#for people to have ASSUMPTIONS built off of that common knowledge?

[olrinarts]

Ref Sheet and Background: Narinder

long post ahoy! (i'm serious. do not click that read more unless you wanna scroll for a while, it's even longer than Esriaal's)

A note about AUs: All of my AUs can be considered to be within the same ‘universe-cloud’, for lack of a better word ('multiverse' has frustrating associations, alas. curse you mcu, lmao.) That doesn’t make them directly linked or in any way affect another AU, unless explicitly said to (see: constancy must transpose and chimes of bone in the at the root series.) Otherwise, each is a standalone AU, either diverging directly from the Base Lamb and Base Narinder’s story, or in some way reflecting/echoing it (see: ashes ashes, the yuri rock god AU.) Any completely unrelated AU to this universe-cloud will have it mentioned that it’s not connected.

Name/Titles: The One Who Waits, the One Below, Narinder Base Age: 86 (age he was Crowned, equivalent to around mid-30s developmentally) Gender: He/him Race: Cat, infernal

Background:

Narinder was born as the middle son of a common infernal cat, which were once as plentiful as their cousin race, the black cats. His family were farmers in a time when the Crowns were a relatively new development, a century or two after the first god was crowned. He was about as unremarkable a cat as can be imagined at the time, and could have been anyone. That was why both the Crown of Death and the kernel of what was someday meant to be the Crown of Life chose him: neither had any use for someone special and remarkable, who’d always be apart from the people around them by nature. If he was to be remarkable, it would be by what he accomplished.

A Crown can’t sit on two heads, of course, and normally a head can’t really wear two Crowns. As the Ivory Crown wasn’t crafted, but needed to be ‘grown’ due to being the Crown of Life, both the Red and Ivory Crown were able to coexist. Ivory was essentially slumbering in the unaware Narinder’s soul until its time came to wake up. He was chosen young, not even past his first century – infernal cats lived just as long as black cats, who can live over a millennia or more if they’re smart about it, though they reach adulthood at the same age as other cats (think Forneus still being around a thousand years after Narinder was cast down.) The Crowns made their choice in one of Narinder’s family fields, having sat down from harvesting rye with his scythe to rest beneath the shade of a beech tree. About as humble a beginning for a god as imaginable.

Narinder didn’t aspire to humility, however, let alone as the god of Death, so he built his cult quickly. It was a pretty compelling message, altogether – if everything ends in death, you might as well worship what’s coming, and having the favour of the god of death meant an easier passage through the river of souls to the afterlife. He was already beginning to chafe against the idea of the One Who Waits and the inherent stagnation, however, as well as other limitations. He particularly disliked how souls sacrificed to other gods didn’t come to him in death, as well as other practices that cut lives short needlessly, such as child sacrifice. He was fine with sacrifice in general, that was just how things worked, but there had to be some guardrails, because it was starting to damage mortal trust in all of the Crowned Gods’ care and guidance.

Despite common assumptions in the many millennia to come, it wasn’t War who first raised their hand against another god – it was Narinder, thoroughly pissed off about another god using mass sacrifices to taunt him with the souls that were stolen from him. After that god fell to his scythe, it became clear that the time of peaceful coexistence among the Crowned Gods was growing strained, to put it mildly.

That was when the god of Knowledge went to him, proposing an alliance: Narinder would join their pantheon as their brother, and the souls sacrificed in Shamura and Kallamar’s names would pass into his hands, same as the sacrifices in his own name. He was more than fine with that, feeling a kinship with both Shamura and Kallamar, and so their combined pantheon grew stronger, gaining first Heket and eventually Leshy, who was the last god to ever be crowned. War was eventually inevitable, becoming one of Shamura’s domains when they took on the role of general in a war of gods, and when the dust settled, only the five Bishops remained in the lands. They divided the lands between themselves, with one land to four of the Bishops and unconditional welcome for Narinder in each (as Death ‘belongs’ everywhere), and for a very long time, the Bishops remained at peace.

The longer it went on - the longer Narinder was locked as the One Who Waits - the more restless he became. Shamura, who he was closest to, pitied him for it. They were concerned about allowing the restlessness to continue to grow unchecked, unsure what a Crowned God rejecting his domain’s nature might do to the faith, and so they encouraged him to pursue knowledge, distracting his restlessness with curiosity. That was their first mistake, for all that they were Knowledge from the start:‌ they assumed his curiosity would distract from his appetite for change, that it was the lesser drive between curiosity and restlessness. They were wrong.

The more Narinder sought to know, the closer he became in nature to the mortals, to the Narinder he’d been when he was Crowned; to learn is to change. He grew to sympathise with the natural mortal instinct to fear the inevitable, the cage of death that no one could escape, including Death himself. It grew from sympathy to kinship as time passed – not in the same way the Bishops were kin, but in the sense of a leader rather than a ruler. Part of the group, not apart from it.

Finally, the idea that was to be his downfall occurred to him: if the mortal souls were his in death, then weren’t their souls his while they still lived? And if they were his, living and dead, then wasn’t it his decision whether they died at all – or even had to stay dead?

He was so proud when he first succeeded at resurrecting a mortal that the first person he told was Shamura, because of course it was. They were the one who’d let him grow in the first place, and for the first time since almost the beginning, he felt like he could breathe.

Shamura panicked. Internally, where he couldn’t see it, but they knew they were looking at something that was going to overturn all of their careful plans and comfortable position as the leader of the Bishops, and so they began to put new plans in motion.

Narinder’s growing discontent over the millennia had soured his relationships with his siblings, growing even further apart as he grew closer to the mortals. Other than Shamura, he was mainly friendly with Leshy, but Leshy had no patience or interest in schemes other than the chaos it could cause. Kallamar had long been terrified of him, of the power of Death in the hands of a god growing more bitter by the century. And Narinder and Heket had never gotten along all that well – a mutual dislike born from natures that were entirely too similar.

Hoping to buy themselves time, the other Bishops began to keep souls from him, unmaking them for extra power instead of letting them pass on, especially as Narinder’s new gospel began to spread. By the time he realised this and confronted his siblings, enraged by the betrayal of the ancient deal, Shamura was ready. They gave him one chance to forsake the heresy he’d been preaching, and the Bishops would return to the deal. He rejected the offer, far too angry to even consider it, and if he had, he would have rejected it anyway. They were the ones who’d betrayed him first.

When he refused to forsake his new power, Shamura and the other Bishops cast him Below in chains. Shamura was the only one who knew that it would take Godly matter to chain Death, so they chose to allow him to maim the other Bishops and themself as they do in canon, ensuring the others would only blame him for what had happened. As he was cast down, Shamura cast down the two kittens that would grow to be Aym and Baal with him as well.

What followed was a thousand years of plotting and planning, taking vessel after vessel, because the Bishops foolishly thought he had no power over Death in chains, and no longer unmade the souls they sacrificed in their own names (doing so grants more power, but it’s also much more taxing and fairly gruesome, so it damages their faith base.) Some vessels worked better than others, but Narinder was the One Who Waits, and that had guaranteed his patience could be both furious and eternal at the same time. He would be free, no matter how long it took, no matter how many tries. There would come a day where he finally had the soul he needed, and he wouldn’t find them by doing nothing. So long as he had the Red Crown, he was still Death, and he wasn’t helpless.

Eventually, a prophecy was made:‌ that from the sheep led to slaughter would rise a sacrificial lamb who would be his liberator. He’d been patient, and this was his reward. It took another few decades, which itself inspired a slow, simmering anger over the fate of the sheep; even nearly a thousand years of bitterness and plans for revenge hadn’t withered that old Narinder, and he could only grit his teeth as his siblings committed a genocide that grew crueller by the year. The idea that an entire race was doomed just to spite him was infuriating. It was an unfated prophecy – whoever was the last sheep standing would be his – and so he couldn’t even know what soul he should plan for. This is where the diverging AUs begin.

It did ultimately come to pass, the Sacrificial Lamb’s soul landing in his hands, and he knew the brave little thing had defied his siblings’ hunters for over a decade since the last other sheep died. When he put them back into a living body, things didn’t connect quite right in their head, but they still looked up at him with such fearlessness that all of his anger and hope turned to sentiment. (Diverging AU: untitled politific, where they don’t lose their memory, though he’s not aware of that.)

Instead of just commanding them, he made it an offer (not one they could refuse, but still, even phrasing it differently is a hell of a concession from a god.) He chose to tell them of the sacrifice at the end, again from that sense of sentiment, but mostly because he could tell they weren’t just going to agree to be his vessel, they were doing it wholeheartedly.

From there the events of the game progressed, over the span of around one hundred and twenty years. He saw them as often as possible, after a death or a crusade, and kept them Below to spend time with them for as long as was feasible. As the decades wore on, he grew increasingly unhappy at the knowledge that he was going to be the one to unmake them, and told himself it was just a mild regret over it all, because acknowledging how much he’d come to dread his own freedom was more dangerous than just about any other possible reaction.

One of two things then happens, after the demise of Shamura: either the Lamb fights Narinder and wins (primary AU: ‘constancy must transpose’, resulting in Narinder with the Ivory Crown) or the sacrifice is successfully carried out (diverging AU: ‘chimes of bone’, where Narinder keeps the Red Crown.)

‘Base’ Narinder The above is almost always true in its entirety from fic to fic, though weight might be given to some events over others, or his emotional responses might be different and explored from there. Exceptions are made for reflection AUs (such as ashes ashes, which takes place in a world where the Bishops were never crowned in the first place.) If a reflection AU is different enough, such as a different world setting entirely, then specific things are adjusted or find equivalents, but there’s always strong parallels, and the basic facts of Narinder’s identity are unchanged.

There’s no story to go along with the Base Narinder after the end game on purpose. The closest to a ‘base’ canon for him is the world of the comic fittings, as that one is largely nondescript about the actual way Narinder and the Lamb/Esriaal came to be in the position of Narinder as a more-or-less mortal as part of the cult and Esriaal as the Red Crown’s bearer. It focusses almost exclusively on the culture of the sheep (and some of Narinder’s base backstory, as well.)

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

For a backstory, I have a group of people were stranded on an deserted island on a unknown planet. From there, over the course of thousand years, they built up their own advanced society.. But the thing is, if it was a deserted island.. and that does mean no trade, no nothing. They have ventured off to explore nearby places but found nothing but the same - deserted islands. They have met no one else until now, and now is where my story begins - finding out there actually aren't alone and there are people who just found them. But exactly how would they become an advanced society if there isn't much on the islands. The only thing they brought with them was a broken down spaceship they took apart - which is a limited supply of advanced tech to repurpose.

Tex: I suppose it’s a fine line between what constitutes an island and what constitutes a continent, but a lack of land-based resources (trees, agriculture, mining) would probably be a good dividing line. If the people on your island are not able to mine, then consequently they will have a finite amount of mined resources such as metals, silicon, etc. Because of that, their ability to institute an industry based upon these materials (smithing, etc) will be inherently stunted and requiring trading of either raw or finished materials in order to have something to work with. Provided your definition of an advanced society is a technological society, then yes, they would need the materials for developing electronics in order to be technological. If they cannot have the copper for wiring, the silicon for chips, and the plastic for motherboards and housing units, then they will not be able to construct computers, much less anything else that would create a technological framework (i.e. internet).

So either your proverbial garden of Eden has enough built-in materials to be repurposed to last for several generations, or there are an unknown amount of people that know about this island’s existence where rapport and trade can be established. Otherwise, an advanced society is not possible.

Wootzel: For your people in your story, “advanced” might look a little different compared to people who have access to all of the resources that Tex mentioned. I’m building off of the assumption that they do not.

I think that maintaining knowledge would be the key factor. If these people don’t have any way to communicate with other societies, but they do have some form of knowledge base at their disposal, they can still benefit from a lot of scientific advances even if their ability to create technology is limited. If there are some components of their spaceship’s computer system that still function, and they are able to maintain power to the computer system, it’s totally reasonable to expect them to have access to a massive amount of information. Just as an example, all of the text of all of the articles in the English Language Wikipedia, compressed, is less than 23 GB. Most cell phones could store that nowadays, so as long as they have access to SOME kind of computer system, it’s reasonable to think they could maintain some kind of digital encyclopedia. As of 2023, all of Wikimedia Commons (which stores all images, video, sounds, etc used by wikipedia) takes up about 428 terabyes. That’s an absolutely massive amount of storage by today’s standards, but if a spaceship’s encyclopedia was curated much more carefully, it’s reasonable to expect the amount of storage needed for reference images and sounds to be much lower. Even if it wasn’t reduced at all… I wouldn’t personally bat an eye about a large spaceship having that much storage in its systems.

For the matter of keeping computer systems functional for a thousand years, without losing everything to the electronics degrading, see Addy’s first suggestion…

As for why the knowledge is so important, think about how many life-improving scientific advancements we benefit from that weren’t known just 200 years ago. Even without any special technology, public knowledge of germ theory is such a massive boon to public health. Having information on hand about engineering, biology, etc, would mean that even if there isn’t anyone in the initial group who has that knowledge and skill, there’s greater opportunity for people to learn later on without having to start from scratch. This has the potential to make their advancement faster, if and when they get access to more materials.

Addy: Maybe they could have some kind of mine or matter rescrambler? It's a spaceship, so there's sci-fi. There could be limitations to the complexity of the things that the matter rescrambler could make, but it could be plenty to get them some equipment for deep-sea underwater mining going, plus maybe some machinery for textiles, factories, etc.

Also, there's a huge difference between an archipelago and a series of desert islands. Do you have plants and wildlife, or is it just sand upon sand? Sand isn't much of a resource for making advanced materials. There's deep-sea mining, but that requires its own level of tech to actually get to (plus matters of ceramics, polymers, etc, and then also issues with wildlife).

[dannybobany]

Let’s talk about Mr Outback

Mr Outback is an npc from orange oasis whom is incredibly easy to miss for several reasons yet who’s dialogue has large lore implications for the world of omori, so let’s refresh ourselves on who this guy is

This is Mr Outback, he can also be found at the train station before going to orange oasis and as I said before he’s an Incredibly easy to miss npc that I’m sure several people who will see this post never even encountered on their first playthrough, this is due to the fact Mr Outback cannot be interacted with after completing the lost library, and since many players don’t explore orange oasis immediately this guy just won’t be available to talk to

[excerpt from the omori wiki about this, ps that I don’t agree with the wiki writer’s assumption here, I think he just built a sand sculpture of himself and left]

But why is this npc important? You must be asking if you aren’t familiar with him. Well, his dialogue is… to my knowledge, the only place in omori that implies headspace is more then just a lucid dream sunny experiences

For convenience I’ve gathered all relevant dialogue here for you to read if you haven’t or just don’t remember what he says:

So there it is, In all its glory… the singular place in omori that suggests not only that Sunny’s headspace is real in some capacity, but that other people have them too and some like Mr outback here can travel between them

But what exactly does all of this say about the nature of headspace(s)? I aim to break it down

“Them folks who’ve been here long… they know more then they’re letting on”

This line is like. Stupidly ominous for no reason, in my opinion it’s about the three great creatures, and is Mr Outback’s way of warning Sunny that dream characters become more aware and powerful the longer they exist, dreams aren’t meant to be so permanent… so loved in as Sunny’s headspace is

“We got a third eye, you could say… a sixth sense, if you catch my drift”

This line is more intuitive, combined with everything else he says this line comes off as him telling Sunny that creating a headspace is a special ability that they and presumably other people share, he’s being kind of shady as he says it too, like he wants to make sure the characters of Sunny’s world aren’t hearing their conversation

“But you, dark haired kiddo, your aura’s all cattywampus! It’s all dark and twisted and it ain’t mellowin down anytime soon.”

I feel the need to touch on this line because it means Mr Outback either straight up went to blackspace, or can tell without going to Blackspace that there’s something very wrong about Sunny’s headspace … none the less he doesn’t seem shocked, so while I feel that whitespaces and blackspaces aren’t necessarily a commonality between dreamers, I do think they’re common enough for Mr Outback to not flinch at encountering a space with one or both

The entire answer to “where am I?” Is incredibly loaded and actually contains the most information that I find important to this

“This place has been around since the beginning of time, I reckon”

This one line means so much … first of all, the phrasing of “this place” is why I say astral projection in my original post, this is a place… not a phenomenon, not a skill or a sense, a place… or I suppose a plain is a more apt description for how I’m thinking of it, I believe this to be saying that headspace’s all exist in some larger… place, another dimension is possible but I don’t think of it like that, I take it more as some kind of in-between realm … “astral plain” actually a pretty good thing to call it imo, especially since there’s a couple instances where it appears to be a direct window to the spirit world

Another interesting thing is that he follows this up with “I reckon” to specify that he actually ain’t sure if what he’s saying is true… jsut that he has some reason to think it, and while we aren’t given that reason, the idea that there is one intrigues me

“It looks different to everyone… but this time around, it’s pretty colorful and cutesy, for the most part… not to mention pretty dang big! That’s a powerful imagination you got there, kiddo”

This is just some general stuff about headspace(s) and how they work but at the end Mr Outback feels the need to comment on how big Sunny’s headspace, and the way the dialogue is formatted here… when read kinda makes it seem like this fact is giving Mr Outback pause, not to mention the wording of “powerful imagination” as opposed to the usual “big imagination” while it could be nothing… almost makes me wonder if being able to do what Sunny does with his headspace, how big it is, how complex it is, and how much power he has in it …, isn’t the same for everyone, and the choice of the word “powerful” here is… deliberate (but again, could be nothing)

“When someone looks for the truth… the world will create a set of keys, and those keys… they’ll take a different form dependin’ on the persons will. You know what your keys look like, don’t’cha? Just press [control to open hangmen menu]”

This…. This is a lot, so this seems like it’s saying that the existence of keys in dreamworlds is either completely consistent or just extremely common… one could take this to mean that all dreamworlds/headspaces are subconsciously desgined for finding truths but I don’t think this is the case, not only because I tend to believe that Sunny had access to headspace before the incident but also because the way Mr Outback talks about a “sixth sense” makes me feel like this is just a power, a thing that some people can do, just that it’s very very common for peoples brains to subconsciously add stuff like this to their headspace, just presumably things more mundane then Sunny’s truth

And then he breaks the fourth wall. I’m not gonna comment on that I think that’s probably just the devs being cheeky with this character and not actual lore.

“Don’t you know not to ask old folks that! I’d say give or take 33000 years though…but it’s not like that matters all that much at this point”

This line despite its initial shock value is pretty simple to me, Mr Outback is talking about time dilation here, he’s counting his age by how long he’s spent In the dream-plain as well as his real life, given Mr Outback is stated to be pretty old, my guess is that he’s probably a retired man taking the last bit of his life to bounce around other people’s dreams to give them advice and spread what information he has about dreamers, a presumably infinite amount of time can pass in these dream worlds without effecting the real world much- since it’s not to big of a stretch to guess dreamers have some control of this, one could presumably extend the time difference as long as they want it to be

So there’s some breakdowns of Mr Outback’s dialogue and the implications I’ve garnered … what do I think? Well, I think it’s fully possible for this to be the way omori’s world works, and I think it fits well with other debatably supernatural elements present in the game, earlier I mentioned that there are points where it seems this dreamplain place is connected to the spirit world, I said that because

1. Ghost Mari

2. The crossroads area at the end of the game

3. Sunny sees Basil’s Grandma at the crossroads before actually knowing she’s dead

That last thing in my opinion could mean that dreamers are more connected to the spiritworld then regular people, able to catch glimpses of it even in their waking lives, physical crossroads in the real world acting as hubs for spiritual connection and places that ghosts pass through, and thus this location being where sunny ends up after the fight with Basil when they’re both severely injured and close to death-

This is also why I believe the Basil in that area actually IS Basil and not a figment of Sunny’s imagination, in this instance they’re both accessing this limbo at the same time and end up running into each other while crossing through it

(to add to this idea, while I haven’t actually seen the statement in question, several people have told me that omocat’s mentioned Basil having his own headspace in some capacity, him and Sunny both being ‘Dreamers’ would put a lot more meaning to “my thoughts will follow you in your dreams” and give a bit of insight into why they understand each other so well and are so close in the first place, maybe Dreamers are just drawn to one another)

So that’s Mr Outback and the casual maybe sorta implied “headspace is real actually” implied canon deal… I just wanted to make a post about this because it’s insane and we as a fandom should talk about it more

So are we ever going to talk about the “headspace is real and a type of astral projection” thing or.

