I came to your house the other day, I unlocked your basement, but your vampire, instead of trying to ambush me, or trying to escape, just zipped back into the cell. I wanted you to show me how you did it. I’ve been trying on my own, but it hasn’t worked yet, and you always had a way with training vampires—“

Patton leaned over the arm of the couch, and Virgil had to scramble back to avoid getting puked on.

“Patton!” His dad came and felt his head. “You aren’t hot… I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

Roman left, and came back with a towel and a large bowl. Patton accepted the bowl and held it in his lap. He felt bad that Roman was cleaning up his puke, but he didn’t trust his legs to hold him if he tried to stand up.

“I’m gonna take him.” Roman said.

Patton’s dad nodded. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Call me when you figure out what’s wrong.” He leaned down and cupped Patton’s face. “Get better, honey, don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Patton nodded weakly, still not sure that he wasn’t going to throw up again. “Can I take the bowl with me?”

“Of course. I don’t need it.”

Roman carefully picked Patton up again. He made Virgil take the front seat to that Patton could have the whole back row of the car.

They’d been driving for several minutes before Patton spoke. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“You just threw up! And nearly passed out! What else is that supposed to be?”

“It’s just— I knew my dad didn’t like vampires, but I—I never would have thought—“ his words got cut off in a choked sob, and tears began pouring down his face. “And—and he wanted me to—“

Roman pulled over into a little side road, and stopped in an empty parking lot. He got out and came around into the back with Patton.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Roman hugged Patton as best he could with the awkward positioning.

“No, it-it isn’t! M-my dad tortures p-people!” Patton’s sobbing only got worse.

Roman just hugged him. He murmured soft things that didn’t mean anything, and stroked a hand through his hair.

•^*^••

When they got home, heh, he was thinking of it as home. Roman didn’t bother to really do anything with Virgil. Just opened the basement door, let him through, and closed and locked it.

Virgil went down the stairs, and was surprised to see a different vampire in the other cell. He was wearing the bar muzzle, but his hands were free. He only briefly glanced at Virgil before continuing his attempt at picking the lock, despite the burns he was getting.

Virgil sat down on the couch. His shoulders ached slightly from his hands being cuffed behind his back so long, but it paled in comparison to the sounds still running through his brain.

He sat there, partially drowning in his own thoughts, and partially trying desperately to escape from them.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and movement in front of him. He jerked his head up, and saw the muzzle, laying on the ground, and a dent on the coffee table from where it had hit before bouncing off.

“Hey, know where the key is?” The other vampire asked.

Virgil shook his head.

The vampire sighed, and sat down on the mattress. “Agh, Emile…”

Virgil was mildly curious, but it wasn’t like he could ask. And the vast majority of him was just tired. A bone deep tiredness he hadn’t felt in a while. He was really starting to get hungry, too, which didn’t make anything better.

The other vampire didn’t talk to him, which made sense seeing as he couldn’t answer, and after a little while, Virgil fell asleep.

[skinfeeler]

on spinoza and his contemporary courtiers

benedict spinoza, to any cosmopolitan with any academical acumen at all, reads as extremely normal. for the time however, he might well be called prescient. in a sense, he did nothing special: he simply steadfastly and without apology applied all methods of histiography to religious texts considering them as sources like any others, and it could be said that he helped pioneer the idea of a text as not simply containing itself but also everything about and around it. i’ll spare you the derrideanisms and the pithy barthes quotes, but this unfettered approach of what real scholars now consider self-evident was enough to unify the contemporary organised religious societies against him both in terms of shunning and censorship. if there is such a thing as an atheist virtue, i believe it must be ‘irreverence’: when they insist something is special and beyond the regular methods of philosophy (that chief of sciences), we must deny them. i believe that spinoza exemplified this.

the unfortunate thing is that he first laid this out in his tractatus theologico-philosophicus, a work in which he perhaps optimistically believed that if the authorities at the time could respect philosophy being utilised in service of religion — as descartes, who simply believed his philosophy to make a more robust foundation of religion than ‘aristotelean’ scholastics — they could respect it for its own sake. to this end, he still spoke of ‘god’ when in his ethics, he spoke of ‘god or nature’. the entire work is an extremely obvious double-layered obfuscatory work, and those who believe that it’s a ‘theological work’ should maybe learn what a determinate negation or sublation is— the thing is, given that maybe now, aspects of his thought have (in some locales, conditionally) been integrated in some strands of religious thought, the fact is that at the time he was universally reviled as an atheist, and in many communities (across all religions) in which the disenfranchised (including all children) have no access to, way of knowing about, or are taught faculties to engage with and ‘progressive’ and philosophically ‘sophisticated’ attempts at theology like those based on spinoza’s philosophy, he still is reviled as such, so he’s ours, you can’t have him, fuck you.

even so i must ruefully acknowledge that he still took on one facet of contemporary organised religious thought both before and after he started to strategically align himself more with protestant interests: while he rejected supernaturalism, he never really rejected the clergy, which manifested in one specific idea: he posited that while the truth is complicated, the masses (the laity, if you will) ultimately need guidance and simple truths that apply most of the time, and that spiritual impetuses are good enough for those who can’t do better, that it’s not necessary try to make them think for themselves. this much was the ineluctable product of his prior and lasting belief in the necessity (and thereby authority) of clergy and meant to validate it. maybe this was a tactical consideration, but it was a poor one, because his thought endures: i have had many people say the same to me. “oh, skinfeeler, people crave frameworks and not all of them can do what you can.” no note of what might happen if we might all try and emancipate people into postmodern notions of thought which may be a bit more difficult but will ultimately not leave the most disenfranchised of us behind, or of the fact that maybe many people are incapable of thinking in abstract, complicated ways exactly because organised religions have damaged them in that regard or punished them for trying, of course. no, it’s all spineless lack of ambition and a barefaced denial of epistemic injustice.

the thing is, these people when they speak to me never imagine themselves as the hapless laity. no, they are speaking to me cleric to cleric, sage to sage. they imagine themselves the parent, not the child. the thing is that even children are so much smarter than we give them credit for. someone who thought themselves a pedagogue told me that in their field it has become so obvious to me that children can ‘reason like adults’, just with a lot more glitches and heuristics in their thought. on the nose this looks very charitable and egalitarian, but why that second clause? do adults not have glitches and heuristics in their thought? what nonsense to insinuate they don’t. i have spoken to so many adults in my life, especially female family members who were never even given a chance to articulate what they meant to in discussions or to formulate their thoughts into something tangible and real. when i speak to them, however, explain certain methodologies of thought with patience, eventually they can work with them. what i like even more, though, is when they speak to me in their own language, their own philosophies defined on their own terms that reveal themselves as they manifest through such conversations with me: and in my experience, just about anyone can do this, the masses have wisdom if only you’ll let them. those spinozists i speak of are simply the other coin of the people who tell them they aren’t fit to work with the book, and they are just as wrong.