[mango-dolphin]

do you want to hear a hc i have about how Melromarcs world works :000 To bad you're hearing it/j

all of the heroes summoned are normally 18 or above. its VERY rare for them to be 17, and 16 is literally unheard of. that's one of the reasons people think Itsuki's the youngest(along with his appearance and how Ren carries himself/hides his age), it's practically impossible for anyone to be younger!!

Ren's party know he's on the younger side, but they think he's just a strange 17-18 year old.

i also think the weapons have age preferences: Shield heroes have the widest range, and are normally the eldest, like 20-28. Spear heroes have a smaller range, 21-24(normally they're 21 tho). Bow heroes are have the smallest, 17-18. idk about sword heroes ;A; im thinking a wide range at 17-22, normally ~18.

Ren is an outlier XD as he deserves/j

yesssssss YESSSSSS YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS if i were a dragon i think i would hoard headcanons. even ones that i don't subscribe to. i love headcanons so much thank you king

this... is a VERY intriguing idea, actually (that the weapons have a preferred age cut-off)... i don't know how much i subscribe to this headcanon, but i feel like if this were the case on any level it'd be incredibly telling of parts of the world—both in an enlightening and a concerning way.

for starters, summoning someone at 18 to early 20s is still pretty dang young to be taking heroes, from a standpoint considering age. they're not so young as to miss out on a majority of common sense, but they'd still be young enough to be generally impressionable. they have a lot of room to grow, and would typically be in a phase of their life where they'd be trying to find out who they are. so grabbing someone around that age range would make it easier to convince them "Hey, what if you were a hero? Our hero?"

(it's a little ominous admittedly, especially in cases like Naofumi's where they aren't quite given the choice, but as someone who's gonna turn 20 later this month it'd be awesome to be given that opportunity imo. like damn alright i wouldn't mind getting isekai'd like that, even though it'd be a very difficult journey. at least i don't have the illusion of accessible healthcare)

GOD DAMMIT IT GOT LONG AGAIN

there is the thing of folktales often having young heroes to begin with, so i wouldn't be surprised if the minimum age was actually 16 myself. i don't remember too much about shit i've read but like. y'know. Y'know. YA literature, young/teenage protagonists off having adventures, the "older kids" (teens) enabling more "edgy" adventures, etc etc. but it'd be really funny if one of the Cardinal Weapons had that similar train of thought: start out your kid hero early as you can help this youth rise to greatness the old-fashioned way. i hope this paragraph made sense LMAO

BUT i think if the weapons had age preferences, i'd generally agree w/your assessment on all of them.

it makes sense that the Shield spirit would prefer older or generally more mature/experienced heroes—they'd need someone reliable, not so fickle. the issue with choosing someone older is that they may already have set down some roots, so they might not be as enthusiastic about the task. however, ideally, they'd someone self-assured and more comfortable in their identity. i bet on average the heroes they've summoned are the oldest out of the four: you put your range at 20 - 28, but i'd personally say that it'd typically start at 23 (absolute limit 20) and have no upper bound for age. just whoever would be the best fit for the role (and growing/learning on the job), and would be in the most favorable position to accept the role.

i think the Spear spirit would be looking for someone willing to act, but not so caught-up with the small stuff. someone with good instincts—and you usually accumulate those instincts and skills the more time you're given to spend on them, so someone a little older is probably the weapon's preference. but not TOO old. gotta catch someone spry. so i agree on typically 21 but ranging towards 24, maybe 25 if someone stands out. probably trying to go as young as they can, but not so young as to make too many stupid decisions.

LAUGHING AT THE BOW SPIRIT HYPOTHETICALLY HAVING A RANGE SO SMALL BTW. i think this might be the "start your kid hero early to help them rise the old-fashioned way" weapon i was musing about earlier. this is so funny. idk the Bow spirit seems like it'd be the most outwardly chivalrous & "knightly" of the Cardinal Weapons, especially considering their second choice for a hero was Itsuki (and not literally anyone else) LMAO. 17 - 18 sounds about right, if not occasionally picking up to 20 years old if the other heroes are all 23+. start your knights off Early!

i feel like the Sword spirit might prefer older heroes as well—someone who'd, at the very least, would be able to come to terms with what their job as a Hero might entail. so, older typically would suggest that. i like the range you gave, but i think the Sword spirit may not particularly have a preference so much as a trend. probably heroes from 19 - 26, but has regularly chosen from the high end, and very very rarely chosen lower.

i bet when the summoning ceremony happened for the weapons, they lost their minds when the oldest hero chosen was the spear hero. like damn, alright! the hero who's usually the second youngest (if not VERY rarely the youngest) is now the adult of the group! we be choosing babies this year!

it'd also call into question why the second choice for the Sword's holder would be someone so young... i'd like to think that the second choices for the Sword, Spear, and Bow weapons were people emotionally close to their first choices, which might explain why the Sword spirit was so comfortable with choosing a baby. their first choice was also a baby, so might as well commit!

REN IS AN OUTLIER, AS HE DESERVES—

bonus: i don't know enough about the Holy Hunting Tool to really suggest anything, but i think it'd be really funny if its spirit preferred hunters/fishers, particularly gentle/humble ones. it took one look at a maybe 13, 14-year old kizuna and was like that's her. that's the person who will defend my world from evil. and then kizuna proceeded to play the fishing minigame nonstop (while also defending her world from evil). (i don't know at what age kizuna was summoned)

[friendrat]

Ok Tumblr, I'm in a debate right now about The Sea Beast.

A bunch of people are saying that it doesn't make sense how the royalty of the kingdom is making money of of the hunting industry, but I thought it was kinda obvious how it worked? I think it's twofold.

First, they are clearing trade routes. That opens up the doors to more foreign trade. Some people are arguing"well that benefits other kingdoms too". Which is true, but doesn't prove that they aren't getting rich from it. 🙄 History people. Open trade routes leads to wealthier kingdoms and better lives for the common people.

Second, I think the next logical assumption is that they are making money off of the sea beast horns. Yes, they tell the hunters to bring them back as proof of their kills, but what really happens to them afterwards? You can't tell me all of them end up in their museum/private collection. Not given the number that the hunters brought back from a single voyage. Also, look at how many real world species have been hunted to extinction over horns, tusks, and pelts. Add that to the time period meaning that they had inferior medical knowledge as well as more superstition (which is also seen in the movie, so I'm not just guessing based on the time period), we have a recipe for those horns to be used for any number of things including medicine and magical totems.

So there we have it. An exclusive resource (we don't hear of any other kingdoms being built up by hunters, although I could be wrong there... but we do know that they have the *best* hunters, which means they still would have the best supply), and clear routes to trade that resource (among other things). That's how the kingdom got rich on the blood of sea beasts. Am I off my rocker? Maybe. I just took the unanswered question in the movie and applied what I know about the real world to it. It made sense to me.

Any other theories? Am I wrong?

[malfoys-demigod]

Tutor, Tea, and Truth

draco malfoy x reader 

summary: Reader spends her Saturday mornings tutoring lower classmen by the library. Draco was intrigued with your enthusiasm and love for tutoring that he began watching you. When you finally noticed, he tried lying, saying that he never had the guts to ask you for help in the subjects he was having trouble with. Knowing that he was the second smartest wizard of your year, you didn’t buy his lie, catching him off guard. Being defeated, Draco begins a conversation with you and eventually asks you on a date.

a/n: i was really planning to continue this, and finally i have! 

word count: 6.1k

tag list: @the--queen-of-hell​ @bbeauttyybbx​

If there was one thing you could do effortlessly, it was giving a hand to help others. It could be through any way and it would still be considered helping someone out. 

Whether it be the simple things such as lending an extra quill, picking up the things that a person has dropped in the corridor, to much more complex things that required more will power such as being a third-wheeler at a date at Hogsmeade, walking someone back to the common room at night, and your favorite favorite thing which was tutoring. 

The act of tutoring either your batchmates or lowerclassmen was the most favorite thing of all the things you could do as help. There were so many advantages of being a tutor to students. It could help gain you more friendships with people around year-levels and houses, train your brain to remember new and old information, and strengthen your reputation as a helpful person. 

With these many advantages, your favorite reason was the idea of being able to see the smiles of people at the end of the session or seeing them come back to you, thanking you that they raised their scores, giving you all the credit when you tell them that it was them, that did it all. 

Helping other people made you the happiest person in Hogwarts. You were a smart wizard of your year, certainly not levelling Hermione Granger, but enough to help other people out. It didn’t bother you that there was the possibility of getting drowned with your own work because you could use this advantage and call on other students from your year to form a study group with you, doing the work together and helping each other. 

If they declined the offer due to many reasonable excuses, you still used this advantage to finish the work as quick as possible, with quality of course, so that when your classmates finally have the time to do their work, they can come to you and you could teach them what you learned, helping your brain remember more of what you had recently taught yourself. 

It was a way of boosting your knowledge and grades, making you one successful student. 

Tutoring was something you had gotten from former upperclassmen when you were still in your first year. As a newcomer to Hogwarts, you were very much nervous of failing classes at such a prestigious school. 

So one day at the end of your first week of classes as a first year, you decided to head to the library, hoping to seek a quiet time to celebrate that classes of your first week had ended. But what you arrived at was a study group led by seventh years. 

Not being intimidated by large and older students, you walked towards them, asking them if they could help you with school work. They surprisingly agreed to help you, also giving you the idea of becoming a tutor just like them. They showed you the ropes and shaped you into the person you were today. You were very thankful for them.

Years later, you became a respectful tutor, just like the seventh years in your first year. 

From starting a group only for students in your year, you built your reputation over the years as word passed by, telling other students of lower years that you were a tutor that could be of service for all lowerclassmen. 

Having word passed by from some students of their year, lowerclassmen were more encouraged to find the famous you, and grab seats in the library to circle around you. With more students now coming to see you on a daily basis, you started to treat them like friends rather than pretend clients who you were offering your services to. 

Today was the first week back from the winter holidays. 

Everyone was still acting as if they'd forgotten to switch off their mindsets from “Vacation Mode”, as all they could think and talk about was the holidays. This year’s holidays were somehow excellent for almost everyone where they were spending it in Hogwarts or outside of the castle. Wherever you went, people were smiling, daydreaming about possibly what gifts they received, which meals they enjoyed, and everything you could name. 

The fact that people were still thinking of the holidays meant that it was hard to return focusing on academics. People were so used to waking up late and doing anything they pleased during the holidays that it was quite difficult for them to continue keeping up their grades in school. Worse, if they were taught by the teachers who planned on giving them tests and quizzes a week or two after their first week back, to jog up their memories on the things they have learned from the month before the break.  

You yourself may have had a slight relatable feeling with most of the students at Hogwarts, but you were more lucky than them as you still managed to read a book or two about lessons you were had recently learned and lessons you will be learning when the holiday ended. This action wasn’t done frequently during the break but it was enough to feel more confident when it came to returning to school after the holidays ended. Your little tutoring business would also be booming as others would beg for your time, asking if you could help teach them the things they’ve forgotten and need to remember. 

Usually, people spent their Friday’s after classes anywhere but the library. It was their way of removing their mindset of school and into their weekend freedom. For you on the other hand, your next place right after your last class was the library, the place you happily held your tutoring sessions. You didn’t need to be asked if you could spare time for people as they assumed that you would already be there in the library, waiting for people to come and be helped. 

Their assumptions today were right. You had finished setting up your things by one of the long tables at the library, opening your notebook and bringing out your quill when all of a sudden, a massive group of second years were quietly rushing around your table, huffing and puffing tiredness. 

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Good afternoon, Y/N!”

“Good to see you, Y/N!” 

Were some of the small greetings that your second year students greeted you as they were relieved to see you. You waved at them, giving them a warm smile as you greeted them back. You fixed your posture, straightening your back as you made yourself ready to teach them. 

“Now, my dear little friends,” you spoke, “What are we learning today?” 

“History of Magic,” they all groaned, looking so distressed. 

You giggled, trying to show a sympathetic pout at them, “Ah, yes, let me guess,” you placed a finger on your chin, “Binns expected you to study over the break, which you all didn’t, and announced a test next week?”

“Exactly!” One complained, “The mad ghost is holding it on Monday, Monday! Can you believe him?” 

You nodded, smiling at the memories when you were required to take History of Magic, “I do, that’s how Binns handles his classes,” you sighed, “But not to worry, when you’re older, his class wouldn’t be required any longer, you could choose something else if you’d like.”

“What did you choose, Y/N?” They all asked, giving curious eyes. 

“I chose to have a free period,” you admitted, watching them gasp with big eyes, “I know, a ‘smart’ cookie like me should be taking up the extra classes for the sake of landing that dream job or simply showing that you're an excellent student, right? But the classes I’m taking already have me set with the many choices I have with whatever dream jobs I have in mind to be honest. Besides, there are many things I could do during my free time, such as studying and doing my schoolwork so I could use this time to help you desperate kids in need. Now come on, let’s head onto the most vile lessons in your class,” you said, encouraging them to open their books. 

—

“The last breach you should remember was in 1790 when an American witch named Dorcus Twelvetrees made a serious breach when she confided secret information to a muggle, or what Americans call it, a ‘No-Maj’ named Bartholomew Barebone. She told him not only about the existence of MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards, but also the location of their wizarding school named Ilvermorny School. Barebone stole her wand and showed it off to the press and called for No-Maj persecution of magical folks like us. Due to this, President Emily Rappaport of MACUSA instated “Rappaport's Law” which completely segregated witches and wizards from the No-Majs, and remained the law of the land until repealed in 1965.” 

All your second year students were slightly dazed, looking as if their brains had stopped processing the information you had been teaching them. Understanding what they’re going through, you closed their books with the use of your wand, closing yours and using the magic to pack up. “Alright, you kiddos,” you said, “It’s time for you to rethink about the things I’ve taught you today, I wish you luck in your test next week, and advise you to possibly not pick this subject as an elective when you’re older,” you joked. 

“She’s right,” said a new voice, “I completely welcome you to pick Astronomy or Potions. As a successful student from those classes, think of it as a recommendation from another top student like me.”

You looked to your left, seeing that Draco Malfoy was nonchalantly leaning by the bookshelves, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face. 

“Was it just a coincidence that you overheard the conversation and used the opportunity to lure my second years into your favorite subjects? Or were you here the whole time I tutored them and waited for the right timing to give us a grand entrance, because you look like you’ve been here for quite some time,” you asked, imitating your batchmate by crossing your arms out of curiosity. 

Catching Draco off guard, he tried recovering by placing a hand on his chest, appearing so offended by your words, “Heavens, Y/L/N, big with questions aren’t you?” he slightly chuckled, walking towards your table, “On you go kiddos, time to relax from all this young lady has been bombarding you with!” he joked, earning a laugh from the second years who were not aware of you, rolling your eyes at Draco. 

Draco shrugged, playing innocent as he dropped his sling bag as he pulled a seat, sitting down casually. He interlocked both his hands, placing them on the table as he gave you a small wink, “Y/L/N,” he formally greeted, nodding at you, “You come here often?” 

“Of course I do, Malfoy, everyone should know by now that I tutor people here,” you said, standing up from your table, “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere spending your Friday afternoon?” 

Draco may or may have not been lurking around the library, waiting for you to end your tutoring session for the day. He had been waiting ever since classes ended for him and had been wandering around the library in order to be caught stalking you endlessly for the entire hour as you taught your second years. 

 During the last twenty minutes of your session, he positioned himself by the nearest bookshelf on the other side in order not to be seen, as he was pulling out some books, peeping and watching you happily teach second years. 

When people passed by, Draco pretended to open the book he pulled, seeming ‘curious’ with the contents he was reading and if some gave him suspicious looks, he would quietly snap the book in front of them, eyeing them coldly and twitching his nose in a scary manner, causing them to walk away, looking anywhere but at Draco. 

“Is there something wrong with me being here, Y/N?” Draco asked, sounding so innocent, “It’s not like you own the place, dear.” he taunted, tilting his head for approval.

“You’re right, I don’t but it’s just highly unlikely for me to see you here, that’s all.”

“Would it be highly unlikely of me to ask if you could perhaps tutor me?” 

You shook your head slightly in amusement, looking at Draco who seemed so casual with the question he had just asked you. “You?” you pointed at him,  “You need a tutor?” 

“Is there something wrong with that?” he wondered.

“Well, yes,” you replied, “You’re a top student of our year, for Merlin’s sake, I doubt I’m even smarter than you!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in amusement. “You really have to be kidding me if you wanted a tutor.”

“What if I’m not kidding?”

“Okay, then, what do you need help with, Malfoy?”

Draco paused for a slight second, surprised he got far with this, a lightbulb went up quickly, so did his eyes when he looked at you and quickly said, “History of Magic!”

“Uh-huh, just like my second years?”, you asked, as he nodded in response. 

“I don’t remember you taking Binn’s class this year?” 

Draco clenched his hands as his heart started beating quickly, “And who are you to say that? I don’t suppose you’re in his class as well? Correct me if I’m wrong but I remember hearing you advise your second years not to take his class.”

“Right,” you said, with a raised eyebrow. He was correct, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t in Binn’s class, you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in his class. So you sat back down, placing your bag on the table as you removed your old History of Magic book and opened it. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Erm, Giant wars?” he asked, hoping to himself that was something people were learning this year. 

“Oh, okay, well you’re in luck because I happened to be reading that out of curiosity during the break. And well, my friends who were doing advance reading for his class were telling me all about it this week.” you said, looking for the page that had giant wars. 

When you found the page, you pointed at the chapter, “Ah, there we are, let’s start, shall we?”

“We shall,” he replied. 

--

“And remember, the conflicts between the giants and the wizards that had historical significance took place around the nineteenth century, alright?”

Draco calmly nodded, using his quill to write down the last thing he needed to remember for his class. Finished, he placed his parchment back in his bag and extended his hand, “Lovely,” he said, as you extended your hand, shaking his, “You truly are the best and by the way-

“Y/N!” said a new voice. 

Both you and Draco turned to the side of the open hall of the library to see Neville and Luna waving at you with beaming smiles. As Draco groaned to himself, Neville and Luna walked towards you, seeing that Draco was there as well. 

“Tutoring him?” Neville asked, looking at Draco who wanted to be elsewhere. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” you nodded, “Apparently he needs help with History of Magic and that’s understandable. It would have been more beneficial if you two were here with me, you could have taught him too considering that you three are in the same class.”

Neville looked at Luna with a puzzled look, then to Draco with a highly raised eyebrow. “That would have been beneficial indeed,” Neville said, as Draco gulped with a hint of fear, “If he actually took the class.”

“W-what do you mean?” you confusingly chuckled, looking now at Draco for reassurance, “Are you not taking History of Magic, Malfoy?”

“Nonsense,” he quickly replied, tightening his tie, “You’re confused, I’m probably in another period of Binn’s class, Longbottom.”

“There is no other class,” Luna innocently added, “Since there were only a few left interested in his class, we could only manage to create one class.”

You crossed your arms, giving Draco an open mouth, “Right,” you said, “Excuse us Neville and Luna, I think I can handle the interrogation from here.”

“Alright, see ya Y/N!” Neville said as Luna warmly waved goodbye, walking away from the scene to leave you, looking at Draco who was nervously chuckling to himself as he started packing up his things. 

Before he could stand up, you stopped him with a raise of your hand, commanding him to sit, “Don’t think you can just leave so quickly, Malfoy.”

He turned back to you, giving a small quick smile, “Right, I suppose you’re expecting a couple of galleons for your service.” He began getting coins from his bag, only for you to zip it shut with the wave of your wand. 

“Was there a reason for you to lie and waste, let’s see,” you looked at your pocket watch, “Hm, an hour of my time?”

He shrugged, smiling guiltily, “I don’t suppose it’s a waste of time, especially when you’re with me,” he said, trying to display a smirk in his mouth, which ended up looking as if he was giving his all for it. 

“Nice try, Malfoy, but really, why would you go all out and pretend you took Binn’s class?”

Draco exhaled, giving up the act of lying as he let out a small laugh, feeling ever so humiliated with himself as he looked at you and said, “Maybe I had something planned and things went too far that I wasn’t able to go back to the right track.” he shrugged, waiting for your response. 

Clueless yet interested, you leaned forward and asked, “Care to explain what your plans were?”

Malfoy smiled at himself, nervous yet ready to tell you the truth. 

“My initial plan was to wait till you were finished tutoring those little gits and ask you on a date, after all, I have been wanting to for awhile, figured it was time to make a move. I might have gone off script and used the opportunity of your tutoring sessions to… spend time with me.” 

You were vastly staggered as it was news to hear that Draco Lucius Malfoy was first, waiting for you in the library for Merlin knows how long, second, planning to ask you on a date, and third, has been wanting to ask you on a date! It wasn’t like you were head over heels for with such passion, but it filled your heart, discovering that one of the most outstanding students of your year was highly interested in you. Why you of all people? 

Still staring into the unknown, Draco’s spirits slightly started falling down as he had not received an answer yet from you. He wanted to make sure you had an answer, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself feel bad if he pressured you with time into giving him one. 

“You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.” he joked. 

You snapped back from all your lingering thoughts, chuckling to yourself out of embarrassment, as you saw that Draco gave you a faint smile. “Right,” you spoke, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” he said, probing. 

“Yes, uhm, first of all, my second years are not gits,” you said, pointing at him, then you looked back down, placing a hand on your chest, “Second, I’m flattered, and third-”

“You’re going to reject me?” he suggested, feeling defeat in his voice. 

You shot him a worried look, shaking your head, “Goodness no,” you opposed as you waved your hands in front of him, “I’m extremely flattered because I never thought you’d be interested in me, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, walking around the table to come closer to you. 

“I always thought you were too good for me.” you laughed at yourself, looking down at the ground. 

Draco placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing you sympathetically as he gave a small, exalted smile, “You have no right to say that, Y/L/N for I should be the one saying that.” he removed his hands from you, straightening his robe and announced, “This time, I offer you my time as I’d like you to spend tomorrow with me at Hogsmeade. We will have the most excellent first date, should you choose to accept.” he confidently said. 

You slung your back onto your shoulder, smiling at the invitation you were given. “Alright, Malfoy, you got yourself a date tomorrow. Should I feel free to dress to impress?” 

He shrugged, appearing as if it didn’t matter, “To me, you’d look ravishing with or without the need to do that. But if you wish,” he said, smirking. 

You rolled your eyes, “See you, Malfoy,” waving him goodbye as you left the scene. 

--

You were waiting outside by the gates of the castle, sitting down on the stairs, patiently and calmly waiting for Draco, who happened to be your surprising date as you were still processing the fact you were about to go on a date with him. 

You hadn’t really thought about the possibility of dating Draco. You were just a simple girl in Hogwarts, being always on the sidelines of everyone’s story. To you, you were always someone not worthy of a demanding person such as Draco. 

Why would someone important like him want to go out with you? That was something you would have to find out sooner or later in your life, and maybe this date would be the perfect opportunity to ask Draco about this, hopefully he would answer truthfully. 

All of a sudden, the doors behind you opened slowly, causing you to turn around and stand up as you saw your date, eyeing you with a smile. “Y/N, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bail. Looks like I was wrong,” he said, still smiling. 

You let out a small laugh, “Now why would I do that?”

“I was waiting for you by your dorm room, like the gentleman I am, until when the doors opened, I was greeted by your roommate, who seemed very flustered by my gesture.”

“What gesture?” 

Draco confidently pulled up a bouquet of flowers from his back, presenting it to you with such pride in his face, “Then I asked where you were, and she said you weren’t there, leaving me to think, ‘Did she either bail, or was she already outside?’ so here I am.”

Still presenting the bouquet, you received it, smelling the freshness of the flowers with a smile on your face, “Gosh, you’re one kind of gentleman. Thank you for the flowers.” 

“A pretty girl should always have a pretty bouquet.”

You grinned, hoping your blush wasn’t evident. Draco placed his arm up, “Now, shall we?”

“We shall,” you agreed, taking his arm as you started walking away from Hogwarts. 

--

To your surprise, Draco brought you to Madam Pudifoot’s Tea Shop. It was the place people brought their dates to, for a more intimate time with them. This was your first time inside the place, and you now understood why it was a place for intimate dates. 

The teashop was a very quiet and tranquil place that had walls and floors of pink shades, screaming ‘Love,’ in the air as the different scents of teas gave a relaxing aura around the shop. Aside from a serene and silent touch to the shop, there were barely people inside, making things more private and affectionate for dates. 

Draco again to your surprise, held your hand as he made his way to an exact table, which Madam Pudifoot reserved for the two of you. It seemed as if Draco already made reservations beforehand, and it was weird because you haven’t really recalled establishments in Hogsmeade accepting reservations.  

When the two of you sat down, Draco surprisingly gave a warm smile to Madam Pudifoot, who handed the two of you her menus. “Take all the time you need, lovebirds.” she chuckled, then turned around, leaving Draco with a flustered you. 

“Um, Draco?” you brought down your menu to give your attention to Draco, who had his menu up, as he was still scanning for the right tea. 

“Ready to order already, Y/N?” he asked in a nervous yet playful tone which made him chuckle after, “I thought this was your first time here!” 

“No, actually I haven’t even looked at the menu,” you admitted embarrassingly, “I was just curious.”

“About?” His face was still covered by the menu, but fortunately, he seemed interested in what you had to bring up. 

“Why do I have the feeling that you secretly went all out with this date and got the chance to persuade Madam Pudifoot a table for us?” you blurted everything out awkwardly, which made you feel like jumping off a cliff. 

Draco pulled the menu down from his face, flashing a smirk, chuckling, “Because it’s true?”

You laughed in relief for not feeling like the craziest person in the entire town of Hogsmeade, “Oh, brilliant,” you replied. Then you shook your head, but still smiling cheekily, “But why?”

Draco tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why would you go all out for me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and mouth, trying to contain his laughter, “Darling, have you not heard of Draco Lucius Malfoy? I’d go all out for you.”

You scoffed, playing with the fabric of the table’s smooth cloth. “I think we barely know each other though. This is clearly our first time actually interacting with each other properly.” 

After clasping his hands, he pulled his hands away, tilting his palms to face each other, “Alright, why don’t we get to know each other then?” he suggested. You nodded, which made him speak again, “Okay, let me start.”

“What do you want to know, Draco?”

“What do you want to do after Hogwarts?” he prompted. 

Your eyes drifted away from the boy in front of you as you pondered on the many occupational choices when Hogwarts ended. 

“Either a Hit-Witch or an Auror,” you shrugged, “I haven’t given much thought about it but the last time I did, I was looking into those two.”

“Intriguing,” he acknowledged, sounding highly surprised and in awe, “I never imagined you as either of those, but I know you’d be one of the best that I can feel safe at night.”

“Oh, please,” you waved off the flattery in embarrassment, “Neither did I see myself as one of those jobs. But, their job descriptions really do call me. What about you, Draco?”

Draco shrugged as well, “Possibly an Auror as well. Father thinks I can make my way to the top easily and become the Minister of Magic later on.” 

“Right, and then I can TOTALLY feel safe at night with you as Minister.” you teased, earning a grin from his face. 

“Oh, shut it, Y/N, you better take that back or else when I become Minister, I’d gladly remove you from your job.” 

“Has your mother ever taught you how to threaten a lady?” 

“Now, now, Y/N, we mustn’t go there,” he playfully warned you. 

“You’re right, we actually should order something before Madam Pudifoot thinks we’re using her place just to have a thrilling conversation.” 

Draco scoffed, smiling cheekily at himself as he enjoyed being with you. After taking a quick look from the menu, he raised his hand, signaling Madam Pudifoot to come by your table. Once she saw Draco’s hand, she quickly hurried by. 

“I was suspecting to think you two lovelies were having a good time and forgot about the tea,” she teased the two of you. 

Draco smirked, looking at her confidently, “What can I say?” he shrugged, “Once you enjoy the company of someone as enthralling as her, you just forget that time passes by. I could spend the whole day talking to her, and I wouldn’t take notice of time going by. What do you think, Y/N?” he now looked at you, grinning. 

Madam Pudifoot, interested by the action going on between you two, looked rapidly to you now, wanting to know what you’d say. 

“I think we should order,” you pointed out the obvious sarcastically, to hold yourself from melting over Draco’s words. 

“Hiding how you feel now, are we?” he checked on you, still grinning with pleasure. 

You playfully rolled your eyes, finally in defeat, “Okay, so I agree with what you say,” you replied and shrugged, “And I possibly have a mindfulness of you as a wholebeing. Now, can we order?” 

Draco opened his mouth in agreement, his mouth was open, but it was with a big smile, “Ah,” he said, pointing at you, “Careful darling, you’re starting to sound as if you care. It would be... unwise, of you to lead on, something such as I.” 

“Alright,” you sarcastically shrugged. You now looked up to Madam Pudifoot, who seemed to be gushing over what she was witnessing. You ended her gushing by deciding to order, “Okay, Madam, I’ll have a warm chamomile tea. And you, Draco?” you asked, now looking back at Draco. 

“I think I’ll have the same,” he nodded at her. 

“Excellent!” Madam Pudifoot said, closing her notepad, which had her magical quill inside it, “Right away, you two!” then she turned around, briskly walking away. 

This left you and Draco once again, together alone. He leaned onto the table, placing his folded hands on the edge of the table as he let his body lean over to you slightly. “So,” he whispered, “So you do like me?”

“I think I said I possibly have a mindfulness of you.” you smirked.

“It’s another way of saying that you care for me, and thus, that leads to liking me.” he reasoned out. 

“Pansy and Daphne care for you, but do they like you?” you pointed that fact out. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “That’s different. They’re not here with me on a date, are they?”

“True,” you said, eyeing and receiving the tea that Madam Pudifoot had given the two of you just now. “I guess I’m the lucky girl who's about to take sudden interest in me,” you half-jokingly said. 

Draco beamed, silently sipping from his warm cup of tea. After a good sip, he shook his head, patting a cloth of napkin on his lips softly, as his eyes were back onto you. “I’m afraid you’re far too late my dear, you already have me thoroughly captivated.” 

Your eyes smiled affectedly, highlighting the sudden blush you had on your face. It felt as if you skipped a heartbeat, surprised with his words as you gulped the sip you were about to swallow. After swallowing carefully, you slowly placed the cup back on the table, leaving the warmth from your fingers. 

Chuckling lightly at yourself, you said, “That fast?” 

“Don’t think you had me captivated just today, dear Y/N,” he pointed out, “I may or may not have had eyes for you for quite some time.” 

“You couldn’t have possibly, Draco,” you narrowed your eyebrows, light-heartedly denying his statement. 

“Oh, but I have!” he admitted confidently. He fixed his sitting position, causing him to enthusiastically lean towards you, “You my darling, are one unique girl.”

“Is that so?” 

“I’ve never met another girl who could be so patient and loving to tutor anyone. I would be vastly impatient and non-committal to such things. I couldn’t possibly handle dealing with those… children. And of course the low-brains of our year.” 

You were extremely flattered by what Draco had said, causing you to simply flash a warm smile at him, bringing back the tea in your hands as you started sipping your chamomile tea once again. 

--

The date you had at Madam Puddifoot had unfortunately come to an end. Once the teacups were empty and your stomachs were full, Draco had paid for the expenses of the teas like the gentleman he was and pulled you up from your seat, waving goodbye to a happy Madam Pudifoot. 

Now, you and Draco were walking together around Hogsmeade. While you were looking around the shops passing by you, Draco’s eyes were taking a few glances at his hand and yours, wishing he had the courage to hold your hand. 

Somewhere under his nervous thoughts, his confident aura had started picking up again, reminding him of the smooth person he had in himself. There was a small smirk in his face as he perfectly knew what to do. 

“Y/N?” he asked, sounding curious. 

“Yes, Draco?” you asked, looking at him now. 

“It came to my attention that it seems your hand looks heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes, in fact, would you like me to hold it for you?” he nonchalantly asked, giving himself an innocent tone to such a smooth question. This leads you to widen your eyes with such flattery in your face. Aside from blushing madly, you chuckled in embarrassment, feeling so unprepared with words to reply to him. 

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, “I’d love that, they do awfully look heavy don’t they?” 

“Indeed, I’m surprised myself. Lucky for you I’m here to address the issue.”

“What if you weren’t, though?”

“From now on, expect me to always be around. I doubt there would be another soul at school who could point out that issue. They’re too blind to see the little things such as that.”

You smiled at yourself, taking in the compliment that Draco had bestowed upon you, waving your hand with his, back and forth merrily. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked, imitating your voice from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. 

“Did you really mean it back at the tea shop?”

“Mean what?” He asked, stopping you and him from walking any further. 

“How you were captivated by me? Have you really been fancying me for some time?” 

“I know it sounds bizarre, you know, for me to come out suddenly to tell you how I feel but I do, I do have fancied you for some time. I-I like you.”

“That’s good then,” you truthfully told him, “Because I like you too.” you courageously admitted to him. 

Draco flashed the biggest smile he had ever shown in his facial expression. This smile may have had a smirk in his mouth, but it was also filled with genuine happiness, something he rarely felt and gave out.

Without hesitating, he grabbed you by the face, cupping your soft, smooth face with his hands as he shot a kiss on your lips. It was a short but whole-hearted kiss, which he had been dreaming about ever since he took interest in you. You were a little surprised that it was a short one, this was because he felt that he might have been overstepping his ‘first date boundaries’, so he was making his way on ending the kiss by slowly pulling himself from you. 

It was like you instantly read his mind, knowing that he was scared of overstepping his boundaries, but you answered his issue by pulling him back in, finishing the kiss with a much longer time given. Once you were done, the two of you synchronously pulled away from each other, looking at each other with such care in your eyes. 

Your eyes widened with realization, “Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed, causing Draco to feel terror in his body. 

“W-what? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I did!”

Draco frowned, assuming you felt the kiss was a mistake. “Oh, I see,” he said, only for you to wave your hands in front of him.

“Heavens no! I mean, I should have kissed you first!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, deeply confused, “You? Why? That’s not the right way to go, it should be the gentleman first.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter if I could have got you back with a pick up line!” 

Draco laughed, exhaling a wave of relief to hear your explanation, “Bloody hell, Y/N, all for a pick up line?”

“Yes! I thought of a good one which came well with the situation right now!”

“Alright,” Draco chuckled, “Let’s have a go with it, then.”

You composed yourself, breathing in to say, “Draco, do these smiles come with kisses?”

Draco nodding in agreement that your pick up line was a good one said, “Of course they do. Would you like them now?”

“Without a doubt,” you replied, knowing that Draco was about to lean in and kiss you. 

[nuri148]

This might surprise you, but plumbing, gas and electricity can be installed in a house that was built without (like every medieval house has today). Also, plumbing specifically exists since ancient times. Likewise, the first patented loudspeaker is from 1925, so the microphone thing is not that far off.

While it's true that technology is rather pick-and-choose in AoT (every fantasy is guilty of this), the above posts make a series of common, wrong assumptions on the subject of technological advance. So before crying wolf at your favourite piece of historicist media, please consider:

Technology does not advance at the same pace in all parts of the world. The first European paper dates from the 11th century CE , but the Chinese had been making it since the 2nd century BCE. American indigenous people were excelent goldsmiths, but they didn't have quality steel.

Technology does not advance in a straight line. Plumbing is a great example. Roman cities had complex plumbing and sanitation systems; these took a setback in medieval times and rebounded after.

Technical advances don't get adopted universally even if they exist/are available. Japanese toilets are a great example. They are normal over there since the 80s. Why aren't we all using them? (and yes, when I was there I saw them installed in buildings that didn't originally have plumbing!). Likewise, American movies and shows from the 60s feature home appliances that weren't available in my country till the 80s (and then only for the rich). When I first moved to Spain in the 00s, I was shocked to see many homes in big cities didn't have gas supply and relied on gas bottles—which are only used in rural areas or shanty towns in my country. Conversely, vitroceramic stoves were common here while I'd never seen any back home.

Is it "wrong" to have Willy Tybur use a microphone? The technology to produce ODM gear is completely made-up and it's a fantasy even in our 21st century; iceburst stone sounds like a cold fusion wet dream; so if I can accept those technologies in-universe, a humble microphone and speaker in a setting that looks like maybe 5-10 years before those were invented in the real world (which is not) is not enough to shatter my suspension of disbelief. (I do take issue with the "blood tests" to see if you're Eldian, which AFAIK does exceed the technology from between-WW period)

That said, YMMV and depending on your interests, knowledge or experience, you may be blissfully oblivious to stuff another person finds completely unacceptable, and viceversa.

The aot technology timeline will never cease to baffle me.

Medieval architecture & clothing but plumbing exists? How’d they have running water and showers when horses were still the most effective means of transportation?

Marley is giving WWI Europe but Willy Tybur has a ✨ microphone ✨ at his speech. Also crazy advanced medicine.

It doesn’t have to make sense ig. I was yesterday years old when I found out the first landing on the moon took place during the Victorian era. Anything is possible if u want it to be 🥰

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 2

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Brief description of suicide

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 2 - Problem-Solving by Elimination

Scholar-Tyrant Song sat in the examination room, his mind blank.

The types of questions at the Banquet of Beauties were more terrifying than Goldbach’s conjecture. At least he would not panic if being questioned by his professor on Goldbach's conjecture.

The Langgan Terrace of the Golden Pheonix Manor was extremely luxurious and beautiful. There are countless cultivators and beautiful women flying in the depths of the clouds. Every guest was more beautiful than the last, and carefree laughter and obscene words were thrown around.

Song Qingshi silently recited his lectures on the human body structure, physiological hygiene, mouse breeding and other courses twice in his heart, finally recovering the calmness of a high-ranking medical student. Thinking about the lab mice he had bred for three years dying off, the scene in front of him no longer meant much.