it’s superiority in the cloak of benevolence, pure and simple. i’ll admit to having been seduced by it myself at points: should we be surprised when all my arguments for people’s emancipation are met with lavish and glib praise of my ostensibly unique and special faculties? here i’ll say, now and forever: i’m not. i’m not special. there are, of course, people who are so broken that they can no longer work with anything but truisms, people who are stuck in feedback loops of the psyche from existential fear, internalisation of bigotries, the works, where they are not able to escape and use that which all of us have been endowed by, but this is not a transcendent or qualitative issue, it’s circumstantial and contextual: it was caused by something. this, however, tends to form the second line of defense of religious spinozists: “yes, what these people do to each other, their women, their children is horrific, but they don’t do it because of their faith, they do it because of the ways they have been damaged and what they may or may not rightly fear to happen if they neglect to speak as they speak or do as they do unto others and especially those they are in power over, such as parents unto children.” (which is to say, abuse those their religion has put them in a position of power over, impress them into their religions, dominate them.)

this obviously ignores the fact that even such things as defense mechanisms and threat models are codified in a certain way and not only of traumatic but also intertwined ideological nature as of course, exploited by those who are most powerful and least in danger in these communities. following from candid sociological analysis to real and actual values, you can never excuse the entanglement of personal anxiety about faith and existence with the practices of say, child abuse, such as the account of that one mother i read who admitted that when she saw the ‘spiritual hollowness in her son’s eyes’ her own faith was fading away for her— what a horrific and unforgivable thing to say about your own apostate child for not going along with the song and dance that you believe he must, even if ultimately she realised that to integrate others into her own sense of safety and certainty like that was unconscionable. unfortunately, most parents will never be allowed by their congregations to come to such conclusions about their families that make up these congregations, or in the case of the congregation that expelled spinoza and had him shunned, not by the religious state that needed the congregations that made it up to not allow behavior that disturbed larger and common religious precepts that bound together the contemporary civil religion.

regardless, respecting those objections i have compromised, at times, to paraphrase across various conversations i’ve had:

“if you say so, very well, but then decisions on what should happen in the future with regards to nations, and congregations, and families should be in the hands of the disjunction of those sets of people who we regard as qualified, with our conversation left without (but about) those others, with the hope that neither civil religion or more conventional organised religion will eventually be undone and unable to produce such tragic cases. we will respect their pain and lot in life and seek to understand where it comes from to be able to undo it and not have it be visited unto others, but we won’t factor it into our ultimate understandings and judgements, since as you say, they are unable to partake. of course, none of this requires ‘repression’ and in fact that is more often than not counterproductive and sociological considerations of what cause such outcomes are paramount before any particular action taken, with absolutely none of this belonging to the state or any other organised repressive organ as working through clerical or parental authority, as with any form of disenfranchisement.”

this is never taken well— i suppose there is some incredible nuance somewhere i must have been missing when i still entertained such deeply dehumanising, nonsensical, and unambitious notions at the behest of my religious contacts, or maybe they just didn’t like what they saw in the mirror.

[quickspinner]

MLValentines2k20 9. Cupid

Playing catch-up a little bit; I still have one more of these I want to finish before I call it done.

“Jagged,” Luka sighed, hands on his hips as he surveyed the set before him. “You know I usually trust your judgement, but I think your designer’s lost her mind this time.” He’d never met Jagged’s favorite designer, but Jagged had insisted they bring her in for this album cover. Jagged raved about her, but Luka generally tuned him out after the first few sentences. Jagged really only had two modes: total enthusiasm or absolute distaste. Either way, Luka always took his opinions with a grain of salt.

XY had bitched about her, but Luka had ignored that too, inferring from it only that the designer was attractive and that she’d had enough taste to shoot XY down. Luka hadn’t said anything, though. Speaking badly about the boss’s son was frowned upon even for up and coming rock stars. Unless Jagged decided to go independent and took Luka with him, they both had to put up with both Bob Roth and XY for now.

Jagged unknowingly mimicked Luka’s pose, giving away his uncertainty even though his words were confident. “Just...wait. Have a little faith. Let’s hear her out, I’m sure Marinette has a plan.” 

“Her plan better not involve making my album look like a perfume ad, Jagged.” Luka replied, wrinkling his nose. 

“I have asked you repeatedly to call me Dad,” Jagged said absently. 

“This is a disaster!” wailed a voice from the other side of the room. Luka and Jagged both looked that way to see a young lady in a business suit with her hands buried in her blue-black hair as she stared at the same set they’d been staring at. “This isn’t what I requested at all! This will never work, it’ll look like a perfume ad! How did this happen?”

“But Marinette,” said a saccharine voice that made Luka cringe. He couldn’t see the speaker but that voice made his skin crawl. “This is exactly what you asked for. I followed your directions.” The words that followed were smug. “To the letter.” 

“Oh my—” The young woman sighed, taking her hands out of her hair and straightening her back. She unbuttoned the coat of her suit and slipped it off, tossing it over the back of a chair and began unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “Right. Okay. This is not happening. Jagged and Luka will be here any minute and we’re going to do this shoot and it’s going to look amazing, and not like it belongs on the front of a Valentine’s card. When I was talking about Cupid, I meant the mythical Cupid, Lila, you know, the hot young guy with the bow, the literal embodiment of love and desire? NOT the chubby little baby cupid that sits on a cloud. You said you understood. Did you even look at the pictures I sent you?”

“But, Marinette, your notes said—” 

“Forget it,” Marinette said briskly, stepping up to the set under the lights. “I don’t have time for your excuses. I have to fix this.” She started ripping out the clouds. “Do we have any paint? Because there is no way we are photographing Luka Couffaine, the hottest rock star in the country right now, on this.” 

Holy hell, she was gorgeous, bold and determined and in charge, her feet planted as she reached up and pulled another piece of cotton batting down. She waved at the baby blue background. “Someone get me some black paint.” 

A hand waved in front of his face and he became aware of Jagged calling his name. He blinked and looked back at Jagged. “That’s your designer?” Luka asked inexplicably breathless.

“Best in the business,” Jagged said proudly. “Come on, wipe the drool off your face and I’ll introduce you.” 

Luka very much wanted to be introduced. He also wanted her phone number and a personal guided tour of the nearest supply closet. 

“Listen,” Jagged said, grabbing his arm and turning him so that the two men were eye to eye. “You watch how you treat her. I can make another son but I will never find another designer with that kind of talent, and if you piss her off I will put you right back on that boat with your mother where I found you, understand?

“Love you too, Dad,” Luka muttered, and Jagged apparently took that for agreement, hauling Luka forwards with him. 

“Marinette!” he called, and Marinette turned, a pretty smile lighting her face.

“Jagged!” Then she caught sight of Luka and her eyes widened slightly, the smile dropping immediately. “Mr. Couffaine!”

“Luka, this is Marinette, the most rock ‘n roll designer you’ll ever meet.” Jagged looped one arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “Tell us what you’ve got planned for us, Mari.” 