There are two kinds of divine fires in the original person's body. The first was the Red Lotus Fire used for refining his alchemy, and the other was the Underworld Ghost Fire used for killing people.

Song Qingshi's expression became one that could repel others from thousands of miles away. He released the Underworld Ghost Fire from the palms of his hands, causing the flames to continuously jump at his fingertips and change into different shapes.

Fen Shen and He Ti ancestors are the treasures of all the cultivation sects. They did not usually involve themselves with the mortal world. The Nascent Soul cultivators are all big shots walking carefree in the immortal world. Not to mention the danger of the cutivating path; no one could guarantee that they wouldn't need to ask a doctor for help. Neither righteous cultivators or demonic cultivators were not willing to offend the Medicine Master Xianzun easily, let alone mock his perverse character.

When the cultivators saw the Underworld Ghost Fire, they knew that he was in a bad mood and kept their distance.

Song Qingshi was able to keep a clear area around him. He cut off the cultivators who approached him to make friendships. Then he released the powerful spiritual thoughts of a Nascent Soul cultivator and quickly took in all the beauties at the banquet. He looked carefully and tried to find the protagonist in the crowd.

However, Yang Yuhuan was thicker, and Zhao Feiyan was slender. Everyone had different standards of beauty. Song Qingshi was of the kind of person that was not very reliable. His eyes were quickly dazzled, only able to think that all of them were beautiful during the dinner. Even the maid who poured the water was graceful and beautiful. She was more beautiful than the stars on TV. He couldn't tell who was better looking.

But this stubborn scholar will never admit defeat!

Song Qingshi tried to use the process of elimination to solve the problem. First, he determined that the protagonist was a man, excluded all the maidens during the banquet. Then he needed to make a list of key observations, verifying claims, making careful assumptions, and removing the beauties that did not meet the standards one by one.

The twin brothers brought by the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect were extremely beautiful. Jade-like skin, fragrant, and passionately devoted, just like two identical lotus flowers on one stalk.

There can't be two protagonists, cross it out.

The young man brought by the immortal master Longhu Sect is also super cute. He is so childish and adorable, holding his immortal master in his arms and acting like a baby. The immortal master loved him very much, doted on him, and he even hand-fed this junior immortal his food during the banquet. He kept calling him "baby".

The protagonist is supposed to suffer a miserable fate. Cross it out.

The foreign monk from Beizhou used a mysterious iron chain to lead along a handsome man covered in wounds. He stumbled and followed the foreign monk obediently. But underneath, his body revealed a rebellious aura, like being an eagle with his wings tied but still wanting to break free and fly away.

The protagonist is a beauty, so he wouldn't be so heartless, cross him out.

. . .

Into the depth of the night, the whistful music of the Banquet of Beauties had long been replaced by debauchery. Many people took the beauties away from the tables, and the scene became more and more unbearable.

Song Qingshi did not want to peep into other people's private affairs, for fear of seeing something provocative and getting an eye stye. He kept his thoughts away from extra events and kept it focused during the dinner. Then he heard the foreign monk show off the man he had brought with him to the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect: "He was even a famous general in the human world. After he was defeated and captured, he was sold to me. He's an arrogant person, who resists even under the threat of death. He is very exciting to play with."

The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect introduced a soft and coquettish young man, and smiled: "A proud person has the taste of being proud, but there is also the taste of being well-behaved. Let's switch and try it out?"

The foreign monk hesitated. The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect cast a wink at the slave.

The charming young man immediately snuggled up on the monk’s chest and begged coquettishly: "I truly like majestic bodies of strong masters, please love this slave well."

Fan Seng was ignited by the tender words of this young man, and he readily threw the chain in his hand to the Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect, and took the young man to the side hall. The Young Master dragged the chain fiercely, and forced the gray-faced man toward the secluded part of the garden.

There were many scenes like this during the dinner, and no one had pity for these tragic beauties.

. . .

Song Qingshi had already learned from the memory of the original body that the spiritual energy of the human world was thin. The lifespan of mortals was short, and the spiritual roots were occasionally weak. Just having a base foundation was like reaching the heavens. Some kind-hearted cultivators will accept mortals as disciples and give them the opportunity to ascend to immortals. Ten thousand years ago, there was a mortal named Mo Yuan who was extremely talented. He just relied on swordsmanship to become a Nascent Soul cultivator. His techniques rivaled the Fen Shen ancestors, and was thus called the Sword Sovereign.

However, the road to immortality was to fight for one's life with the heavens. It had difficult steps and repeated failure was common. Killing someone for their treasures occured from time to time. It was difficult to restrain their behavior with morality.

Weakness is the original sin. Mortals were like ants.

Even if it was the Sword Master Mo Yuan who took care of him, he could only lay down the rules among the elites of the immortal world. He ensured that the mortals who successfully built a foundation base were treated as cultivators and no longer playthings and slaves. But demonic sects and cultivators never cared about the rules. Not even just the mortal cultivators, the immortal monks also suffered in their hands. Their evil deeds were too numerous to count.

Golden Phoenix Manor was regarded as a famous sect in the immortal world, and all the cultivation furnaces in the Manor are of made and purchased in the mortal world.

So even if Song Qingshi couldn't tolerate what happened here, he couldn't interfere. He was slightly grateful that the identity that the system arranged for him was not a mortal, otherwise he would never survive two chapters, let alone save the protagonist.

Fortunately, it was just a virtual world. . .

Novels were all evil works; textbooks were the righteous materials in the world! The professor was correct in confiscating the novels of all the girls in class! If he had the opportunity to become a professor, he will not allow students to read novels! Help them to avoid their Three Views being poisoned!

Song Qingshi sighed silently.

Suddenly, a curse came from the garden. It was the Young Master of Hidden Moon Sect who dragged the stubborn man's corpse and returned with a disappointed face. The man's shirt was torn open, revealing his bruised body. His body was riddled with scars. He had taken a stolen silver chopstick, pierced his throat deeply and killed himself.

The silver chopsticks were very blunt, and it would be extremely difficult to kill yourself with one of them. You couldn't stab yourself with one without exhausting all your energy, which shows his determination.

Seeing this, everyone in the banquet joked. They laughed that the Young Master couldn't even take care of a mortal.

Hearing the disturbance, the monk left the charming young man and hurried back out of the side hall. He saw that the person he had brought was dead. His brows furrowed and his face was full of anger. The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect was even more angry than him. He turned the dead man over, revealing his back covered with lashes, and questioned the monk: "Why didn't you mark this little slave of yours with an Acacia Seal? How could you let him die?"

The foreign monk was stunned by his question: "What is the Acacia Seal? Some new thing from the Central continent?"

Seeing his ignorance, the cultivators couldn't help but mumble that Beizhou must really be a barren land considering that they didn't even know that an Acacia Seal is a well-known thing in the world. The monk was lost during this whole conversation and the Young Master was discouraged. He pulled the monk, hating iron for not making seal, explained the beauty of the Acacia Seal: "The Acacia Seal is a method created by Huanxi Xianzun. The owner can print it on the back of the furnace, and the body and soul of the furnace transfer into the hands of the owner. No orders are needed and it cannot die without permission."

Song Qingshi had found important information. He swiftly concentrated on this discussion and listened carefully.

Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master took out a red bead from his space bag. An idea sparked in his mind. He turned the bead in his hand. The charming young man who was standing next to the monk immediately knelt down and started to bark.

The monk waved his hand, disgusted and said: "It's so obedient, even if you try something new once in a while. If I raise them like this, I would get tired after playing with it for a few days."

"There are a lot of usages in it. You would know if you had used them yourself. This Young Master isn't going to list them all for you." The Young Master withdrew from spiritual mind he had put into the bead, and the young man crouching on the ground stood up. He was used to being humiliated in front of a crowd and blushed. After a while, he faded from his shame and stood behind his master with his head down.

Seeing that the monk still didn’t understand, the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect still educates patiently: “The most important thing is that unless you let the cultivation furnace die, the cultivation furnace will never die against your will. If you brand this little slave with the Acacia Seal, wouldn't it be more fun to make him unable to kill himself and then slowly break down his pride?"

The foreign monk had an epiphany. He nodded and agreed.

The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect erased the spiritual mind of the cultivation furnace's bead in his hand. He threw it to the monk, and said graciously: "Since the young master killed your beauty, I will will compensate you for it. You can take it and study the beauty of the Acacia Seal. Once you start, you won't be able to start."

The monk was overjoyed, and even boasted: "The Central continent people are really bold, this Black Vulture has made you a friend!"

The charming young man's face instantly turned pale. He looked at the original master desperately, looking like he had something to say, as if he wanted to beg, but in the end he didn't say anything, and went with the monk in tears.

The jewels were corrupted and it was like broken jade.

This extravagant feast had finally reached its climax.

The disciples of Golden Phoenix Manor concealed the radiance of the luminous beads above the temple, and let the darkness envelop the entire Langgan Terrace.

The guests raised their heads in amazement. They saw fireworks from several spells across the darkness, blooming in the air into a radiant golden phoenix, dancing lightly, announcing that the performances of the feast were about to begin. Jin FeiRen raised his wine glass and invited guests to share in the festivities again.

Song Qingshi marveled at the beauty of the Phoenix Dance, and admired it for a long while. Then he discovered that a young man in white clothes appeared next to Jin FeiRen. The young man had very clean and beautiful features, like green bamboo in the mountains, a bright moon in the sky. A layer of cold frost covered in his low eyebrows, his hair falling like a waterfall around his face. It was tied back with a ribbon. There were no other notable features on his whole body, but he still easily retained everyone's lingering gazes.

The tall and handsome owner was smiling and gently scratching the young man's palm with his fingers, praising his treasure in a gentle and soft voice, trying to get him to smile.

The young man turned his head away, despite the teasing. He didn't even want to spare him a glance.

Jin FeiRen twisted his head forcefully, and forced his hands behind his back with only one hand. He held him close in an embrace and kissed his forehead and the bridge of his nose carefully. Then he bit his lips hard, as if to he wanted to swallow him whole. The teenager struggled with pain, Jin FeiRen smiled and released him, leaning close to the youth's ear, and asked softly: "Do you want to learn the rules again?"

The young man froze for a moment. He stopped struggling, and sat obediently into Jin FeiRen's arms.

Was this the protagonist?

Song Qingshi secretly watched for a long time. He finally suppressed his social anxiety, ready to speak, and then LingBao Xianzun who had a good relationship with Jin FeiRen walked over and asked with a smile: "This is the new treasure of the Manor Lord? Is he pure? Does he have a good Yin constitution, a single spirit root of the water system? How about giving him to me to taste tonight?

Jin FeiRen glanced at the embarrassed and angry expression of the youth in his arms, gave him a squeeze, and refused with a smile: "Although he is just a toy, he suits my heart and it would be inconvenient to give him to you. Later, I will give my friends some top-quality products, all of them newly branded with excellent physiques and very clean."

LingBao Xianzun carefully looked at him. "Is your furnace still a virgin?"

Jin FeiRen said: "I don't want to treat him like an ordinary furnace."

Song Qingshi had already heard more obscene words tonight than he had in his lifetime. He understood everything that should be understood or even things that shouldn't be understood. He also understood clearly what a furnace was.

He watched as Jin FeiRen was pouring wine for the young man during the banquet, and he was a little unsure whether this was the protagonist. Although the white-clothed boy seemed to be more attractive than the other beauties present, the system had explained that the protagonist needs to be rescued from his miserable fate. Now Jin FeiRen was quite fond of the boy, and every beauty in the Banquet of Beauties was many times worse off than him. . .

Song Qingshi was anxious pondering these questions. . .

At this time, the phoenix finished its dance in the air, and fell into the crowd with a stream of light.

The light faded away, and a huge golden, carved bird appeared on the Langgan Terrace. On this bird frame was a beauty beautiful enough to destroy a city.

The gold fetters inlaid with jewels encircled his pure white ankles, and were tied to both sides of the bird frame with long thin golden chains. His upper body was caged with almost transparent thin fabric, and he could vaguely see the magnificent scenery decorated with gold jewels and jade underneath. On his lower body was a long dress in the shape of phoenix tail feathers made of gold and red feathers. His hair was adorned with pearls resembling mermaid's tears, the enchanting Acacia Seal on his back hidden by his long hair, flowing in the breeze. It was as beautiful as a phoenix with rich colors, the human peony in the world.

He held a jade flute in his hand, his thin lips slightly open, his beauty almost unnatural. The dark golden phoenix eyes seemed to be smiling but held no emotion, and he greeted the audience. Song Qingshi sat up straight. He recognized that this was the beauty in red that he had seen by the river bank.

When the red beauty glanced over at Song Qingshi, his eyes stayed for a while, then slid over as if he didn't recognize him.

Song Qingshi looked at the young man in white clothes on the left, who looked like a bright moon, and the beauty in red clothes on the right, who looked like peony in his prime. He was panicking; he couldn't tell who was more beautiful and more like the main character!

The exam questions of the system teacher were too difficult. . .　

Is Scholar-Tyrant Song going to fail his course?

[normal-thoughts-official]

Umm what are your thoughts on Magnus thinking Raphael doesn't need him anymore

Y̴̖̳̏͐̓͝͝͝O̴͉͔̪͙͎͌̋̊̽̚Ü̴̦ ̵̡̧͍̙͎̤̓͜F̵̺̹̼̫̳̻̖̓̈́̎Ơ̵͈̟̘̼̲O̴̤̻̭̻̟̺̖͗̆͌͒͆͊͂L̴̨͚̝̟̙̥͆̏. you absolute idiot. my thoughts on magnus thinking raphael doesn't need him anymore??????????????? C̶̨̛̖̘̜̟̪̱͗̈́̓̑̋͛́̽͛̃̑̈́Ą̵̢̣͕̥͚̩͔̗̤͙̺͝ͅN̷̢̜͇̪͖̫͓̦̟̰͎͈̫͔̹͌̓̏̐̔̊̽͝ͅ'̵̩͇͐̅͌͋̕T̵̡̡̼̰̼̯͇̝̗̼̫̝̺̝͖͑̀̒͛̈͘͜ͅ ̷̧̘̬͕̯̘͇̹̳͔̑̓͜Y̷̨̥̙̻̣̯̦̓̏̏̂̒͐̕Ơ̸̭͔̤̤̮̙͇͙͇͙̩͐̌̂̈́̐̇̌̌̕̚͝U̴̢̡͙͕̖̥̗̔̿̒̓̉̓͌ͅ ̶̺͚̯͙̘̦̻͚͒͒̍͗̌̚͜͠S̶̢͆̉́̋̈́́Ȩ̵̪͚̹͉͉͉̼̱͖̏ͅĘ̶̛̞̣͚̲̳̻̪̤̲͎̳̠̻̎̊̽̀̉̑͝ ̴̧̛̫͖͍̺͙͓͈̹͕͛͊͊̓͋̄͑͗̉͆͠͝T̵̡͍̱͍̙͈̞͍̪̭͌̄͂̎͑͂Ḩ̴̧̫̪͖̫̞̞̀̔̾̿̃͗̋͐̌͊̀̕̚È̴̢̨͓̞̠̲̱̠͉̾̀ ̴̢͇͈̣͙̝̭͔̰͔̫̦̈́̀͘Ṁ̶̡͓̖̭̩̱̗̗̘̯̖̹͖̳̭̙̺͋͐̈Ḭ̷̢̧̢͔̙̪̣̞̣͙̘̑͌̈́̐̾̅̆́̆̑̃͋͒͒̎͠Ş̵̱̘̰͓̫̦̺͚̙̹͚̗͎̭̠͆̀̏͐͋͗̈́T̷̢̡̡̛̪̝̟̻̠̼̦̦̰̦̗͓̣͌̌̐̋͊̐̔͛̕Ą̵͔͉̜̪̦͓̗̤͇͖̘͓̱̰̜̈͒̍̊͂ͅK̵̛͈̜̱͉̜̖͈̈́́̒̀̐͒́̂̔͆̾̏̂͂̕̕E̸̡͓̣̪̮͉̮̻̹̰̒́̾̋ ̴̡̮̝̝͇̫̮̭̞̦̘̙̥̥̗͒̿͝ͅY̷̡̨͙̝̰̗̗̫͛́̕͜͠͝Ō̵̬Ų̶̡̖̗͙̞̲̺͖̣͉̜̿́͒͆́̏̚͠ͅ'̵̮̭̗̙̘̰͍̥̣̪̩̖̦͂̀̋̆̓̉́̅͜R̸̼̤͙̞͚̼̤͆͛͌̄̈́̑͘Ê̸̡̢̩̳̤͙̳̘̲̞̦̳̻̩̔̐̄͐̑̒̿̒̽̈́̌͒̏̚ ̷̛̮̂̈̽̄̇̆̍̄͂̋̒͛͝͝͝M̶̧̢̛͙̮̣͎̮͍̝̪͔͎̘͔̐̊͐̄̃́̄̄͋̆̕͜͝A̵̧̮̙͖͓̭̯̘̪̿͊̌̉̆̄̈́̾̅́͆͋́̾̓͝K̸̘̩̯̼̣͍̠̝͈̤̮̝̻̬̿̈́Ǐ̶͖̹͈̫͙̀͛̀̆͆͊̿͘̕͝Ṋ̸̨̨̗̰͖̳̝͉͑̏̀̀́̂͗͌̽̈G̸̢̰̟̜͎̪̬̞̲͔̘͍̋̆. not only is this one of my favorite angsts ever, nay! you just posted self promo bait!!! i have a whole ass fic about it (link). and you know what the worst part is???? im gonna make a huge ass answer to your question anyway!!!! do you understand how naive you were now??? do you have any idea what you have unleashed?????

ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok. so i think the saddest part about this is magnus' assumption that like... if he isn't useful, he isn't desirable. which we know is 100% how magnus rolls (therapy-needing icon) and would particularly ring true in raphael's case because like... magnus took raphael in when raphael was at his lowest. their relationship was started off by the fact that raphael needed him. and that makes it even harder for magnus to shake that feeling off

like, don't misquote me, it's not raphael's fault and that is not how he sees magnus at all. and i don't think magnus singlehandedly saved raphael or whatever; raphael had to build his own network of ppl and resources to get over his addiction and get back on his feet and build himself back together, as anyone does. no one can carry a burden as big as singlehandedly taking care of any one person, nevermind one in the state rapha was in. but the fact remains: raphael and magnus met when raphael was at his lowest, and they built their relationship because magnus helped him

and magnus knows raphael's got this whole repentance thing going on, he knows that raphael feels like a monster and a burden and like his debt to magnus is unmeasurable. and that makes him second-guess everything about their relationship, imo, because like... raphael probably feels like he has to keep magnus company, he has to do as he says or whatever, because he has a debt

and to some extent it's nice that magnus is like... aware of that imbalance, which is inherent to that situation, but then i think it becomes pretty much... being convinced that raphael doesn't like him and only puts up with him because he has to since he owes magnus

and when magnus "adopted" rapha, magnus was at a particular fragile point. i'm pretty sure rapha was the first person magnus ever let into his life, fully, enough to really know him and his insecurities and his true self, after camille. his other friends - catarina, dot, ragnor, elias - all knew him from before. and we know how after camille magnus locked his heart; yes, he was referring to romantic relationships, but when you are constantly afraid of falling in love with someone in case they will abuse you, you can't fully build platonic relationships either, because there is that wall that is there, a certain level of intimacy that you won't allow yourself

and with that i don't mean that romantic relationships are inherently more intimate or deeper than platonic ones! i mean that to build any sort of intimate relationship, romantic or platonic, you need to be able to allow yourself to be vulnerable, and magnus was obviously not allowing himself that, because he was scared of being vulnerable after it was used so viciously against him the last time he opened up his heart

but magnus is still too caring of a person to leave someone in a state as bad as raphael's - no sire, battling addiction, alone in the streets, probably no knowledge of the shadow world (this is probably where i should add my mandatory disclaimer that i'm not following book canon and i don't care how it went there, i'm talking about the show), no clan, no family, basically no one - alone, so of course he's gonna bring him in for a night and feed him and try to find a way to help him

but then you add to that two facts: 1- magnus is hopelessly affection and touch-starved and desperately needs company; 2- there is not many places raphael can actually go to

so of course magnus lets raphael stay. and it's for his own sake as much as it is for his, because again, magnus is starved, and he is at a point of his recovery where he needs to let people in, even if it's slowly and in a relatively safe situation - like, what can raphael do to hurt him? okay, there's a few things, but still. it's just easier to let yourself be vulnerable when the person you're allowing to see it is someone you've seen equally as or even more vulnerable. especially if they have no connections to people you know, as it is in rapha's case

PLUS, he empathises. i've said it before and i'll say it again, raphael and magnus have so much in common. from background (immigrants, brown, downworlders, one is bi the other is ace which are two groups known for their ties and solidarity with each other, trans if you go by my headcanons which i will because this is my blog and i do what i want) to coping mechanisms (both clearly deal with their problems on their own and try to avoid letting other people help them as much as they can, even if in very different ways - magnus creates a persona so he can be surrounded by people and not let them in too close whereas raphael doesn't let them get close from the get-go), to some of their personal psychological issues (this unbearable responsibility they carry on their shoulders, like everything and everyone is dependant on them and it is on them personally to help everyone they find: see raphael and how involved he got with simon and the way he talked about the other vampires/the clan even before he became clan leader, and magnus and Literally Everyone That Came Into His Path; the feelings of monstrosity they both feel due to their downworlder status and their past; the guilt; the self sacrificial/giving til it hurts tendencies; etc), to a few personality traits (similar sense of humor, both natural leaders, both pretty bold in their own ways; they also have many differences in personality but they are quite compatible/similar in other ways as well).... i could go on. i'm not saying they are Literally The Same Character (that'd be bad writing anyway, and there are notable differences such as raphael being way more recluse than magnus, their different moral codes, etc.) but there is a lot in common, which results in a nice dynamic in which:

they have fun with each other (think "because you're totally unbiased"; that was clearly a tease, neither of them were really upset by it, raphael looked at magnus expectantly like he expected magnus to laugh and magnus just glared at him in a clearly playful way)

they care for each other deeply (think every interaction we got between them or that included them talking about each other to a third person lmao i think this one is undeniable)

they trust each other incredibly (think raphael being tortured and going to magnus before he went to his own clan, then staying at his house, he obviously feels comfortable and safe there more than anywhere else including his own supposed home; and i wish we had gotten to see more of raphael taking care of magnus as well but of course the writers always forgot magnus had friends and family beyond shadowhunters lmao, but still, i think it's undeniable that the trust goes both ways because of the sheer difference in the way magnus treated raphael as opposed to other people who came for his help, including downworlders like simon)

they are openly affectionate with each other in a way they aren't with most people (think them hugging or the way magnus casually touched raphael's face like it was perfectly normal. that is like, the only s3 raphael scene i claim lmao)

hmmm where was i going with this. man i should really get checked for ADHD or whatever

RIGHT they built a nice relationship. which magnus craved!!! he really really needed someone he could be affectionate with, someone he could trust, someone he had fun with! and again, it's not that he didn't have that, but it was the first time he was building a relationship like this again from scratch after camille. plus, i'm sure camille pushed him away from his friends because that's what abusers do, and i'm sure magnus also pushed them away to some extent because again, being vulnerable was hard. but with raphael there was no escaping it. like, he was living at magnus' house

and he needed that! and i think raphael and their relationship had such an important catalyst role in magnus' recovery from camille. not that raphael saved him - again, that's not even possible - but the way their relationship was constructed was essential for magnus to start opening up again. without it i really doubt it would have been possible for him to open up to alec, and i think their relationship and history is extremely overlooked and underrated by the fandom

but like... the fact that he was in such a vulnerable emotional state to begin with, plus the fact that their relationship was kickstarted by the fact that raphael needed him, will obviously lead to him thinking that raphael only puts up with him or whatever because he needs him/feels indebted (because magnus knows at this point that raphael is not the kind to use people, but he also knows that raphael already acts like his mere presence in the world is something he has to make up for it's the catholicism so of course he's gonna feel like he needs to make up for magnus for such a huge gesture. anyone who's not an asshole would, but like, particularly raphael). cue magnus like, probably feeling guilty for getting so attached to raphael because he's an idiot

and like of course raphael feels indebted and grateful but he also does genuinely in fact like magnus (for all the reasons listed above) and also like, he did in fact also need more connections, he had just lost all of his previous ones. but most importantly he does care for magnus and loves him immensely even beyond all that magnus did for him. and he does see magnus as a person and knows about his struggles and vulnerabilities because it's impossible not to when you live/have lived together, and he just... cares and empathises

but also raphael obviously thinks he's a burden to magnus because duh, and i don't think magnus ever really told raphael how much taking raphael in helped him, how much it meant to him and his recovery, how he was doing it for himself as much as he was doing it for rapha, because 1- he's scared of being so open and vulnerable; 2- he's scared of making raphael feel even more guilty; 3- he's stupid and i think part of him assumed it went without saying

like he was always so openly affectionate with raphael (maybe even too much in his eyes, maybe he was scared of being too attached, putting too much on his shoulders, it's not this traumatized kid's job to deal with his issues for fuck's sake) and magnus has always worn his heart in his sleeve and he feels everything so deeply i think he sometimes forgets that it's not actually plain for everyone to see and feel. particularly not non-warlocks, since it's kinda implied that warlocks have some level of sensitivity to each other going on. plus raphael is autistic af so he can't tell what magnus is feeling if magnus doesn't fucking say it, and he has a terminally low self esteem that i assume would be even lower by that point (due to, you know... the general shitshow state his life was in), so of course he doesn't assume he's as important to magnus as magnus is to him, particularly not when he is literally burdening him (in raphael's eyes). so he thinks it's obvious but it's Really Not

so we have like a lot of misunderstanding angst with both of them wanting to get closer but thinking they are imposing on the other and pulling away, and both of them taking the other pulling away as a sign that they aren't comfortable and aaaa

so like i think that rapha would mention moving out so he can get out of magnus' hair, and magnus is all crestfallen because he's so not ready to be alone at home again, but he can't be selfish and hold the kid back just because he has shit he needs to deal with, right? it's not fair

and then like lowkey spiralling afraid that after that he's going to be alone again and raphael won't want to see him anymore, or worse, that he'll force himself to out of pity or guilt, and magnus will just be a chore to him

and raphael feeling like magnus wants to get rid of him and will want him out of his hair and aaaaaaaaaaa

and magnus of course is all put together and excited about it, "yes, my boy, don't worry, i'll help you move" and playfully tilting his head and being all excited and getting into chop-chop mode because as long as he can make himself useful he can avoid thinking about how he's gonna be alone again. and rapha of course taking this as magnus being eager for him to leave

and just doijasiodjasoij they're IDIOTS. i think this would be more or less resolved by raphael because at the very least he has to thank magnus for everything he's done and tell magnus that he means so much to him, that he'll always be thankful. and magnus again is all put together, all "it was nothing, my boy" but rapha pulls him into a hug and suddenly they are Not Letting Each Other Go. like it's tight and maybe they're both shaking a little because Badly Repressed Emotions and they're just. so unwilling to let each other go for what they feel like will be forever because they are sad and dramatic. and raphael even wonders for a second if he's like, super strengthing magnus into the hug by accident, but even when he tries to let go magnus doesn't even notice and is still hugging him tight, so he's like. okay. guess i can stay for a little longer then. and keeps hugging him

and lol i have half a mind to be like "and then raphael ends up staying because neither of them actually wants raphael to leave so what's the point" and actually i think i might be going this route for this particular hc. but of course eventually raphael does leave because you know... kids grow up and all daihdsaioj and i think that they still have some things to resolve, particularly from magnus' side? i think raphael is more in touch with him than the other way around, even if mostly we've seen him coming to magnus for help, but like... that trust is there, you know, and we didn't see a lot of the opposite

i know s3 raphael was fake anyway but like i imagine him finding out that magnus lost his magic and he had no idea or that he lost his home and being like "why didn't you ask for my help?? our help??" because you know all his other friends would have wanted to help him out too, and magnus is just. he doesn't want to be a burden. he feels like if he is, he's going to lose anyone. he needs to be there for them

and it's so much bullshit of course and raphael is pissed - not at magnus, he couldn't be mad at him, but just pissed in general. and he draws magnus in for a hug and tells him that he can always come to raphael, whenever he needs, and raphael will drop everything to help him. the clan is doing okay (especially post-valentine and impending doom and all, you know, they can take care of themselves lmao. like look of course raphael is a very involved leader but you get what i mean, they won't die if he goes help magnus with something) and he has second-in-commands he trusts anyway. and he doesn't want magnus to hide his problems for him and not come for his help and aaa

just.... rapha being like "you think i wouldn't do anything i could for you? anything to make sure you're alright?" and magnus being like "you don't have to" and raphael going, "you didn't have to do it for me either. but you did" "you don't owe me anything" "i do, but this is not about that. magnus, you're my family" and magnus tearing up because it is so immense to him to be someone's family, something he almost can't grasp

and magnus slowly learning that no, raphael doesn't need him, but that's not important because he wants magnus in his life anyway. and they can always rely on each other, no matter what, even if they aren't dependant on each other - and that is a good thing :)

[tossawary]

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction. 

-

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything. 

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK. 

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either. 

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...” 

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH. 

- 

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

- 

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan). 

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point. 

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

- 

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

 “Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

- 

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example. 

- 

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

- 

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things? 

- 

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH. 

- 

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

- 

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here. 

- 

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.  

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

- 

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation. 

- 

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

- 

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?” 

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!” 

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.” 

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down. 

- 

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

- 

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on. 

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders. 

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking. 

- 

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

- 

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension. 

- 

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

- 

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever). 

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea. 

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant! 

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does! 

- 

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

 “‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

 “‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

- 

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes. 

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.) 

- 

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

 “Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent. 

- 

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.) 

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss. 

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master. 

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control. 

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers. 

- 

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

 “He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

- 

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later! 

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into. 

- 

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

 “He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

 “Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

- 

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations. 

- 

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him. 

[lorelylantana]

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 5: Homecoming

First-Previous-Next

Ao3

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

“How did this happen?” she asked, setting the slate down to look at her husband. He looked sheepish.

“It didn’t happen overnight,” Link explained, “After the Sheikah were banished from the Kingdom of Hyrule they came to us for protection after their own military forces were lost, and the other races opted for their own independence. That much is true, and it was for centuries after. The Sheikah don’t really have a desire for leading outside of their own people, so as long as the Zonai reinforced their borders and funded their research they were content to share the fruits of their knowledge. 

“We’ve always believed in extending a hand in aid where we could, so on the occasions that the other races reached out for help, we’ve been the first to respond. We built the dam in Zora’s domain and we killed the Lynels haunting the Rito snowfields. When the Gerudo canyon collapsed we’re the ones that cleared the rubble to let them travel safely once again. Bit by bit the other races began to see the benefits of being a unified nation again, so we expanded the railways, the Sheikah streamlined communications, new Wardens were named, and we came whole again.”

“Not completely,” Zelda interjected, oddly defensive. She felt Noodle’s nose bump into her chin, perhaps in response to her racing pulse.

“Not completely,” Link agreed, “But it was a king on Hylia’s throne that fractured the continent in the first place, and the Sheikah have long memories. Even with the countless records locked away, they knew it wasn’t the first time they had been made to vacate Hyrule, so they advised us to keep the royal family in the dark and wait.”

“For what?” Zelda asked. He looked in her eyes.

“For the right Queen.”

Fat chance of that one, considering her uncle sat on the throne and she was the Hollow Daughter of Hylia.

“Tell me more about the Wardens,” Zelda said, uncomfortable at the implied expectation.

Link scooted over, taking the slate in his hand he fiddled with the map settings until Zelda watched the borders she was familiar with reappear. Noodle uncoiled from her spot on Zelda’s wrist to sniff at the screen, her snout tapping on the small region north of Mount Lanayru, if that was indeed it’s name and not another lie told to her people. A box appeared with white text.

The Wellspring

Warden: Dorephan [Contact]

Rising Warden: Mipha [Contact]

“Each region is governed by a Warden,” Link explained, his breath tickling her ear and his arm slipping around her waist, “Dorephan is the current Warden of the Wellspring, but he gave his notice of retirement last year, so Mipha, his daughter is carrying out the majority of his duties until she slays a great beast and takes over his position completely.”

Zelda tapped the harbor their icon was inching towards, highlighting the region that Zelda originally thought to be the entire Zonai nation.

Dragonlands

Warden: Link

Rising Mother: Zelda Lana Hyrule [Contact]

Zelda noticed that the word ‘contact’ was written in green. Curious, she tapped it, expecting the screen to change. Instead there was a chiming from her headdress. Zelda tensed up. Link gave a little chuckle before pinching her translator between his fingers for a moment.

“What was that?” Zelda asked, but he only held up his finger again, shooting her a wink as he got up and left the the observation deck

“Can you hear me?”

Zelda flinched, startled. Her husband’s voice had replaced the mechanical words from her translator.

“Yes,” she responded, walking to the window to see her husband walking into view below. In her ear she could hear the sea breeze until his voice returned.

“A secondary function, though a recent one,” Link said, waving up at her.

Zelda looked at the slate again.

“Why can’t I call you?” she asked, noting the option to contact didn’t appear next to her husband’s name.

“That’s my personal slate, it would be like writing a letter to myself.”

He began walking up the stairs, and she could hear his footsteps, which was a bit disorienting without a stair in sight. They spent the rest of the trip eating their lunch while Link explained the basic functions of a Sheikah Slate. Zelda pressed an icon with a small blue circle, and a glowing blue orb appeared in her hands. Link mumbled something in Zonai that the Zelda’s translator interpreted as a string of curse words that had her ears burning. Link took the orb from her hands, chucked it through a window he’d opened before pressing the ‘cancel’ button right next to the one labeled ‘detonate’.

“That was an explosive,” he said by way of explanation. Zelda’s eyes widened.

“Does everyone else on the continent have access to explosives?” she asked, alarmed. Link shook his head with a laugh.

“Farore above, no. The slates given to Wardens and have greater capabilities than most citizens’. Standard issue slates are much more limited. Identification, communications, and finances only.”

“What does it mean by ‘Rising Mother?” Zelda asked, now holding the slate at arm’s length.

“Being my wife makes you the Mother of the Dragonlands, but since you haven’t officially accepted the title you’re listed as ‘Rising’.”

“How do I accept it?” she asked, Link smiled, bright and relieved. 

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

She liked that sentence because of the assumption. There was a warm undertone to the flippant reminder that she had a home here. She was in a foreign country that wasn’t at all like she imagined, but she had a place set aside for her. It was enough to banish the dissatisfaction of her question going unanswered and allowed her to walk hand in hand with her husband with a spring in her step. As they descended onto the dock, she couldn’t help but notice that it was pretty deserted, though she did see a large building at the top of a large cliff. Link led them down into the sand. They came across a strange platform on the ground before Link placed his palm on a screen covered pedestal. After fiddling with the screen Link took out a vial of simmering red liquid she recognized as an elixir and pressed it into her hand. She drank it, savoring the kick that she recognized as a spicy elixir. Link watched as she swallowed it.

“How did I do?” he asked, brow raised. She took another sip.

“It’s a tad overdone,” she admitted, “but effective,”

He nodded, satisfied with her answer. She shook out her limbs, the heat spreading to her fingers and toes like a fever.

“It’s a little warm for a spicy elixir, isn’t it?” she asked, quizzical. He winked at her, resting a palm against the blank screen. After a blue line ran up and down the pedestal chimed and the world faded away.

The world returned in slices, descending bit by bit to create a small alcove tucked in the corner of a much larger room filled with plush chairs and couches facing a strange black rectangle set upon a table. Despite the questions burning through her mind, she found herself transfixed by the opposite wall. Rather than the intricate stonework that made up the majority of the room, the wall they walked along had an almost translucent, iridescent quality to it, orange light shining through that mimicked the sunset outside. She pressed a hand to it and dragged her palm along its smooth, chilled surface, her breath coming out in clouds in front of her. Link showed her a large glass box filled with vegetation and a lamp which, in a notable departure from the standard blue light fixtures around the room, shone with a warm yellow light.

“For Noodle,” Link said by way of explanation, opening the box.

Zelda beamed from ear to ear, reaching into the terrarium to let the serpent climb onto one of the winding branches. She could have sworn she saw some of the blue scales glow, but it was probably a trick of the light.

“Say Noodle again,” she said, tucking her hand into his elbow.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds cute in your accent,” she admitted, cheeks flushing slightly.

He gave her a quizzical look but nonetheless obliged her, “Noodle.”

She giggled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as they walked down the hall to a larger, yet somehow more intimate room.

 Zelda stepped forward and turned to examine their bedroom. The walls were carved in hundreds of illustrations of plant and animal life alike, each shape crafted with a myriad of stones that must have been gathered from all corners of Hyrule. A fox made from the rich Eldin rock, wolves shaped from the cool blue of Upland Zora, and pigeons carved from Necluda stone. The lush scenes of the wild were dominated by sprawling depictions of dragons lording over it all. She recognized the serpent she glimpsed on their wedding day coiled protectively over their bed which, while lower to the floor than her own, was far wider than any bed she’d ever scene and stacked with silks and cushions. 

After the stress of the day, Zelda was ready to lie down, but her husband had other ideas, taking her hand and pulling her to the corner on her left, where another dragon curled around a bath that looked far too big for just the two of them. Nevertheless, Zelda followed him gratefully, glad that at least one of her preconceived notions of the Zonai held true.

Owlan had told her the Zonai viewed baths an intimate affair, which she had understood. The difference lay in that married couples were supposed to bathe together, and often. This practice was apparently so common that newlyweds were not considered fully united until they blessed their marital home with a bath. Thus, when Link’s hands began to unravel the cloth around her chest, she made no comment, only moving to undo his belt.

When they were both stripped down they stepped over the lip of the massive tub. Link took the lead as the welcoming spouse, turning her around so he could run his hands down her back. Despite the spicy elixir having a good deal of time before it wore off, the water felt cool. Not enough to feel uncomfortable, but impossible to ignore. If her elixir couldn’t hold off the chill, she wondered how frigid it must be. Zelda was dissuaded from asking questions by Link’s touch, warm and steady as they started to rub soap into her back. She sighed and felt her head roll to one side. Zelda let her gaze rest on the luminescent stone of the second dragon. Unlike Farosh, the horn of this creature almost resembled a crown, spikes pointing away from the creature’s face. 

“I saw Farosh on our wedding day,” Zelda said idly, her shoulders easing under his touch. He hummed and started to work on her arms.

“The gods approve of our marriage.”