“Actually—well, I—” She only fumbled for a moment before she got her bearings back and straightened, stepping out from Jagged’s arm to turn to Luka with a professional air that didn’t make her one bit less attractive. Luka blinked at the not-quite-fake smile she gave him, absently noting the light smattering of freckles across her nose. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Couffaine, it seems there was a bit of a, er...misunderstanding and the set up is all wrong. I apologize for taking up your time but I’ll have this fixed as quickly as possible. In the meantime, is there anything we could get you while you wait? Would you maybe like a snack?” 

Jagged stepped on his foot before he could answer. It didn’t do much thanks to Luka’s heavy boots but it did remind him of Jagged’s threat. Not that that was necessary. Jagged was the one renowned for losing his shit in public, not Luka. No matter how much he really did want this particular snack, no one would know. Besides, he wasn’t XY. The woman was here to do a job, not entertain Luka’s fantasies, and he needed to get his mind off her very pretty mouth and back on the job.

Before he could come up with a professionally appropriate answer, though, another girl popped up at Marinette’s elbow. “Mr. Couffaine, if you’d like to come with me I’d be happy to make sure we find you something satisfying while Ms. Dupain-Cheng fixes her mistake.”

Luka recoiled slightly; this was the saccharine voice he’d heard before and it was even less pleasant up close. “No, thank you,” he said automatically, barely even glancing at her. “I’m fine.” He looked back at Marinette. “It’s fine, I don’t mind waiting. Honestly I’m relieved, I was a little worried when I saw the set.”

“Of course you would be,” the other girl said sympathetically, and Luka, who hadn’t moved his eyes from Marinette, saw the designer visibly grind her teeth.

Still, her tone was entirely professional as she said, “Lila, please go get us the black couch from the casting room, the one with the silver studs. I’m sure with your persuasive talents you can find some help to get it here.”

“Of course, Mar—Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” Lila said, and Luka doesn’t even have to look at her to know that her bright, helpful tone was completely insincere. She brushed past him, her fingers lingering on his wrist for a moment. He twitched it away without a glance in her direction.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything, Mr. Couffaine,” Marinette said, turning back to Luka. “Then if you and Jagged wouldn’t mind waiting, I hope I’ll have this cleared up shortly.”

“I have no doubt,” Luka replied, with a slow grin. “And please call me Luka, I hate being Mr. Couffaine.” 

“Of course,” Marinette smiled. “Feel free to call me Marinette. Jagged certainly does.” She made a cheeky face at his father, and Luka missed what Jagged said in response because Marinette laughed, and it was a beautiful sound and that was a real smile on her face and...wow, those eyes. 

His heart was suddenly pounding. Those eyes were familiar. Did...did he know her? He watched her, fascinated for a different reason, as she went over to take the can of paint from the assistant who’d brought it. She went with purpose to the backdrop, standing back for a moment as if to consider. Then she took a wide brush and began painting across the blue background in broad strokes that she left ragged at the edges. 

“I can change the color in post,” she mumbled. “Psyche’s lamp would be shining from...here, so this area stays light.” 

Jagged, easily bored as always, excused himself, leaving Luka there alone as Marinette made quick work of the backdrop. When she was done the smell of paint hung thick in the air but the scene was much better. A few more changes and the perfume ad look was replaced by a much grittier but still fantastical scene. The fluffy carpet was gone from the floor, revealing a hardwood platform. Marinette had taken some of the prop arrows and broken them in half (and watching her snap them like so many twigs had set his blood rushing again). Then she turned to Luka with a wide, much more sincere smile than she’d had before. “All right, I think we’re ready for our Cupid.” 

Oh...right. That was him. Luka sighed, but unbuttoned his shirt and took it off as he’d been instructed and removed his heavy boots, leaving him in his ripped jeans embellished with chains. He’d been through hair and makeup before they came. 

“We’ll start with you on the floor,” Marinette directed. “If Lila actually manages to get us the couch,” her tone seemed to indicate she thought it unlikely, “We can try that later and see what we like best. Vincent, can you show him where please?”

Luka followed the photographer’s directions and waited while they adjusted the lights. “I should warn you,” Luka said, glancing up at Marinette with a hint of trepidation. “I’m not a model or an actor. I’m not actually good at this part.” 

“I’ve seen you perform,” Marinette smiled reassuringly, and why were those eyes so familiar? “I’m not worried. If you can evoke that much emotion on stage I’m sure we can pull some of it out here.” 

Genuinely flattered, Luka smiled up at her. Marinette patted his bare shoulder. “It’s just another kind of performance,” she told him, and then she seemed to grow flustered, snatching her hand back. Luka couldn’t help a smirk. Marinette turned away, cheeks pink. 

Then it was business as usual, trying different poses while trying not to look bored out of his mind. Watching Marinette skitter about was entertaining, at least, but he couldn’t follow her constantly.

“He is so stiff,” Vincent complained, straightening and putting a hand on his hip. “Marinetta, can you not inspire the boy a little more?” Luka winced and sighed. Well, he warned her.

“Let’s take a break,” Marinette said, looking completely unbothered by this turn of events.

Luka sighed, sitting up and propping his elbows on his knees as she approached. “Told you,” he shrugged. Marinette knelt on the floor next to him and pulled out her phone. “Cupid brings love to everyone,” she told him, “but he never finds love himself until he meets Psyche. But he won’t let her see his true self until she comes into his room with a lamp while he’s sleeping. That’s what we’re going for with this shoot.” 

“Right,” Luka answered automatically. This had all been explained in the pitch, though he hadn’t paid all that much attention at the time. He actually didn’t get a whole lot of say in his album covers.

“Obviously we’re taking some liberties here,” Marinette continued. “Instead of being passive and asleep, you, as our Cupid, are finally ready to show your lover your true self, so you’re waiting for her to come in so you can really let her see you, and in doing so, allow yourself fall for her.”

His own music began to play from the speakers on her phone. She turned the volume all the way up, frowning in concentration. “There,” she said, looking up from the phone to meet his eyes. “The way you play the bridge, that’s what we’re looking for. That’s what inspired the shoot.”

Luka pursed his lips. The song was all about being ready to find love again after heartbreak, and the bridge was about that moment when you lock eyes with someone and choose to either look away or let yourself fall. It actually fit very well with the story Marinette had told him. He nodded slowly. “Play it again please.” 

Marinette complied, and Luka closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the music. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Marinette. Her lips parted in something like surprise, but she didn’t turn her gaze from him as she nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s it. Can you do that for the photos?”

“Can I look at you?” Luka asked. “It’s kind of hard just...staring into the lights.” 

Marinette’s cheeks pinked, but she nodded. “Okay. I’ll get Vincent to tell me where he wants you to look, and I’ll stand there. Don’t worry about the camera, just listen to the music and keep your eyes on me, okay? Vincent will do the rest.”

He felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile, and had to take a breath to compose himself. “Yeah, okay.” Marinette smiled at him and again he was hit with that wave of familiarity. Luka tilted his head slightly. “Have we met before?” he asked. “You just...you look familiar.”

Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she looked mildly embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.” 

“So we have met?” Luka asked, a little too eagerly. “It’s just—I swear I remember your eyes.”

Marinette blushed again, maybe even a little darker than before. “I went to school with Juleka. We, um, met on your mother’s boat once the year you left with Jagged. The music festival? You played with Juleka’s band and...I was there.”

Luka’s brow creased as he thought back to that day. “Ma-ma-marinette,” he whispered, a broad smile spreading across his face. 

Marinette made a face. “Oh good, you do remember.” 

Oh, he remembered. He absolutely remembered her now, as a skinny little kid with those beautiful eyes huge in her face as she babbled that they were ready for him to rehearse. She’d been so cute then, and he’d chatted her up a bit between the rehearsal and the concert, but then Jagged had come to the boat and everything had come out, and his whole life had been turned upside down, and he hadn’t seen her again. “Wow,” he breathed. “You’ve come a long way.”   

“So have you,” Marinette pointed out, giving him a hint of that cheeky smile she had turned on Jagged. “You’re a big rock star now.” 

“Oh, well I...yeah,” Luka slumped his shoulders a little bit, feeling his own face heat a little. “It’s been...well it’s been a trip, that’s for sure.” 

Marinette smiled. “You’re doing great. Are you ready to try again?” 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Luka said, relaxing back into the reclining pose he’d been in. “Ready when you are.” 

“Okay.” She got up. “Hey Vincent?” 

Luka watched her, still marvelling that this confident little dynamo was the stuttering, blushing girl he’d met way back then. 

Well. She still blushed, he thought to himself with a smirk. 

“All right, we’re ready, Luka,” Marinette called, walking to a point off to his left. “Just like we talked about.” She played the song again, and Luka closed his eyes, getting into the music. Then he lifted his head and looked at Marinette, and she smiled. “Go, Vincent,” she said. “Just keep your eyes on me, Luka.”

Not a problem at all. The rest of the photo shoot was easier. Occasionally Marinette moved, directing Luka’s gaze to a different spot, while Vincent clicked away. Luka had long since stopped listening to the music she played. For one thing, he had a new song taking shape in his head...and for another, it was getting increasingly easier to look at Marinette like she was the girl of his dreams. 

Marinette was thrilled with the outcome of the photo shoot as she stood over Vincent’s shoulder, watching him click through the proofs. She knew immediately which series she would be using. The pose where Luka was half-reclined, looking off camera with an enraptured, expectant expression. He held one of the broken arrows in his hand, the point against his heart, ready to stab himself with his own arrow if it meant finding love again. She’d add wings made of light in post that would look electric against the dark background. She would darken the pale sky blue on the outside of the dark area she had painted to something that harmonized with Luka’s dyed hair, and then she would add a light source here for Psyche’s lamp…

It would be perfect. Not exactly like her sketch thanks to Lila’s sabotage, but just as good, if not better. She nodded in satisfaction, and went to tell Luka they had what they needed. 

He was hovering nearby, his shirt back on but only half buttoned. 

“You did great,” she told him, smiling. “I think we got everything we need. I’ll have the proofs in by the end of the week, but as long as you’re satisfied then I can say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” 

“Thanks,” Luka said, ruffling his hair as she was sure he’d been itching to do since the whole thing started. Most of it fell right back into place, stiff with product. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “So do you actually work for me, or…” 

“I work for Jagged most of the time,” Marinette replied, already checking her schedule on her phone for the next thing she had to do. “I suppose you could say I’m on retainer with him in a way. I work directly for him on his personal looks and concert gear when he needs me, and the rest of the time I run my own business. I’m not affiliated with the label unless Jagged brings me in for a project like this as an independent consultant.” She gestured vaguely, indicating the shoot. “So today, technically I work for Bob Roth,” both of them made a face, “But Jagged calls the shots.” 

Luka nodded slowly, and then ducked his head a bit, hunching his shoulders so he didn’t tower quite so far over her. “Well then. First let me say that Jagged said he’d kick me off the tour if I upset you.” Marinette gasped and Luka chuckled. “He told me that he could make another son but he’d never find another designer like you, and having met you now I completely agree with him.” Marinette sputtered, having no idea how to respond to that, and to her embarrassment Luka chuckled through his nose at her. “Okay now I really believe you’re that Ma-ma-marinette.” Marinette pouted, folding her arms as Luka continued. “I’m just telling you this because I want to make sure you know there’s no pressure on you for what I’m about to ask, and if you say no I won’t breathe a word about it ever again. Okay?”

Marinette blinked. “Okay.”

“So...with that said, I’d really like to take you out sometime. Would you go on a date with me, Marinette?” Luka grinned, and it wasn’t at all like the rock star smirk he wore for his fans. It was sweet and hopeful and more like the boy from the boat than anything Marinette had seen since that day so long ago, when he’d teased her gently and played music just for her. She’d never forgotten that day and his kindness and she’d been happy to see him doing so well as he followed his dreams. 

Marinette found herself smiling back at him. “I’d um...I’d be open to that, if Jagged’s okay with it. You might not be my boss but you’re still the boss’s son, and…” She shrugged helplessly.

“I get it,” Luka smiled. “You’re a professional, I know that.” He raised his chin slightly to look over her head. “Hey, Dad!” he called. Marinette’s eyes widened and she turned around to see Jagged poking his head back into the studio. “Can I date Marinette?” 

“Oh God,” Marinette whispered, anticipating Jagged’s reaction. 

“Just wait until we announce our engagement,” Luka chuckled as Jagged’s whoop carried across the studio, the man himself barreling towards them. 

Marinette looked back at him in surprise. “You’re sure of yourself.” 

Luka’s grin only widened. “I’m sure about you. Pick you up at eight tomorrow?”

Marinette managed a weak “O-okay,” and then Jagged was on them, and nobody else got a word in edgewise for quite some time.

[ikeservant]

Hey if your still doing requests I'd like to hear your headcanons for nobunaga Shingen and Mitsuhide, with MC who practices witchcraft, if that's alright. Like "get the Palo Santo imma evict this ghost" modern witch. 98% certain Mitsuhide is of the Fae (won't give him her full name never makes any sort of deal and never directly says "thank you" but is very polite). And puts little bottles of weird things on the windowsills. May or may not have threatened hex a rude guest.

Yay I finally finished, @casually-fantastic-nug !:D I love looking up modern witchcraft and Wiccan things and think it’s pretty cool and I LOVE folklore and reading about cultural rituals and beliefs in general so this is an awesome prompt.