This intimacy in the water was softer than what they shared in their honeymoon, but no less potent. Perhaps this gentle caress was one of the unsung sides of love, often overlooked for that wildfire lust that overtook them so many times. And yet, as Zelda grew warmer under his ministrations a deep sense of peace took root, easing away the emotional strain of the day’s revelations. For all the deceit revealed to her, his growing affection for her felt genuine. 

Link pulled her to rest against his chest so he could reach around to her stomach. When she relaxed and let her arms rest back in the water it became clear that the heat wasn’t just from his embrace but from the bath, once so cold it broke through her elixir’s protection.

“What happened to the water?” she asked, dragging a hand through the bathwater. It was heated as a hot spring. “Zonai leaders have always drawn strength from the land, wielding magic both consciously and instinctively.” he explained, washing and rinsing her hair, “This flow is strongest in the springs and other sacred sights, giving us enough protection to render even the harshest weather mild.”

Link turned her around to look her in the eyes as he took her leg into his lap, “We swore to each other before our people,” he explained, massaging her calf as he spoke, “we’ve proven this union to one another in our bed. But only here, alone in holy water atop a sacred mountain, do we verify our marriage before the gods. You are Mother of the Dragonlands, and now all the spirits watching over us recognize you as such, and give their power freely.”

Zelda smiled, security pulsing steady in her chest. The feeling was compounded by small, swirling clusters of energy she could now feel brushing against her skin and shielding her from the unrelenting cold of her new home. After pressing a quick kiss to his lips she urged him to turn around.  Relishing in the heated water, she took the cloth from the lip of the tub and lathered it in soap so she could start to scrub his back and arms. She traced some of the paint on his bicep before wiping it off.

“What do the markings mean?” she asked. She had watched him apply the paint several times since their wedding, though never as much as he did the night itself.

“It’s less about design and more about location,” he answered, “The paint makes us stronger. We use it to stimulate the muscles we use most in battle.”

She rubbed his other arm clean before moving on to his chest. He smiled lazily, resting his hands on her hips, his thumbs circling idly.

“How’s it made?” 

“I’ll send you the recipe.”

Zelda raised a brow, “Just one?”

“The only one that works.”

Now that was an intriguing prospect. Alas, it would have to wait for another day, as Zelda started to yawn when washing his legs and feet and her eyes had started to close on their own accord when they dried off on the steps leading up to the tub. She heard Link give a low chuckle as he pulled the towel from her hands and began to rub the moisture out of her hair, massaging her scalp in the process. His touch put her at so much ease that she ended up dozing off with her face resting against his thigh. Zelda only stirred when he did, sliding off the lip of the tub to take her in his arms. She didn’t open her eyes when she was rocked in his arms as he crossed the room. She felt the cool, smooth sheet covering the bed before it dipped to accommodate her husband’s weight. Zelda reached for him blindly and was rewarded by his arms wrapping behind her back, pressing their bare chests together. She felt Link’s lips on her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into her hair. She nuzzled his shoulder and kissed what felt like his collarbone.

“Goodnight.”

[anonthenullifier]

An Awakening

Vision learns the truth of his life prior to Westview which leads to an honest conversation with Wanda.

Ao3 link

There is nothingness and then there is a calliope, it’s jaunty little ditty shocking his mind enough that Vision’s eyes snap open. Blades of grass tickle his cheek and an aura of flashing lights draws him up, palms pressed firmly onto the ground as he hoists himself up into a seated position. His body aches, a faint echo in his mind of being violently torn apart, but it is a feeling that fades the faster he thinks about it. Since it seems important, he tries to move his mind away, hoping that if he doesn’t explicitly focus on it that it will not be forgotten.

Vision nods, goes to stand up, but finds his legs not responding fully, knees buckling under the weight of a fleeting memory of immense pain. A hand loops under his right bicep, the woman’s other hand coming to rest on his back as she helps him up with an aggrieved, “Why can men never admit when they’re hurt?” The snark behind the comment feels forced, the same underlying terror on her face as all the other residents here.

That’s when he remembers, most of it at least. He was on his own reconnaissance patrol, inching ever more methodically toward the edge of town to see how far Wanda’s influence reached. The horror of his findings, their frozen, crying faces, almost knocks him back to the ground, but luckily the woman’s hands are still there to steady him. “Thank you.”

“Did you go in the funhouse?” It’s not really a question the way her voice falls, more of a statement with a rhetorical uptick at the end. “Heard it’s really disorienting with all the clowns.”

Vision doesn’t recall such an attraction anywhere in Westview but then he looks up, following the still present music in the air, and finds an entire carnival before him. Red and white striped tents tower out of the ground, stalls for food send plumes of greasy smoke into the air, and numerous game stalls are lined up where stuffed animals and blowup hammers hang joyfully from the walls. This is new. What is also new is that there are houses and roads beyond Ellis Avenue, which seems right, as if it was always like that, but there is a niggle of unease that tells him this isn’t true, if only he could access the information that makes him feel that way.

“Oh, um , thank you.” His costume is, at least by his understanding of how Billy and Tommy reacted, not sick by any means. Regardless, he finds his hand moving on its own accord to grip the cape, wanting to feel the object of her jealousy. It feels different, slicker and more aerodynamic than the one Wanda left in the closet. He yanks it a bit farther forward and notes that it is also a much more subdued gold with flecks of crimson in parts. A glance down also confirms that his green and yellow ensemble is gone, replaced by teals and reds, no athletic shorts covering the skin tight ensemble.

This is all wrong.

Vision knows the town never had a circus, nor the rows of houses beyond Ellis, he knows that he was not in this outfit and that everything feels just a bit off.

“Do you want some coffee or a ride back home?” The concern in her voice goes deeper than one would expect, even though she did find him injured on the ground, something more wavers in her words. Vision decides that he needs more answers than questions and, even though he hates taking away people’s autonomy, he reaches towards her temple. “Woah,” the woman swats his hands away, “I have pepper spray.”

“I will not harm you.” Oddly her face softens and she drops the threat, allowing him to send a pulse of golden energy into her head.

The change is instantaneous, the woman’s face becoming far more animated, “Vision?! Oh my God, you’re okay!” This is now the second awakened person to recognize him, to be excited at the prospect that he is there to help. “Oh what the hell!” Vision watches the woman’s hand run along her gaudy canary and ruby diner uniform, one that is common in little run down diners on the highway, a thought that he doesn’t quite know how to substantiate since he doesn’t seem to have a memory of such a stop and yet the knowledge is there. As she inspects her clothes, grunting in disbelief and irritation built into every movement, she confuses him further, “I’m an astrophysicist and this is what I get? So disrespectful.”

Neither Norm nor Agnes responded in such a...laid back way to be awakened, both in immeasurable pain that this woman seems to show no signs of. “Miss, are you okay?”

“Doctor, not Miss.”

“My apologies.”

She turns a bright, closed lip smile towards him, reaching out her hand as she says, “I’m Darcy.”

He takes the proffered hand and gives it a polite shake. Even though it is clearly unnecessary he adds, “And I’m Vision.” What he says next is a bit of a surprise to him, mainly because he doesn’t feel like he has a basis for the assumption that she will know the answer, but for some reason he has full faith she can help him, that she wants to help him. “Who am I? What,” he surveys the carnival around him, “what is happening here?”

“Straight to the big questions.” It is not derisively or caustically stated, in fact there is far more affection than one would expect from a stranger. Darcy glances around, nervous for the first time, “I’ll try to be quick, I’m sure your wife’ll be here soon.” This fear is not new, sadly, the same insinuation made by Norm about Wanda’s involvement. “Let’s see, you’re Vision, obviously,” a small, self conscious chuckle goes along with the statement. “You’re an Avenger,” luckily, she senses his desire for more, quickly adding, “group of super powered people, well, not all of them have super powers, some just have really amazing tech, but anyway you’re a team that fights bad guys and saves the universe.”

“Wanda and myself, we were-“

“Yep, joined at the same time and then fell in love, really cute.”

This confirms what Agnes said, which suggests that perhaps her other words were true as well. “Am I...dead?” All joy leeches from Darcy’s face, a deflated nod going along with the tightening of her lips. “How?”

Darcy looks around again and Vision can’t help but join her in the action, can’t help but feel a little bit nervous about who doesn’t want him to know this. “Shortened version - big purple angry grape named Thanos was collecting all the infinity stones, this includes the Mindstone,” Vision’s fingers rise up to brush the gem. “Wanda had to kill you to try and stop him.”

“She killed me?”

Quickly context is added, “Only because you,” she levels a finger at his chest to emphasize his role and take blame off his wife, “insisted she do it.”

None of what she says makes sense. “Why would I do that?”

The next statement is said in a way that typically is coupled with a playful fist against the shoulder that leads into a jovial shove. “Being all self-sacrificial’s kinda your thing. Which is super noble, don’t get me wrong, but a bit rough on the people around you, like asking them to kill you for the greater good.”

Which is a fair point and one he will need to cogitate on at a later time, “Why did Wanda, specifically, have to kill me?”

“Oh because she was the only one strong enough to destroy the Mindstone.”

A logical assessment that he can easily believe his former self to have made. “Was she successful?”

Darcy’s voice quiets somewhat, a slight tremble in her words, “She was. But then Thanos reversed time, brought you back, and murdered you right in front of her.”

Suddenly his worldview shifts, new meaning and understanding emerging as to some of Wanda’s actions and her strong reaction to his accusations the other night. Despite this dawning of understanding, there is still a major question he feels hasn’t been answered. “But then how are we here? How am I,” he falters on the next word, as early as this evening not thinking it was something that could be false, “alive?”

“That’s the million dollar question. No one knows.” A high pitched whizzing vibrates in the air, punctuated by calls of Vision! “I gotta go,” she begins to walk away, but turns back with an anger not yet present in her words, “Quick FYI, if you meet a guy named Hayward, don’t trust him, he’s a dick.”

“I um, will not, thank you.”

She starts to leave again and then stops, “Also, we don’t have proof it’s all Wanda. Food for thought.”

Vision appreciates the comment, “Thank you.” It is when she actually walks away that he is the one that has a realization of not re-invoking whatever trance the people of the town are in. “Darcy!” She turns expectedly towards him as he approaches with his hands out and ready to take the pain from her, except she swats his hands away, yet again.

“Stop it, I’m a better ally awake.”

Based on the prior two people he has spoken to in their awakened state, this seems a poor choice for her. “Does it not hurt?”

“I mean, yeah, feels like I went on a tequila bender last night and haven’t had water in weeks.” How she remains so lighthearted is beyond him, but he admires it immensely, “but I can’t help you if I’ve forgotten.”

Though he isn’t sure it is in her best interest to remain in such a state, the idea of a confidant is appealing. “Very well.”

Seconds after she walks away, blue streaks materialize around Vision, both his sons and his wife appearing suddenly in front of him. This is unusual but he doesn’t get a chance to inquire about their speedy entrance, Billy rushing towards him first with a relieved, “Dad!” Vision catches him, using the momentum of his son’s leap to lift him and hold him close, Billy’s arm wrapping protectively around Vision’s neck. Tommy follows shortly after, his run far more powerful as he slams into Vision’s torso with a tight hug.

It is Wanda who hesitates, her eyes faintly glowing red, a deep, concerned frown on her lips. “Vizh,” her voice cracks and his heart breaks at the pain she tries so valiantly to mask. Vision manages to get one of his hands free enough to motion Wanda closer. She accepts the offer, one arm winding around his waist and the other laying on Tommy’s shoulders.

They have only been home for three hours and yet this is the tenth Wanda has found herself standing in the doorway, hand propped along the wooden frame. In the room Vision lies in bed, eyes closed and resting, Billy is wrapped around him, his arm thrown across his father’s chest and head buried just under the vibranium dot of Vision’s chin, and Tommy is curled snuggly into Vision’s other side. The boys are still in their costumes, Billy’s cape sprawled behind him on their mattress and Tommy’s now flat hair looking a bit crusty from the spray dye. It’s an idyllic scene and yet Wanda fights back tears, shoving the drops away from her eyes as if they are an enemy that needs to be thwarted.

She almost lost Vision...again. The boys almost lost their father at ten years old, an age for which grief is overwhelming and confusing, can shape a life forever, or so she intimately knows.

Reluctantly her body pulls away from the door, arms crossing over her chest as she walks back downstairs, not once considering peeking in on her brother in the guest room. That is a problem she is still trying to figure out, the man a stranger, an antagonist, but with her brother’s name. There are too many inconsistencies in his behavior, too many contradictions in his words, half of them true to her brother and the other far too knowing of events that occurred after his death. Unsurprisingly he and Vision clash, a thought that briefly makes her mouth perk up, always having a belief that if her brother lived he would have begrudgingly accepted her relationship while also making it his personal duty to make jabs at Vision, who Wanda always knew would take it with a silent dignity that was then removed late at night when he’d insist on lengthy conversations with her to figure out the insults. That’s what life was supposed to be. What life is now, technically.

The gurgle of water washes away these thoughts, her focus now solely on filling the kettle and getting it on a burner to boil. Except the distraction is short lived as she sits down at the kitchen table to wait, fingers interwoven and glowing faintly of the residual scarlet energy she had to use tonight. Wanda fixates on her fingers, bending and straightening them, unsure how she knew what to do or even had the power to expand the town. But that’s not the most troubling incident of the night. No, what pesters at her resolve is a simple thought: Why did Vision want to leave? They have everything here - a house, Billy and Tommy, each other, and the time they always tried so hard to find.

Wanda startles at the creak of the kitchen cabinet, heart still racing as she takes in the curve of Vision’s shoulders and the vibranium band along the back of his head. Silently he makes her a cup of tea, hands moving calmly through the ritual he created, the cup always the same distance from the kettle, bag placed at the bottom with the string hanging out precisely two inches, both hands holding the kettle (one on the handle and one at the base) as a perfect arc of water fills the cup, and finally one and a third spoonfuls of sugar. The sequence completed, Vision walks the cup to the table, placing it gently down with barely a clink from the porcelain. She expects him to sit down across from her, to silently stare for a minute or so before bringing up the town again, reopening the wounds of their last fight because they never actually resolved anything other than to try and act normal around the boys. But he doesn’t, instead he takes her hand, tugging it until she stands, and then he hugs her, engulfing her entire being in his presence. The firmness of his chest and the tinny waft of vibranium are just as soothing as the kisses he peppers along the top of her head, each one more doting than the last. “Vizh,” Wanda reluctantly pulls back a few inches, hand squeezing between their bodies until she can cup his face, “are you…”

“I know,” he kisses her properly now, not like the emotionless peck earlier in the day, this one imbued with all of his love and all of his concern. “I know enough.”

A chill moves through her body, limbs growing rigid and heart almost coming to a complete stop. “What do you mean?”

Vision’s fingers move up to trace lines through her hair, palm coming to rest on her cheek. The surety of his prior statement lessens, mouth sinking lower until it’s a shallow frown. “I know that I am,” it is unlike him to pause like this, to seem to want to avoid a conversation he himself brought up, “that I was dead.”

Her denial is immediate and viscera, “What are you talking about, why would you…” but then his doleful gaze meets hers, the ridges of his synthetic skin bunched together in a show of deep, aching pain, though it is clear from the way he holds her, the way he places a far too gentle kiss to her forehead, as if the action itself might knock her over, that he is more concerned for her than himself, which is the epitome of who he was...who he is. If there is anything she can offer that matches this unerring compassion, it has to be honesty because clearly hiding the truth from him will not stop his incessant march towards the truth. But that is easier to think about than it is to actually commit to doing. Wanda swallows down a sob and fights to keep her voice calm. “You were.” The confirmation is too much, her chest heaving as all the memories rush to the forefront of her mind--her hands erupting in red at the feel of the Mindstone fracturing, at the almost silent I love you , and then having to watch him come back only to die in a far more brutal way.

Strong arms that shouldn’t exist continue to encase her, draw her deeper into the comfort of his embrace, the feel of his fingers running through her hair with the same gentle “Wanda” he always said when soothing her. Deep down she knows it is all a lie, this life, this man, this blissful existence. Because as a Maximoff there is only one constant in life and it is sorrow, biting, empty, unavoidable sorrow. Which begs the question of how, exactly he found out. A question that infuriates her and invokes the well know feeling of being caged in by the inevitability of her life.

Wanda steps out of his arms, trying her best not to show how much pain that simple movement creates, her body screaming to remain against his forever, but selfishly she needs answers more than anything, needs information to help her regain some level of control over her emotions, has to know why he put his family through so much just to find out this awful truth. “Why aren’t you happy here?”

A denial forms quickly, his body taut at the accusation, “I am happy Wanda, how could I not be?”

“Because you left, you...you abandoned us today,” Wanda knows she shouldn’t use the next part in anger or for gain, but she needs her husband to understand the severity of it all. “Did you know Billy can sense you?”

Vision’s “He can?” is hard to read, both concerned and in awe, with something else she can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yes, and his first experience of that was feeling you try to die because we apparently aren’t important enough to stay alive for.” The comment hits as intended, Vision stepping back, horror forming in the spasming muscles of his face as he looks up towards the ceiling, towards where he left their sons. “What are you trying to find out there?”

Vision’s simple, “The truth,” is aggravatingly vague, thankfully, or not depending on how this goes, he clarifies, “There is something wrong in Westview, Wanda. The people are in agony.”

A fed up laugh comes out with her “Aren’t we all?” Only Vision can’t find the humor, the gears in his eyes twisting clockwise and counterclockwise while he stares at her, face ladened with a suffocating sympathy.

He takes a step towards her and she steps back, not missing the way her reaction hurts him. “Wanda, it is not like you to inflict pain on innocent people.”

Since they started this new life, her memories have been hazy, coming in and out of consciousness, enough clarity to understand that whatever is happening in Westview is preferable to outside of it. After tonight, after Pietro’s comment about her dead husband, it’s all there and she realizes that she’s never gotten to say out loud what she did, what Thanos forced her to do, the Avengers too scattered with all that needed to be attended to after his defeat to focus on anyone but themselves. So she squares her shoulders, lifts her head and puts all of her self loathing into her next comment, “If that’s true, then why did I kill you?”

This time when Vision steps towards her she lets him grip her arms, let’s him guide her until her face is pressed into his chest, allowing her to hear the beating of his synthetic heart. “You were only doing what I had asked.”

“Well it wasn’t worth it,” her voice is muffled by the teal sweater he’s wearing, “and I can’t, I can’t forgive myself.”

His arms tighten around her, one hand gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt and the other holding her head to his sternum. “You did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame-”

It doesn't take a telepath to know what empty words he is about to mutter. Wanda forces herself from his embrace and stares hard into his eyes, “Don’t, Vision, just don’t. It won’t change what happened.”

Reluctantly he accepts it, moving cautiously back to the original topic of their discord, “Is this,” he gestures vaguely around them, “the result of,” it is still hard for him to say, which she appreciates because she can’t say it easily either, “my death?”

“I don’t know,,” this time he seems to accept her ignorance, which allows her a chance to actually consider it more. All she can really recall is the crushing loneliness and the suffocating despair of losing the last person she loved in the world. It’s not a stretch to assume that had something to do with now. “Maybe?” If he knows about his death, she reasons that she might as well tell him the other nightmare she discovered upon her own rebirth, something she’s tried to block out as best she can. “It could also be from finding out some shady government organization was experimenting on your corpse.”

Shock is too gentle a word, hatred a tiny bit too strong for the tone of his voice, “That does not seem like an activity I would condone.”