Nobunaga: When Nobunaga was disrespectful and touch mc’s face, she was pissed. However, she noticed how admired he was and how he was a powerful leader. So before she would decide whether to stay and help or leave, she decided to use her Wiccan teachings to determine whether he was trustworthy. Knocking and opening his door, she walked inside with tea leaves and candles. “Ah, here to be my nightly entertainment?”. “No. You are under my judgement. Sit still and let me read your aura.” Lighting the lavender scented candles to relax her mind and hone her focus, she stared at him intently, making him feel like she was reading his soul. “Your aura is strong and seemingly dark, but holds a strong, light inner layer. Before I leave you be, I will read my tea leaves to look into my future if I do stay and help.” Intrigued, Nobu watched with interest. “A good outcome might come my way, so I’ll stay here. But don’t try anything funny or else you’ll regret it.” As she worked alongside Nobunaga, he asked her a lot about her traditions and practices like what certain herb mixtures in her bottles did and how it could help, genuinely intrigued by her beliefs and knowledge. Before they go off to battle, he sees mc writing symbols over the doorways. “What are you doing, fireball?” “Putting protective seals around the castle to protect it from bad energies while we’re away. This place is like my home and I want to protect it any way I can. Oh before I forget, I need to give you this.” Fumbling around her sash, she pulls out a small wooden charm with a ribbon tied around it. “It’s a talisman for good fortune. I care about you a lot and want this to protect you.” “I will treasure this, although I’m already fortunate enough to have you be my lucky charm I will cherish as long as I can.”

Shingen: Mc was mad when Shingen kidnapped her, but something in her intuition and inner spirit told her that she is needed here for some reason. She woke up in the middle of the night, sensing something was wrong. Walking around, she heard a coughing fit from Shingen’s room. Cracking open the door, she saw him hunched over, wheezing. Walking right up to him, she tried examining him to get a clear idea of what herbal remedies could help. “I wish you could check me out when I’m in a better state. I’m in no condition to be looked at by a goddess.” His feeling of insecurity and weakness was put out when she dismissed his statement and not looking down on him “I’m just trying to see how I can help.” “You must be an angel for aiding your captor.” “No. I’m just a good witch doing her job.” Before he could ask any more questions, she rushed out of the room, returning with her satchel with jars of different herbs and ground up lavender. “I’ll heat up some tea to put these herbs in to help clear your air passages and put the ground lavender in a fabric pouch to lay next to you so the aroma can relax you and help you sleep.” “I am grateful for your help, but if I may ask, how do you know all this stuff?” Mc explained witches and witchcraft and the different ways to use it.  Is on board with it and will try anything she offers to him. Protective door seals to drive out bad spirits? Yes. Healing crystals? He carries them everywhere with a smile on his face, feeling much lighter and in better spirits but doesn’t know if its because the crystals are working or if it’s because mc gave them to him but either way it works wonders. Treasures everything mc gives him, feeling her hope for him reach his heart, making him feel like the rest of his years won’t be painful and lonely. He decides in return to carve a small wooden heart and make a necklace out of it, putting his feelings for mc into it. “You have given me many talisman from your heart and I decided to try my hand at it.” Mc, tearing up, puts it on so that his love for her can protect her like her nurturing witchcraft aided him.

Mitsuhide: Mc was immediately suspicious when Mitsuhide was reading her like a book, looking like a trickster. ‘He’s gotta be a fae folk, I’ll need to be on my guard.’ Since he was still suspicious about her, he decided to ask her questions. “I’m afraid I only know your first name, mc. Would you please give me your full name?” In Mitsu’s mind he’s just trying to make connections if she is tied to any family clans that oppose the Oda, but in her mind he’s trying to steal her name and hold power over her. “I apologize, but I cannot give you my full name. Just call me mc.” He found this suspicious, causing him to sneak into her room and try to find anything that might clue in where she is from. Instead, he found jars of oils, herbs, crystals, candles, and various items. “Please do not touch my stuff, fae!” mc frantically ran over. She had to explain where she came from and what witchcraft is. “I really mean no harm but if the others find out I’m from the future I will be in serious trouble.” He could tell that she was not a threat to the Oda so he decided “I will not tell the others, mostly because of the ruckus it would cause.” “Oh than-“mc was about to say thank you but remembered him maybe being a Fae. “One more thing. Please put this ring on.” She handed him an iron ring, checking to see if it did any damage on him. Checking his hand, she saw no marks and decided to lessen her suspicions on him being a Fae. “If you just wanted to hold my hand you should’ve said so.” “I’m just checking to see if you’re a Fae with bad intentions.” “I think you should know that humans can be far scarier than the creatures and spirits.” He said, sending an eerie chill up her spine. However, as time went by, they got along and grew closer. He thought the spells and rituals were unrealistic since he’s a very cynical person, but he enjoyed the thought she put into them and her enthusiasm itself brought positive energy that if ghosts and bad spirits did exist, she’d expel them with her spirit alone. When he treated mc to the tea shop, he bumped into one of his spies and had to step out for a minute. When he returned, he overheard some guards talking smack about him. He was just going to walk on by, but mc came to his defense, telling them off. “How dare you talk back, woman.” The guard raising his hand and Mitsu about to step in, mc made them both pause with a menacing smirk. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “What? Why is that?” the guard said, now nervous with her sudden expression change. Pulling out a small doll, a hammer, and nails, she laid the doll down and placed a nail on its arm. “If you make one bad move, I will use my cursed doll to hurt you. Whatever I do to the doll, the same happens to you.” “That’s impossible. You can’t do that.” He said, now sweating. “Oh really? Try me.” She pressed the nail into the doll’s arm a little more, and Mitsuhide wanting to play along, grabbed a pin and poked the man’s arm, making him scream and run off. “You must adore me so much to threaten a man with physical torture for my honor.” “Nah I couldn’t really do that doll stuff. I only use my witchcraft for good. I just do that to scare people like him away. Plus, I see the good spiritual energy in you and want to ward off anybody who can’t see that. That’s why I got you this!” She gave him a necklace with a little pouch. “Wear this to keep your good spiritual energy and bring fortune.” This became the most valued possession he ever owned and felt that he was already brought fortune when mc came into his life, but this symbolized her hopes for him and boi was officially in love.

[fortitudinem]

                    ISLE POLITICAL/SOCIAL HIERARCHY

This post is about the social structure of The Isle of the Lost, especially in relation to Maleficent and focusing mainly on the villains instead of the VKs. 

 Maleficent rules the Isle. This was accepted by everyone and came into being at roughly the time of her rebellion. Maleficent was the one responsible for rallying the villains together to try and fight back against Auradon and even when they lost the rebellion, she kept her spark. She is seen as the most powerful being on the Isle who wants control and even without magic, she commands legions of goblins and other minions. Very little happens on the Isle that she doesn't know about. It is considered that her word on a matter is law and her judgement is final, as in the case of Queen Grimhilde and Evie being banished. Maleficent gets final say in whether someone deserves respect. Respect is generally offered on the basis of crimes and magic. The worse your crime, or the more magical you are (usually both) determined the level of respect you can expect to receive.

 Under Maleficent there is, Mal, first and foremost. Not exactly considered her right hand, but as her daughter Mal is offered protections that other Isle residents are not. She gets away with a lot more and it is generally considered that she 'rules' the Isle from the ground, where Maleficent is hardly ever seen. Mal's presence is a very clear threat of Maleficent hearing about something and it is treated as such.

Maleficent also has goblin minions and some troll-like henchmen that accompany her everywhere, as a show of power. no-one has been stupid enough to try and pickpocket her, or worse, but it wouldn't look good if she did get harmed or stolen from and it might show a weakness that she can't afford, so Maleficent surrounds herself with these henchmen and they are also a more visible presence in the streets. People know to steer clear of them.

Maleficent's close company is considered to be Jafar, Cruella and the Evil Queen (now all the birthday party business is dealt with). These villains are considered to be some of the worst, and therefore the best by Isle standards. The actual level of respect they get from the younger generation, however, is limited only by their own physical abilities. Jafar's store is stolen from, and unless he catches the thieves this crime usually goes unpunished and uninvestigated by anyone but him. Cruella is openly mocked by most, kids will dare each other to play pranks on her. Cruella gains respect by being afraid of no-one, though, she shows no mercy for anyone, regardless of their own status or parentage. She's known for doling out harsh punishments. To some, that just makes it more of a challenge. The Evil Queen was a social pariah for many years and most people have long forgotten any status she might once have held. Their affiliation with Maleficent is tangental, they are closer to allies than friends.

Outside of Maleficent's close personal friends there are also other villains who are deemed worthy of respect. The list contains; Maleficent, Mother Gothel, The Evil Queen, Shan-Yu, Claude Frollo, Lady Tremaine, Jarfar, Chernabog, Governor Ratcliffe, Madame Medusa,  Ursula, Gaston, Scar, Stromboli, the Big Bad Wolf, Prince John, Hades, Cruella De Vil, Captain Hook, Aunt Sarah, Amos Slade, Kaa and Shere Khan (mal's spell book). These are people who have allied themselves with Maleficent, most are business owners, or are powerful in some other way, like commanding a large group (the huns, the pirates). Some have simply chosen to bend the knee in exchange for respect.

Outside of this list, there are a number of villains who have deemed themselves worthy of respect and strongly enforce it, but who do not come up on Maleficent's list. A lot of these villains are ones who believe that they should have a larger share of the pie, so to speak. The Queen of Hearts, Bill Sykes, Madam Mim, The Horned King, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, Rattigan, Yzma and Doctor Facilier are all excluded from Maleficent's list but all command a certain amount of respect regardless. 

Facilier is the headmaster of Dragon Hall and also owns the arcade, which is the only business of its kind on the Isle as fun is not often considered a priority. This encouragement for people to take time off and even feel happy for short periods of time is something considered strange on the Isle, as such he is placed on the outskirts of society, despite being a powerful magic user and an influential figure in the lives of the Isle children. 

Madam Mim is in charge of the 'witch faction', which isn't looking to take over the Isle, but is instead committed to teaching the would-be magic users how their powers will eventually work when the barrier is gone. They mostly keep to themselves and are deemed worthy of respect mostly due to their volatility. They have sectioned off their own area of the Isle, Maleficent pretends like it was her idea all along. Most people who aren't magic users don't enter the witches' quarter. 

The Queen of Hearts, The Horned King, Bill Sykes, Prince Hans and Yzma all consider themselves to be in charge of their own section of the Isle, under their terms. Hans and Yzma do not have gangs, but have merely claimed their own buildings and operate out of them without much desire to intermingle with the rest of the Isle. The others, however, have loftier expectations. 

The Horned King has a handful of Cauldron Born at his beck and call, he owns a shop at the furthest end of the market, as far from Maleficent's tower as he can get. The Cauldron Born are unliving, they patrol around the Isle, especially at night, and are some of the scariest things to meet in a dark alley. They are hard foes to fight. Luckily, they mostly stay inside the cauldron repair shop. Being on the Isle, the magic that holds them won't sustain, so if they are smashed to pieces, they will perish, this has stopped the Horned King from taking over completely. 

Bill Sykes has made a name for himself as something of a businessman on the Isle. He has built a small empire, though he has little desire to control the Isle as a whole, he prefers to manipulate from behind the scenes. His chop shop is the only place on the Isle to go for scrapped metal goods. He melts down scrap. It can be turned into wiring, metalware and most importantly, coins. (currency post here). Sykes is responsible for all metal coins created on the Isle and as such he is in a perfect position to also operate what is essentially a bank of sorts. He has influence all over the Isle and everyone trades with him, but he has not sworn loyalty to Maleficent and therefore is under his own protection. But that protection is usually very good, so he doesn't have much to worry about. His reputation as ruthless and violent precedes him in most instances. He has close ties with the Hearts. 

The Hearts are exiled from Wonderland and the Queen still thinks of herself as such. She strives for the day she can be returned to her seat of power. But while on the Isle she refuses to accept Maleficent's rule and lives in her own corner of the Isle, the only place where plants really grow. The family have set up a lot of different trades, a hair salon, a tea shop and they sell tonics and tinctures. But on top of that, they also have a close deal with Sykes where they create playing card money, which act like bank notes, backed by his currency. (see currency post above). Respect for the Hearts is demanded and taken by force if necessary. (Edgar Balthazar serves as runner between Sykes and The Hearts and also has been taken on as a butler in the Heart Household.) 

Rattigan has a gang that runs the transportation links for the Isle, they're known as the daredevil crew. the transport on the isle is most goblin rickshaws, but there are also humans who attack similar rickshaws to rebuilt and repurposed bicycles as a faster way to get around. They are considered an essential service, but are loyal to no-one in particular. 

These are, of course, just the villains. Amongst the villains, each has their own sidekick, who is afforded only as much protection as they themselves are able to generate, with the added benefit of having the name of a major villain added to their list. A well liked sidekick is more likely to be well taken care of, but one who shuns their villain or distances themselves without joining up with a new or secondary villain is likely to struggle on the Isle unless they can prove themselves. It for this reason people like Horace and Jasper are still following Cruella’s orders, even though they have publicly denounced her previously.  

Below even the sidekicks are the minor criminals, people who have no magical powers, who are attribute to no meaningful story. Murderers, thieves and ruffians of all varieties who were indiscriminately thrown onto the Isle who have little protection but what they can give themselves. These make up the majority of prisoners on the Isle.

As times move on and the children of the major villains (and minor criminals) begin to grow into their own, this creates a new power dynamic. Some of these children want to grab territory and power for themselves, like Uma. After twenty years a lot of the villains have become jaded and a lot of them are using their children as extensions of themselves, those who fall out of favour with or choose to denounce their parents (Uma, Harry etc) are forced to make their own way, but the new blood and a renewed sense of spirit can lend themselves to becoming a force to be reckoned with. Especially when the older generation are old, unhealthy and slowing down (for those who are human).

The gangs of the villain’s children are more likely to clash with each other, creating in-fighting and turf wars that the parents simply aren’t involved with and don’t care about. Ruling over an island of garbage is looking less and less enticing by the day and if the kids want to argue over trash heaps, the consensus is to simply let them. Ultimately, no-one is besting Maleficent or kicking her off her throne. Until, of course, Mal does.

Following the defeat of Maleficent and the disappearance of her cronies, the potential factions quickly fall to fighting, each trying to grab up as much territory as they can. The six months following Maleficent’s defeat is full of battles for land and resources, by the time Mal returns to the Isle, most people have succumbed to one leader or another.