“It’s the exact opposite of what you requested.” Wanda thinks back to that day, and unlike Vision, pure, unabashed hatred flowed through her veins when she received an anonymous tip. Hatred at S.W.O.R.D, at the scientists going against Vision’s will, hatred at the world for being so awful, and hatred at her teammates who let it happen, who didn’t seem to consider that agencies like that lie, that they would never want the body only for “safe-keeping.” All Vision wanted was a burial and she was determined to provide him that, to allow herself the closure she needed. So she broke in, sickened at the way they’d disassembled him and had separate monitors attached to his limbs and head. “I broke in,” Vision holds his breath as she talks, “I took you from them and all I remember is flying away. I was going to bury you in the forest, like you wanted.” That’s where her memory stops and where Westview begins. “And then we were driving to our house after getting married.” Finally he releases his breath with a shuddering gasp. “That’s all I remember, you have to believe me that I have no idea what’s going on.” Unlike the other night, he wordlessly accepts her ignorance, mind likely still reeling from the revelations she shared. It is this lack of judgment that emboldens her to say what’s been swirling through her mind whenever the knowledge of reality sets in, a thought that should carry with it guilt but she can’t muster up guilt when she finally has what she has been denied over and over again. “But I’d be lying if I tried to convince you that I don’t prefer what we have in Westview.”

With a hand on her back, he leads her to the table, pulling out the chair in front of the barely steaming tea, and then he sits directly next to her, tenderly taking her left hand in his own, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along her wedding ring. “I cannot fault you in any way for that feeling. If not for being complicit in the pain of so many, I would wholly embrace this life we have now.”

His tacit disapproval is only slightly less painful than his yelling, but she has to begrudgingly accept that he may not be completely wrong. Whatever pain he has sensed in others was enough to make him tear through the barrier and risk losing his own family. “But what if,” still she fights against figuring it out, unsure she can handle what it might lead to, “what if fixing this means I lose you again,” which is already incomprehensible, but is made even more harrowing by the next possibility, “what if it means losing Billy and Tommy too?”

Tears lick at the corners of his eyes, a war waging on his lips of how to proceed. “It will be horrifying and it will be immensely difficult but you,” he grabs her other hand, his fingers forming a vice around her own and she isn’t sure if he is trying to convince her or himself more, “are so remarkably resilient.”

Sometimes she wishes his density manipulation applied beyond just his body. “Clearly not, Vizh. Look around us.”

Vision doesn’t, instead he looks down at their enjoined hands, a shaky breath recentering his thoughts. “I think we may be, as they say, putting the cart before the horse.” The verbal shift is so utterly ridiculous that she chuckles, an action that causes him to smile nervously. “Did I use it wrong?”

“No, it just, you always say it so academically.”

“I see.” Finally real, genuine amusement flits across his face. “Well, regardless, we don’t know what is happening, unless there is something you aren’t telling me.” It is not an accusation in the slightest, in fact it is said as an aside, almost hopeful that she’s waiting to surprise him with the solution.

There is a lot she hasn’t said, but none of it seems vital other than perhaps one observation. “I definitely have control here,” this itself is painful to admit. Where he is merely complicit if he remains here, she is actively continuing it, “but, I don’t, I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t know how I’m doing this.” Vision takes in the admission, brow furrowing as he no doubts files it away in his future mysteries to solve mental folder. “Like tonight,” she thinks back to when Billy told her about the soldiers, to the moment she realized what Vision had done, “All I knew is that I needed to save you because I couldn’t lose you again. I didn’t have any idea of how or what to do, but I felt like if I just put all of my powers into it, that something would happen.”

It’s amazing how easily he transitions into his cool and clinical investigator voice, “Is this the first time you’ve felt that?”

“No. I mean sometimes I have an idea of what I’d like,” such as when she saw the beekeeper come out of the sewer and then vanquished it, “but other times I just have a hope it will be fixed.”

“That is a start.”

Wanda waits for more and when it doesn’t arrive,she pushes for it, “What does that mean?”

He releases her hands and pats his legs, an odd energy reinvigorating in him. “We must figure out the source of these alterations. Clearly it is not just you.” A fact she can’t say for certain but doesn’t have the heart to correct him on, enjoying how it feels like they’re a team again instead of bitter foes. “I met someone tonight who has knowledge of our prior lives.”

This is unexpected and terrifying. Perhaps the only good thing is that she knows it is not Pietro, because she is not willing to trust him, but to be fair, she isn’t sure she can trust whomever Vision found. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Darcy, she says she is an astrophysicist and has a seemingly strong grasp on what happens outside of Westview.”

Vision is not a very strong judge of character all the time, quick to trust and slow to lose hope in a person, as evidenced by his continued trust in her, yet she asks him anyway. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay.” For now she lets him hold on to that belief, knowing that she will be able to assess this person when they meet. Which also means she knows, deep down, that if this person ends up like Monica, one of S.W.O.R.D.'s cronies, that she’ll be forced to take control again.

The sincerity of his “Thank you,” and the tenderness with which he grabs her hand again, bringing it to his lips with a bit too much romantic melodrama, brings about a fluttering warmth in her chest she has so dearly missed, one that chases away all the disparaging thoughts of what is to come, “truly, for your honesty.” Wanda simply smiles in return, not entirely certain her honesty is worth much at the moment.

It is a relief when Vision maneuvers the conversation to a happier topic. “You said Billy could sense me tonight?”

Pride spreads her lips into a toothy grin, “He’s a natural telepath.”

Vision shares her feelings, sitting back with a satisfied smirk. “We shall have to see if he has your telekinesis as well.”

“We will. Also, Tommy has superspeed.”

Vision’s paternal delight perks up his entire body. “Remarkable.”

“They’re pretty impressive.” Wanda finally picks up the tea and takes a sip, not caring it no longer holds any warmth, far too enamored and distracted by Vision launching into a suggestion of a training regime for their sons, the Maximoff family seeming to be front and center in his mind. If there is any kindness in the world, they deserve at least one night to care about themselves and no one else.

[talesofealdancynedom]

Electra, grown, with her selkie furs.

Tale 31: If We Lost The Sea Wives (chapter 3 - Electra’s coat  3/5 ) part 7. Stories of Magic Forests

no warings

              Fey are made by The Beast Kings, and thus magic itself. They know no time, feel no hate, take no side, and cannot form judgement. They are unable to age, and are stuck in an immature state. But that’s their charm. Fey are both very human, but distinctly not. Neither animal, nor person. Their humanness is why people love them, and requite fey affection on occasion. This is the only way a fey can have parents; Instead of being formed by magic itself, fey can breed if they know true love. The child will always be the same fey as it’s fey parent, but will also always be raised like a human.

              Saturn Firepot and his selkie wife, Iearda were expecting a baby. She did not comprehend the array of emotional human responses, or even notice she was with child. But Saturn of coarse, was excitemed. The cabin freshly finished, and in the fire of love, his life felt like it couldn’t get any better. He had graduated with his specialist degree, and had begun his own research. Saturn felt like he was in his prime. In fact, his glasses were a little too rosy. Due seeing fey as human, Saturn forgot his one and only was a fish fey; And thus if the baby was a girl, she too would be a selkie. A daughter would need to be fully submerged to turn into a seal, in order to survive. A son would just be a regular human boy. Nowhere in the other ten lands, was not knowing the gender of your baby, been so stressful. Worse yet, the home birthing culture was intense, due to the commonality of men marrying and reproducing with sea wives. Selkies were known to bite in such stressful times, and partially still had their seal teeth. A blood wound was nothing, compared to the fact Saturn was too ashamed of his predicament to do it all properly. He bought a tub to fill with sea water at their beach, and relied on the fact that fey don’t get birth complications; Because their made of magic, not biology.

              Once the drama was over, and Firepot’s sea wife sat by the tide; Recovering without a clue what just happened. Meanwhile, Saturn bathed his daughter in the tub. Only Northland Sea water was good enough for his child. The adorable ross seal pup, starred up at him, barely able to swim. The baby just turned into a seal upon touching the water. While Saturn was distracted,  someone entered the beach house. As grey mist suddenly settled, it felt like it was going to rain. Saturn took the pup out of the water to cradle her, as unease set in. When he looked at his new daughter, she was now a baby swaddled in a little white fur coat.

“She needs a name. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.” An ethereal woman’s voice chimed. Saturn looked up to see a large woman of his people, with long wavy ginger hair, eyes of the sea, and a large spiked crown; the Fish King, in all her beauty. Men however, become entranced upon seeing her land form, and Saturn was reduced into a catatonic state while the Fish King named the girl.

“Her name is Electrid. As her father, you get to know that. It’s ok if I tell you. I trust as a seer, you know the importance of a fey’s name.” The Fish King said, leaving through the glass sliding doors. The thin curtains blew, as a light salty breeze waved in. When Saturn came out of his trance, his daughter was crying, and the beach was empty. His selkie love had gone back to the sea. Saturn was left clutching his fey daughter, completely alone. He began rocking and sobbing with her, on his knees on the cabin floor. He had no local family, or friends. It was just him in a cabin, by a magic ocean, on an abandoned beach, looking into the infinite misty ocean. Heartbroken.

              Saturn was destroyed that his one true love would put on her skin, and leave. She seemed so content the year and a half. It made Saturn feel secure. He wasn’t forcing her to stay however. Ierna’s coat always hung on the hat stand, by the porch. Fey often have no logical reason for their actions. As a seer of fey, he knew this. It is possible, that she may forget about him with time. Ierna had been away from the sea for so long, perhaps she missed it and wanted an extended vacation. Either way, Saturn decided he would never have it happen again. He took off his daughter’s snowy Selkie coat, and stuffed it in a trunk at the foot of his bed. Then he the girl in human baby clothes.

Without her skin, she was a normal baby girl; Normal enough to convince the local hospital to give her a birth certificate, and his last name. Human bottles, human food, human clothes, human language, and human books. He went the extra mile, to make sure no one knew Electra was anything but a regular daughter. He told lie after lie, to affirm he was a single parent. Any time Electra gazed into the sea, or couldn’t relate to the other children, Saturn would say everyone is different, and distract her with affection. Anything to prevent the most precious thing to him, form returning to the ocean forever. It had been years, and Ierna was still gone. Saturn had now become the cooky village wizard, living alone on a beach.

               It is fair to say, that Saturn was so good at hiding Electra’s feyness, that everyone was fooled, including her. His apt knowledge of fey behaviour, from his job, meant he knew how to raise and teach her to be more like a person. The teeth were a little hard to explain sometimes; As mentioned, selkies have slightly seal like teeth, even in human form. All things considered, fey or not, both father and daughter got joy and fulfillment with only each other to love. Exclusive cuddle rights, fish pie, and Welsh cakes. Listening to radio shows, while playing on the beach with the other fey. Saturn had told all of them long ago, not to tell Electra or any other human, that she was a selkie. They loved him so much by then, they obliged without question. Each dragon, fairy, and fish, did not understand why a human would desire such a simple favour, but it was no problem as they have little to say to most common men.

Saturn became so lost in raising Electra, and keeping up the lie, that he forgot she would grow up. Without understanding human emotions. Electra often made assumptions about life stages, and appropriate social etiquette. Electra, shortly after graduating secondary school, came home with a young lad one afternoon. She had just gone out for cabbage, but also decided to pick up a boy she thought was cute as well.

“Daddy! Can he join us for dinner? I offered to show him our beach house and quiet bay. He said yes! He is so charming, and he dyed his hair orchid to match his kilt. It looks gleaming in traditional knots; and brings out his grey eyes! Oh, and he makes me smile, as everything he says is so sweet!” Electra ranted, starring at the man, like she was consumed by his essence. The boy seemed a bit rattled, and Saturn, as an overprotective father, was livid.

“Excuse me; Who are you? What are you doing with my daughter?” he said firmly.

“I’m Jasper of house Nix. She... She’s the local girl who wears the flowy dresses, and stares at me often; Oh, and she brings me daisies.” He responded. “I approached her, to ask why she was acting all odd; Then she asked if I wanted to go to the beach, and I said yes! She is by far, the most adorable maiden in town, and she looks just like you, I do say! Down to the grey eyes and ginger hair, she does!  You must be her father?”

“Aye…” Saturn said. It was worse than he thought. Electra had become infatuated with an idiot. As the village of Isfisceard was used to magic, and mundane ladies of beauty swooning, it could blur together. The lad had no clue, Electra was a selkie. He assumed she was just charismatic and flirty.

“You built this beach house? It’s homey. I love the yellow and white cabin aesthetic, on the amber wood. This place smells of the ocean and my favourite black tea. Oh, and just look at the enchanting view!” Jasper said, looking into the sea. For once, Electra wasn’t looking into the ocean; She was looking at Jasper. Saturn shrugged, and offered him a beach-side picnic. He was indeed a very sweet boy. Jasper helped clean up, danced with Electra, spouted nothing but positivity, and may have been too stupid to know malice. He reminded Saturn of himself. It made him continue the lie, and preserve their innocent love. He could tell by the look on Electra’s face, she was more then just fond of him. Electra wouldn’t love again in his lifetime; Fey can’t become infatuated again, until their previous obsession dies, or they succumb to grief with the passing of the one who loved them back. This made Saturn invested in the pair. He wanted his little girl to be happy, and see their happily ever after, as his was so brief.

              After almost a year of regular dating, Jasper requited her love, and moved into the beach house. They all shared black coffee, that mixed with the salty temperate breeze. They listened to the hum of the storms, gulls, and the sea shell wind chimes. Jasper and Saturn would sing together, for the sea fey, making Electra’s day. For all sea daughters love song. Everything seemed perfect again. Then Saturn got a job offer, in The Grand West. As a fey expert, and professor at an academy; He was being promoted. Assured his cabin, beach, and darling daughter was safe with Jasper, he accepted the offer. Like the call of a second chance, he was eager to take. Saturn took Electra’s coat with him, and continued to tell everyone his beautiful little girl, with a sort of inhuman beauty, was one hundred percent human. Anything to keep her happy, safe, and on land. Anything to make sure that when he returned, his baby girl would be there.

NEXT--->

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[unsafepin]

Optical Illusions: A Study of Aesthetics in Activism in Two Accounts

There’s been a particular thing bothering me about social media for a while. I should probably get a cool editing app, write it in a few bullet points and post it on Instagram. You know what I’m talking about, right? The goddamn infographics. If I have to sit through another slideshow explaining to me another military conflict, another societal issue, another existential unfairness on a baby pink background in a cheery font, I might combust. But the cognitive dissonance of aesthetics in activism has been a problem for a while, hasn’t it? So today, I want to examine the effect of focusing on aesthetics over content, or, on the flipside, not considering the optics of your activism enough, and what it does to the consumer of your content by picking apart two local activist-adjacent media projects, Tetraedras and Giljožinios.

Firstly, I want to make my own bias abundantly clear. I am personally acquainted with the teams of both projects, so obviously there will be innate personal bias involved. I highly encourage anyone reading to check both projects out themselves (@t3traedras and @giljozinios on Instagram, as well as Giljožinios’ YouTube channel) and make their own conclusions on the matter. I believe that while my familiarity breeds deeper knowledge of my subjects, it also makes me more vulnerable to assumptions about individuals involved. My insights come from the perspective of an observer, not an expert. Welcome to the circus.

The use of the word “optics” in a metaphorical political sense sprung up in the 1970s to describe the way major political decisions would not necessarily affect an average citizen, but how it would appear to them, e.g. 'U.S. President Barack Obama temporized for weeks, worrying about the optics of waging war in another Arab state after the Iraq fiasco' (Toronto Star, 19th March 2011). However, it’s become increasingly relevant in our age of social media, an age of perceptions over substance, of shortening attention spans and increased barrage of information one has to stomach daily. Social media is the great equalizer - a random person off the street can theoretically hold as much influence as a politician - thus it is becoming increasingly crucial for the average Joe posting on the countless apps owned by Facebook to be as familiar with PR terms as a firm with a six figure salary. Or at least that would be nice, seeing that more and more average Joes are becoming actively involved in politics and education, seeking to influence their newfound audience.

So, let’s see how successful average people with no media or politics degrees are at balancing their image. Both Tetraedras and Giljožinios lean into their 2010’s social media project optics: millennial pink themes, bold names, young teams. But that’s where the similarities end. Tetraedras’ brand is safety. The shades of color on the profile are calming, the illustrations are youthful and playful, their more serious posts are interspersed with more relaxing content (poetry, photoshoots, etc.). Giljožinios is confrontational. The colors electric, posts loud and to the point, they’re what it says on the box - a leftist project - and unapologetic about it. This might help to explain why audiences react as differently as they do to these two, on the surface, similar accounts. Because while you might’ve stumbled on Tetraedras organically while browsing, them having almost two thousand followers, Giljožinios crashed into the educational/political social media scene by being featured on the goddamn national news, that’s how controversial the project is. And obviously I am oversimplifying the issue, Tetraedras slowly built up to posting more opinionated content, while Giljožinios came in guns blazing accusing USA of imperialism, but you’ll have to let me explain. Tetraedras, in its essence, is a welcoming environment. They explain complicated problems in short bullet points with accompanying comforting visuals, their mascot is a inoffensive geometrical figure and their face is a beautiful girl, make-up matching the theme of the post. Giljožinios is named after a revolutionary device, their profile picture is a monarch being beheaded, their host quite infamously sat in front of Che Guevara memorabilia in their first and (as of writing) only video. It’s a lightning rod for angry comments by baby boomers, no matter what comes out of their mouth. In fact, I would argue that, if presented accordingly, the idea that the US is conducting a kind of modern imperialism is just a simple fact and personally can’t wait until Tetraedras posts that with a quirky illustration of Joe Biden to introduce the concept to the wider public.

This leads me to my next point, because despite what’s been previously suggested, I’m not here to solely sing Giljožinios’ praise. There is a cognitive dissonance in both of these flavors of social media activism, but while I can understand Tetraedras’ on a PR level, I’m kind of personally insulted by Giljožinios’. While purely personally I find aspects of Giljožinios’ radicalism distasteful, I appreciate the honesty in the youthful maximalism, of coming in strong and not backing down, but from the guys that made a communist Christmas tree once I almost expected something more stirring than “military industrial complex bad”. This leads me to ask: who is your content for? Your average breadtube-savvy twenty-something already heard this a thousand times, because they consume similar english-speaking content and I doubt any minds of the vatniks that came by to fume in the comment section are being changed. I’m obviously harking on a newborn project here, the team of which has already been bitten by authorities censoring their content, but so far there has been a lot of optical bark, but no substantial bite, especially considering the team seems to be in a safer place now. And the inverse is true for Tetraedras, while I can understand wanting to be visually interesting yet inoffensive, their visuals are sometimes laughably, morbidly light for the topics they discuss Sexily posing in Britney Spears-inspired outfits while discussing the horrors of her conservatorship springs to mind (funny how Britney’s conservatorship leads her to have next to none bodily autonomy, including her public costume choices). And, once again, your target audience is teenagers. They understand English, they’ve seen the news, they don’t need you to translate infographics filled with statistics and information that’s locally completely irrelevant. There needs to be some kind of middle ground between aesthetic cohesion and common sense, because this all signals to the viewer that the content is meant to be mindlessly consumed first and to educate second.

Which leads me to ponder what kind of consumption accounts like these encourage, which will surely lead me to an early grave as I drink away the existential dread of how social media rots all of our brains. Because yes, actually, producing funky visuals to convey an idea way too complicated for an Instagram post is fun. I myself got distracted multiple times during writing to make the first slide for my own post. Meta, I know. This is obviously more of a problem for Tetraedras, who seem to fervently resist injecting their content with a few more paragraphs and a tad more nuance, but even with Giljožinios choosing a more appropriate long-form format to educate, I still pray everyday they don’t get lost in the revolutionary reputation their group built up and forget to make a point, not just talking points.