After Uma leaves there is a grab for her territory that is swiftly beaten back by her crew, lead by Harry Hook. The next year is spent fighting small battles for the edges of constantly shifting territory, until the removal of the barrier, whereupon everyone who was fighting for territory leaves the Isle in order to try and return themselves to their former glory. The Isle is left for the taking. ( i subscribe to the uma as queen of the isle after d3, but that’s entirely up to personal preference. )

[the-wiresmarvelau]

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn’t help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: arrangements 2

Peter picked out a small array of clothes from the ones they had gotten for Clint, Sam and Natasha.

Bringing the clothes to the room didn’t help the buzzing in his head though. So, he decided to take a walk to the small lake in the forest behind the compound.

As he stepped out, the sun had begun to set. Its warmth still lingered in the air, carrying the scent of dry earth and wildflowers

Breath after breath spread the dulled down electricity of summer throughout his whole body; and he savoured every last one of the sunrays reaching his skin.

Usually, he didn’t go for walks that much. Because for some reason.. birdsongs made him uneasy.

But right now, when coupled with such calming sensations and the contrast of how uncomfortable the compound felt right now, not even those alien tunes could bother him.

His spider sense in his head wasn’t gone perse, but it had calmed enough to be mistaken for a comfortable dizziness.

Strolling towards the forest, he cherished this moment of peace.

Bevor, he had thought that the only reason he was this wound up had been his concern for Loki.

Now he realised that it was pent up stress from the last few weeks. There had always been something to do.

Even though he knew he had enough time to get everything done; his perfectionism and anxiety to mess up seemed to have gotten the better of him.

Right this moment though? He felt a fragile, airy kind of contempt.

Trying to hold on to it for as long as possible as he made his way over to the treeline, he attempted to keep his thoughts empty and concentrate on all senses but his vision.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven and had only a minimal give to it.

Occasionally a stray fern or flower would stroke over his ankles and his clothes were soft on his skin, slowly building up warmth.

Behind him the faint, familiar hum of the arc reactors and electrical currents gave him a sense of safety, while the trees that rustled lazily in front of him seemed calm and reminded him of picnics with his aunt and uncle in the park.

He could hear woodpeckers, chip away at varying distances and wondered how many a normal person would be able to make out.

Only someone with enhanced senses would be able to hear the sloshing of the lake; of that he was sure.

But what about the cracking of twigs now and then? The beating wings and calls of baby birds, signalling their parents? Would Tony have been able to pick up on the grunting deer, somewhere to the right of him?

As he stepped under the first tree, he was greeted by the much colder, more humid air.

Moss cushioned his steps, swallowing all noise he made.

All but his breathing, which refreshed his lungs and grounded him, further.

Just as he thought that it would be helpful, if he opened his eyes again, the buzzing in his head flared up. Telling him to step to the side.

He did and at the same time opened his eyes. He had barely managed to avoid a collision with a tree.

Smiling to himself, he continued along, following the sound of water.

Arriving at his destination, his light mood seemed to shatter, like a bubble of hair thin glass. A cold shudder run down his spine as he found himself a tree with a large branch he could sit on.

In the dim evening light, the lake looked almost like a black void; reminding him of the deep, freezing cold water the vulture had dropped him in, and how he could have drowned if it wasn’t for Tony.

Peter owed this man, to whom he looked up to like he was a father, so much, that it stung; having to hide something so big from him.

A resigned sigh escaped his lips, when his spider sense suddenly concentrated more to one side, not telling him to do anything, but alerting him of some kind of presence.

‘Probably just some wild animal’ he thought. Not wanting to move and startle it.

But then, whatever it was, came closer and he got the impression that it probably wasn’t an animal.

His spider sense didn’t seem to register it as a threat though, and in his melancholic musings, he refused to move.

It was probably vision, wanting to check on him.

“Excuse me.” A female voice broke the silence, making him look in her direction.

“You are Spiderman, are you not?”

The woman he saw standing there was beautiful. A golden glow emanated from her, making everything about her look incredibly soft.

What struck him the most was how much she reminded him of his aunt May. With that kind look on her face. Eyes filled with worry but standing firm; No doubt in whether or not she did the right thing.

It was by no means hard to believe that she was a goddess.

Because of course, he knew who she was.

He had waited for her to arrive since he spoke to Mr. Loki.

“Uhm. Ma’am. Yes, I-. I’m spiderman.” He had to clear his throat bevor continuing. “I guess you’re here because of Mr- because of your son?”

In his head, Peter scolded himself for stumbling around his sentences, and almost faceplanting when he jumped down from the tree.

The goddess before him just smiled sweetly.

“Yes. He said you would find some place for him to stay.” she replied, politely ignorant of the teens nervousness; which put him at ease a little bit.

Nodding to himself, he answered “I have a room for him, hidden in the compound. Nobody will know he is here.” With his eyes he tried to convey as much earnestness as he could.

If this woman was anything like May, she would want to be sure that her son was in safe hands.

“We just have to somehow break him out. He said you would know how to?”

His answer was another one of those kind smiles, she seemed to give out plenty of.

How could the child of a woman as sweet and caring as this turn out trying to take over a planet. It was a puzzle with at least one missing piece; but he was determined to solve it non the less.

“Bringing him to Midgard is easy enough. Shall I bring him directly to the building?” It was clear that she was convinced he would say yes, but he shook his head.

“I think it’s better if you bring him here. His room is underground, and the nearest entrance is right over there.” He pointed to a big tree stump near where the forest gave way for a little gravel beach.

“It was mean to be a hidden bunker” He explained, blushing a little with how weird this must be for her.

She looked around, trying to memorize the place as detailed as possible before returning her gaze to Peter with a sigh.

"You can't imagine how grateful I am for your generosity. He has made his fair share of missteps but..

“he is a good boy at heart and I believe much can be attributed to his father’s treatment of him. I don't know what exactly happened when I wasn't around, but judging by the current situation, the animosity between them must have festered for quite some time now."

The young hero wasn't sure why she felt like she had to explain herself.

Without her, there was probably little to no chance of escape for her son, but she did help and it was clear to him that she cared.

“I’m sure he knows that.” He replied, not knowing what else he could say. “I will make sure that he is safe and has time and space to heal.” It was the least he could do in his opinion.

Frigga smiled again, her eyes fond and a little sad. Something about him told her that he was familiar with pain.

“He always had a good judgement of people. I’m just glad he will finally have a companion his age, you two are not so different from each other.”

A companion his age?

That statement confused Peter but bevor he could ask, the woman in front of him sighed and stood up a little straighter.

“Don’t worry if it takes a while for us to get back. I have to make sure that we can’t be traced back here. And it would probably be best, you prepare everything.”

Nodding the boy took a step in the direction of the entrance.

“When you arrive before I’m back out, just knock three times in the stump, leave a small pause, and knock twice. It will open and notify me.” He demonstrated the pattern but nothing happened.

The goddess raised a brow in question.

“Just need to put that into the system it’s for this occasion only... makes it easier.”

She nodded.

“We will meet again soon” she said before turning to the side and disappearing with a single step.

For a few seconds, he stood there, trying to get the whole conversation straight and not miss anything.

He still had no clue what she meant with the ‘his age’ thing but decided it wasn’t that important right now.

Loki’s Room was furnished, had electricity and a bath, he had fresh clothes…

What else did he need; like right now?

While he thought about it, he went over to other side of the stump and with his fingers found a small crack in the wood.

Pressing a plate at the top of it opened a panel in one of the roots, easy to miss if you didn’t look for it. He tapped in the code to open THE WIRES and was promptly met by the voice of Manuel.

“Sneaking in through the back door, are we? Does your father know you’re out this late?”

For some reason, the AI kept referring to Tony as his father; probably because of the rumours going around the tower.

Most of the data he had given him to learn speech from was security footage from the labs and living quarters.

“He wouldn’t be surprised now, would he?” Peter replied, before instructing Manuel on what to do when he got the signal.

While doing that, he remembered that his guest probably didn’t have nearly enough to eat in the past years, so he decided to make some eggs on toast, as well as bring some ingredients to the little kitchen nook for the god to be able to make himself something whenever he desired.

Most of the tracks back and forth were made by the service robot, while he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn and that at least one of the ways into THE WIRES was open, so he could communicate with the AI in them.

The Gods hadn’t arrived yet, when he was done.

Placing everything to be kept warm into an insulated box and handing it off to the ever-busy robot, he made his way to the lab to finish of his watch.

KAREN was too much of a risk, and it was important that Manuel could always contact him.

This task didn’t take long either; the programming for it being rather simple.

Though he was sure that the older AI had noticed that his behaviour was weird; He hoped that she didn’t notice that he had given Manuel the possibility to override any protocols and contact attempts KAREN started from there and to ‘switch out’ at any time he entered THE WIRES.

Peter had just grabbed a (second) first aid kit and was on his way to their meeting place, when Manuel informed him that the two had knocked.

He checked that KAREN couldn’t hear through the watch, but the display pulsed a dark green, as opposed to her bright red.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that she won’t find out.” Her counterpart assured. The boy gave a nod, but was too tense to speak, while running to greet the arriving Aesir.

They were taking the last step down the stairs when he came around the last corner; and the aspiring engineer was glad that he had decided to change to stairs after a short, initial drop with ladder.

Loki looked even worse, than when he had last seen him.

Running the last steps towards them, he gestured to the door near them, leading into the small storage room that served as front for the bunker.

Manuel had already opened the way for them.

Directly behind the opening was a narrow staircase, leading further down.

For the descent the super powered teenager carried the god bridal style, followed by his mother.

Every inch of exposed skin was coloured some variation of red, black, blue or yellow from bruises lacerations or gashes.

Dried blood clung to his skin in rivulets of crimson.

Fortunately, none of the wounds was actively bleeding.

The metal thread in his lips had been removed, but not after it had torn through his lips in several places. A golden glow held them together, which was probably some kind of healing spell.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he quickly but carefully, made his way over to the large, cushioned sleeping place encased in the wall to the right, at the opposite end of the room.

“I hate to leave him like this.” The god’s mother spoke up, “But I have to get back to Asgard, before my husband notices my absence.”

Her gaze spoke of the pain she felt at the prospect of leaving her boy alone like this.

Before the hero could answer she pulled out, what looked like some sort of fancy bowl or plate and placed it on the desk, next to the bed her son lay in.

“This will allow me to send you some healing elixirs, you will surely need. Never place anything in it, not even water to wash it. My boy can explain the rest to you once he awakes.”

And without another word she disappeared, the same way she had the first time.

Several moments went by in which Peter didn’t know what to do.

The unconscious form of the man on the bed looked almost dead, were it not for the irregular raise and fall of his chest.

He had forgotten to ask about the age comment she had made earlier.

Not that it mattered…

With a shake of his head, he turned towards the small bathroom, on the diagonally opposite side from the one the bed was in.

Soon he found several towels as well as a bowl of water, before covering the couch, in front of the bed with some of the towels and moving the thin, pale body onto it to start carefully washing the dried blood away.

Only where he could reach of course, but the sole fabric covering the god’s thin form, was a pair of shorts, so he got almost everything.

He worked in silence, grateful that Manuel kept quiet.

The whole day, he had been in strange moods and he didn’t want to have a shouting match with such a new AI, which would probably be the outcome of any comment right now.

After what felt like an endless but short while, he had washed away everything he could, leaving his guest looking only marginally better; but much more peaceful than before.

As expected, all clothes he had at brought from the others’ room were either too short or too wide.

Right now, too wide was a much better option, so he looked for the softest hoody he could find to slip over the ravenette’s torso.

When he had placed him back on the bed and covered him with a thin, but soft blanket; the teen put away the supplies he had used and sat down on the couch.

And again... he was at a loss for what to do.

Looking around the room, he cringed a bit at how unsymmetrical everything was. (visual)

The couch he sat on stood in front of a large shelf along one side, the shorter side of the L shape was against a wall.

In front of the longer side was as a sort of wall standing into the room, another shelf, this one made up of hexagonal shapes with a TV fastened onto it.

He had taken it from Bruce’s room, where it was meant as a reference to chemical structures, while in Loki’s it was more to hint on honeycombs.

Next to the shelf, in the corner between sofa and TV, was a seat made out of fabric hanging from the ceiling, looking almost like a hammock folded in half; held open by a wooden bar on the top.

Behind the honeycomb shelf was a closet, the door to the bathroom and another nook with two beds in it this time. They weren’t as big as the one Loki lay in right now and were positioned above one another.

The lower bed was open towards a narrow pathway on it’s left, where a small bedside table occupied the far back corner, while the upper bed could only be reached from the front and a small opening at the turn of the stairs; situated in the middle of the far wall from the couch.

Encircled by the stairs on two sides and the writing desk towards another, was the kitchen crowded into the wall.

On the desk was only the basic drawing supplies. And the bowl the goddess had left behind.

Curious, he made his way over to it. He was sure as hell not gonna leave the room until Loki woke up, might as well spend the time inspecting something, even though it probably wouldn’t tell him anything.

Hundreds of small ambers of varying colour made up the bowl like a mosaic, held together by gold, molten to perfectly encase the individual pieces which seemed to have been carved by hand.

Other than that, it didn’t look magical, but then again... He glanced over to the form on the bed and sighed.

The god didn’t look magical either. More like a porcelain doll, left in the care of an overly artistic toddler with red and blue crayons.

Just as he put down the bowl, the litte service robot came zooming back into the room; His wheels humming, eager to be of use.

Somehow the sound reminded Peter of bees, the diligence he had portrayed today furthered this imagery, so he send a text to Ned, asking if he could name the robot bumblebee and paint him accordingly.

After that he run out of ideas what to do.

Deciding to read a book, while he waited for his guest to wake up, he steeled down with a copy of Sherlock Holms.

At least there, everything worked out perfectly by the end of the stories.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4