Because what all this all inevitably leads to is misinforming the public. Again, this seems to be less of a problem for Giljožinios, as the amount of critical eyeballs they have on them leads to them being corrected on every incorrect numerical figure and grammatical mistake, I just hope all this harassment, once again, doesn’t get them all caught up in the optics of a revolution against all the Facebook boomers and forgetting to do their due diligence to the truth. As far as I know, the only factual mistake is miscalculating how much Lituania invests in NATO and there’s still a historical debate in their comment section about the existence of a CIA prison in Lithuania, if anyone’s concerned. Tetraedras, however, is safe. And safe content goes down just like a sugar-coated pill, you don’t even feel the need to fact-check it. And fact-checking is what it sorely requires, or else you’re left with implying that boxing causes men to become rapists and citing statistics of every country except the one in which, you know, me, the team and the absolute majority of their followers live in.

So what’s my goddamn point? Burn your phone and go live in the woods, always. But in the context of this essay, if you are a content creator that aims to educate, inform, incite, whatever, you need to put aesthetics on the backburner. And, more importantly, we as consumers need to stop tolerating content that puts being either pretty or inflammatory first instead of whatever message it’s trying to send, because the supply follows where the demand goes. Read books, watch long-form content made by experts, not teenagers on the internet chasing followers out of not even malicious intent, but almost a knee-jerk reaction. Because while the story of those two accounts cuts especially deep, expectations for local-, even friend-made content being much higher than that for some corporate accounts shooting their shot at activism, the problem is entrenched deep, thousands of accounts exhibiting the same problems racking up millions upon millions of followers. Having said that, my attention span is barely long enough to read the essays I write myself, so maybe do burn your phone and go live in the woods.

Also, pink is actually my brand so both of these accounts are being contacted by my lawyers and the rest of you don’t try any shit.

[al-sabur]

THE ISLANDERS - A Sufi Legend told by Idries Shah

“The ordinary man repents his sins: the elect repent of their heedlessness.” -(Dhu’l-Nun Misri)

Once upon a time there lived an ideal community in a far-off land. Its members had no fears as we now know them. Instead of uncertainty and vacillation, they had purposefulness and a fuller means of expressing themselves. Although there were none of the stresses and tensions which mankind now considers essential to its progress, their lives were richer, because other, better elements replaced these things. Theirs, therefore, was a slightly different mode of existence. We could almost say that our present perceptions are a crude, makeshift version of the real ones which this community possessed.

They had real lives, not semi-lives.

We can call them the El Ar people.

They had a leader, who discovered that their country was to become uninhabitable for a period of, shall we say, twenty thousand years. He planned their escape, realising that their descendants would be able to return home successfully, only after many trials.

He found for them a place of refuge, an island whose features were only roughly similar to those of the original homeland. Because of the difference in climate and situation, the immigrants had to undergo a transformation. This made them more physically and mentally adapted to the new circumstances; coarse perceptions, for instance, were substituted for finer ones, as when the hand of the manual labourer becomes toughened in response to the needs of his calling.

In order to reduce the pain which a comparison between the old and new states would bring, they were made to forget the past almost entirely. Only the most shadowy recollection of it remained, yet it was sufficient to be awakened when the time came.

The system was very complicated, but well arranged. The organs by means of which the people survived on the island were also made the organs of enjoyment, physical and mental. The organs which were really constructive in the old homeland were placed in a special form of abeyance, and linked with the shadowy memory, in preparation for its eventual activation.

Slowly and painfully the immigrants settled down, adjusting themselves to the local conditions. The resources of the island were such that, coupled with effort and a certain form of guidance, people would be able to escape to a further island, on the way back to their original home. This was the first of a succession of islands upon which gradual acclimatisation took place.

The responsibility of this ‘evolution’ was vested in those individuals who could sustain it. These were necessarily only a few, because for the mass of the people the effort of keeping both sets of knowledge in their consciousness was virtually impossible. One of them seemed to conflict with the other one. Certain specialists guarded the ‘special science’.

This ‘secret’, the method of effecting the transition, was nothing more or less than the knowledge of maritime skills and their application. The escape needed an instructor, raw materials, people, effort and understanding. Given these, people could learn to swim, and also to build ships.

The people who were originally in charge of the escape operations made it clear to everyone that a certain preparation was necessary before anyone could learn to swim or even take part in building a ship. For a time the process continued satisfactorily.

Then a man who had been found, for the time being, lacking in the necessary qualities rebelled against this order and managed to develop a masterly idea. He had observed that the effort to escape placed a heavy and often seemingly unwelcome burden upon the people. At the same time they were disposed to believe things which they were told about the escape operation. He realised that he could acquire power, and also revenge himself upon those who had undervalued him, as he thought, by a simple exploitation of these two sets of facts.

He would merely offer to take away the burden, by affirming that there was no burden.

He made this announcement:

“There is no need for man to integrate his mind and train it in the way which has been described to you. The human mind is already a stable and continuous, consistent thing. You have been told that you have to become a craftsman in order to build a ship. I say, not only do you not need to be a craftsman — you do not need a ship at all! An islander needs only to observe a few simple rules to survive and remain integrated into society. By the exercise of common sense, born into everyone, he can attain anything upon this island, our home, the common property and heritage of all!”

The tonguester, having gained a great deal of interest among the people, now ‘proved’ his message by saying:

“If there is any reality in ships and swimming, show us ships which have made the journey, and swimmers who have come back!”

This was a challenge to the instructors which they could not meet. It was based upon an assumption of which the bemused herd could not now see the fallacy. You see, ships never returned from the other land. Swimmers, when they did come back, had undergone a fresh adaptation which made them invisible to the crowd.

The mob pressed for demonstrative proof.

“Shipbuilding,” said the escapers, in an attempt to reason with the revolt, “is an art and a craft. The learning and the exercise of this lore depends upon special techniques. These together make up a total activity, which cannot be examined piecemeal, as you demand. This activity has an impalpable element, called baraka, from which the word ‘barque’ — a ship — is derived. This word means ‘the Subtlety’, and it cannot be shown to you.”

“Art, craft, total, baraka, nonsense!” shouted the revolutionaries.

And so they hanged as many shipbuilding craftsmen as they could find.

The new gospel was welcomed on all sides as one of liberation. Man had discovered that he was already mature! He felt, for the time at least, as if he had been released from responsibility.

Most other ways of thinking were soon swamped by the simplicity and comfort of the revolutionary concept. Soon it was considered to be a basic fact which had never been challenged by any rational person. Rational, of course, meant anyone who harmonised with the general theory itself, upon which society was now based.

Ideas which opposed the new one were easily called irrational. Anything irrational was bad. Thereafter, even if he had doubts, the individual had to suppress them or divert them, because he must at all costs be thought rational.

It was not very difficult to be rational. One had only to adhere to the values of society. Further, evidence of the truth of rationality abounded — providing that one did not think beyond the life of the island.

Society had now temporarily equilibrated itself within the island, and seemed to provide a plausible completeness, if viewed by means of itself. It was based upon reason plus emotion, making both seem plausible. Cannibalism, for instance, was permitted on rational grounds. The human body was found to be edible. Edibility was a characteristic of food. Therefore the human body was food. In order to compensate for the shortcomings of this reasoning, a makeshift was arranged. Cannibalism was controlled, in the interests of society. Compromise was the trademark of temporary balance. Every now and again someone pointed out a new compromise, and the struggle between reason, ambition and community produced some fresh social norm.

Since the skills of boatbuilding had no obvious application within this society, the effort could easily be considered absurd. Boats were not needed — there was nowhere to go. The consequences of certain assumptions can be made to ‘prove’ those assumptions. This is what is called pseudocertainty, the substitute for real certainty. It is what we deal in every day, when we assume that we will live another day. But our islanders applied it to everything.

Two entries in the great Island Universal Encyclopaedia show us how the process worked. Distilling their wisdom from the only mental nutrition available to them, the island’s savants produced, in all honesty, this kind of truth:

“SHIP: Displeasing. An imaginary vehicle in which impostors and deceivers have claimed it possible to ‘cross the water’, now scientifically established as an absurdity. No materials impermeable to water are known on the Island, from which such a ‘ship’ might be constructed, quite apart from the question of there being a destination beyond the Island. Preaching ‘shipbuilding’ is a major crime under Law XVII of the Penal Code, subsection J, The Protection of the Credulous. SHIPBUILDING MANIA is an extreme form of mental escapism, a symptom of maladjustment. All citizens are under a constitutional obligation to notify the health authorities if they suspect the existence of this tragic condition in any individual. 

See: Swimming; Mental aberrations; Crime (Major). Readings: Smith, J., Why ‘Ships’ Cannot be Built, Island University Monograph No. 1151.”

“SWIMMING: Unpleasant. Supposedly a method of propelling the body through water without drowning, generally for the purpose of ‘reaching a place outside the Island’. The ‘student’ of this unpleasant art had to submit himself to a grotesque ritual. In the first lesson, he had to prostrate himself on the ground, and move his arms and legs in response to the commands of an ‘instructor’. The entire concept is based upon the desire of the self-styled ‘instructors’ to dominate the credulous in barbaric times. More recently the cult has taken the form of epidemic mania. See: Ship; Heresies; Pseudoarts. Readings: Brown, W., The Great ‘Swimming’ Madness, 7 vols, Institute of Social Lucidity.”

The words ‘displeasing’ and ‘unpleasant’ were used on the island to indicate anything which conflicted with the new gospel, which was itself known as ‘Please’. The idea behind this was that people would now please themselves, within the general need to please the State. The State was taken to mean all the people.

It is hardly surprising that from quite early times the very thought of leaving the island filled most people with terror. Similarly, very real fear is to be seen in long-term prisoners who are about to be released. ‘Outside’ the place of captivity is a vague, unknown, threatening world.

The island was not a prison. But it was a cage with invisible bars, more effective than obvious ones ever could be.

The insular society became more and more complex, and we can look at only a few of its outstanding features. Its literature was a rich one. In addition to cultural compositions there were numerous books which explained the values and achievements of the nation. There was also a system of allegorical fiction which portrayed how terrible life might have been, had society not arranged itself in the present reassuring pattern.

From time to time instructors tried to help the whole community to escape. Captains sacrificed themselves for the re-establishment of a climate in which the now concealed shipbuilders could continue their work. All these efforts were interpreted by historians and sociologists with reference to conditions on the island, without thought for any contact outside this closed society. Plausible explanations of almost anything were comparatively easy to produce. No principle of ethics was involved, because scholars continued to study with genuine dedication what seemed to be true. ‘What more can we do?’ they asked, implying by the word ‘more’ that the alternative might be an effort of quantity. Or they asked each other, ‘What else can we do?’ assuming that the answer might be in ‘else’ — something different. Their real problem was that they assumed themselves able to formulate the questions, and ignored the fact that the questions were every bit as important as the answers.

Of course the islanders had plenty of scope for thought and action within their own small domain. The variations of ideas and differences of opinion gave the impression of freedom of thought. Thought was encouraged, providing that it was not ‘absurd’.

Freedom of speech was allowed. It was of little use without the development of understanding, which was not pursued.

The work and the emphasis of the navigators had to take on different aspects in accordance with the changes in the community. This made their reality even more baffling to the students who tried to follow them from the island point of view.

Amid all the confusion, even the capacity to remember the possibility of escape could at times become an obstacle. The stirring consciousness of escape potential was not very discriminating. More often than not the eager would-be escapers settled for any kind of substitute. A vague concept of navigation cannot become useful without orientation. Even the most eager potential shipbuilders had been trained to believe that they already had that orientation. They were already mature. They hated anyone who pointed out that they might need a preparation.

Bizarre versions of swimming or shipbuilding often crowded out possibilities of real progress. Very much to blame were the advocates of pseudo-swimming or allegorical ships, mere hucksters, who offered lessons to those as yet too weak to swim, or passages on ships which they could not build.

The needs of the society had originally made necessary certain forms of efficiency and thinking which developed into what was known as science. This admirable approach, so essential in the fields where it had an application, finally outran its real meaning. The approach called ‘scientific’, soon after the ‘Please’ revolution, became stretched until it covered all manner of ideas. Eventually things which could not be brought within its bounds became known as ‘unscientific’, another convenient synonym for ‘bad’. Words were unknowingly taken prisoner and then automatically enslaved.

In the absence of a suitable attitude, like people who, thrown upon their own resources in a waiting room, feverishly read magazines, the islanders absorbed themselves in finding substitutes for the fulfilment which was the original (and indeed the final) purpose of this community’s exile.

Some were able to divert their attention more or less successfully into mainly emotional commitments. There were different ranges of emotion, but no adequate scale for measuring them. All emotion was considered to be ‘deep’ or ‘profound’ — at any rate more profound than non-emotion. Emotion, which was seen to move people to the most extreme physical and mental acts known, was automatically termed ‘deep’.

The majority of people set themselves targets, or allowed others to set them for them. They might pursue one cult after another, or money, or social prominence. Some worshipped some things and felt themselves superior to all the rest. Some, by repudiating what they thought worship was, thought that they had no idols, and could therefore safely sneer at all the rest.

As the centuries passed, the island was littered with the debris of these cults. Worse than ordinary debris, it was self-perpetuating. Well-meaning and other people combined the cults and recombined them, and they spread anew. For the amateur and intellectual, this constituted a mine of academic or ‘initiatory’ material, giving a comforting sense of variety.

Magnificent facilities for the indulging of limited ‘satisfactions’ proliferated. Palaces and monuments, museums and universities, institutes of learning, theatres and sports stadiums almost filled the island. The people naturally prided themselves on these endowments, many of which they considered to be linked in a general way with ultimate truth, though exactly how this was so escaped almost all of them.

Shipbuilding was connected with some dimensions of this activity, but in a way unknown to almost everyone.

Clandestinely the ships raised their sails, the swimmers continued to teach swimming…

The conditions on the island did not entirely fill these dedicated people with dismay. After all, they too had originated in the very same community, and had indissoluble bonds with it, and with its destiny.

But they very often had to preserve themselves from the attentions of their fellow citizens. Some ‘normal’ islanders tried to save them from themselves. Others tried to kill them, for an equally sublime reason. Some even sought their help eagerly, but could not find them.

All these reactions to the existence of the swimmers were the result of the same cause, filtered through different kinds of minds. This cause was that hardly anyone now knew what a swimmer really was, what he was doing, or where he could be found.

As the life of the island became more and more civilised, a strange but logical industry grew up. It was devoted to ascribing doubts to the validity of the system under which society lived. It succeeded in absorbing doubts about social values by laughing at them or satirising them. The activity could wear a sad or happy face, but it really became a repetitious ritual. A potentially valuable industry, it was often prevented from exercising its really creative function.

People felt that, having allowed their doubts to have temporary expression, they would in some way assuage them, exorcise them, almost propitiate them. Satire passed for meaningful allegory; allegory was accepted but not digested. Plays, books, films, poems, lampoons were the usual media for this development, though there was a strong section of it in more academic fields. For many islanders it seemed more emancipated, more modern or progressive, to follow this cult rather than older ones.

Here and there a candidate still presented himself to a swimming instructor, to make his bargain. Usually what amounted to a stereotyped conversation took place.

“I want to learn to swim.” “Do you want to make a bargain about it?” “No. I only have to take my ton of cabbage.” “What cabbage?” “The food which I will need on the other island.” “There is better food there.” “I don’t know what you mean. I cannot be sure. I must take my cabbage.” “You cannot swim, for one thing, with a ton of cabbage.” “Then I cannot go. You call it a load. I call it my essential nutrition.” “Suppose, as an allegory, we say not ‘cabbage,’ but ‘assumptions’, or ‘destructive ideas’?” “I am going to take my cabbage to some instructor who understands my needs.”

[friendrat]

I posted 2,995 times in 2022

That's 2,904 more posts than 2021!

169 posts created (6%)

2,826 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@taleweaver-ramblings

@kanerallels

@o-lei-o-lai-o-lord

@lady-merian

@so-prickly-pear

I tagged 2,539 of my posts in 2022

Only 15% of my posts had no tags

#dracula daily - 245 posts

#dracula - 206 posts

#bwahahaha - 166 posts

#miraculous ladybug - 159 posts

#art - 145 posts

#miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir - 118 posts

#adrien agreste - 100 posts

#memes - 100 posts

#language warning - 95 posts

#writing - 90 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#my husband wasn't able to join the military because doctors prescribed him a seizure medication to help him lose weight when he was a teen

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Old theory I never posted here:

So my kids were watching the Magic School Bus. It happened to be the Inside Ralphie episode, and I noticed something a bit odd. Anyone who's watched that show knows that Ms Frizzle always dressed to match her field trip. And at the beginning of the episode, she is dressed just how you would expect for a day that they would be studying how the human body fights infection... except she was dressed that way *before* she got the call that Ralphie was sick! Which means she had to have known in advance that he was sick.

It reminded me of one of the books I read where she goes on vacation to Egypt, and hijacks the tour after the tour guide mysteriously and suddenly contracts laryngitis. She then proceeds to take the entire plane of tourists back in time.

All this makes it look suspiciously like she can make people get sick. And that means that she most likely made Ralphie sick for the purpose of the field trip.

135 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

#4

My husband just pointed out that when referring to Adrian's different personas, we shouldn't call him "civilian Adrian", we should call him "House Chat", and I have never heard anything so brilliant before. Petition to call him House Chat.

198 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

#3

Ok Tumblr, I'm in a debate right now about The Sea Beast.

A bunch of people are saying that it doesn't make sense how the royalty of the kingdom is making money of of the hunting industry, but I thought it was kinda obvious how it worked? I think it's twofold.

First, they are clearing trade routes. That opens up the doors to more foreign trade. Some people are arguing"well that benefits other kingdoms too". Which is true, but doesn't prove that they aren't getting rich from it. 🙄 History people. Open trade routes leads to wealthier kingdoms and better lives for the common people.

Second, I think the next logical assumption is that they are making money off of the sea beast horns. Yes, they tell the hunters to bring them back as proof of their kills, but what really happens to them afterwards? You can't tell me all of them end up in their museum/private collection. Not given the number that the hunters brought back from a single voyage. Also, look at how many real world species have been hunted to extinction over horns, tusks, and pelts. Add that to the time period meaning that they had inferior medical knowledge as well as more superstition (which is also seen in the movie, so I'm not just guessing based on the time period), we have a recipe for those horns to be used for any number of things including medicine and magical totems.

So there we have it. An exclusive resource (we don't hear of any other kingdoms being built up by hunters, although I could be wrong there... but we do know that they have the *best* hunters, which means they still would have the best supply), and clear routes to trade that resource (among other things). That's how the kingdom got rich on the blood of sea beasts. Am I off my rocker? Maybe. I just took the unanswered question in the movie and applied what I know about the real world to it. It made sense to me.

Any other theories? Am I wrong?

216 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

#2

The pep talk I didn't know I needed today

348 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

All of the modern takes on Dracula really make me wish they would make a mostly true to book adaptation that is a horror comedy, with things like Dracula having sudden costume changes while pretending to be his own staff, trying to knock the crucifix off the wheel in order to steer the ship, and the people of Whitby chasing him around as a dog. Just all the collective hot takes on what's going on with this story that make us, the modern readers, laugh, presented in a glorious cinema quality film.

1,877 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

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