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kyu-gsoo · 4 years ago

Text

We’ll keep this culture alive

For Kataang Week 2020.

Day 5: Heritage/Responsibilities

Words: 2,336 words

Summary: Aang restores one aspect of culture lost to the hundred year war.

Author’s note: I went away for a few days so I’m behind on Kataang week D: I know there’s no obligation to do all prompts (much less do each on the day of like I’ve been doing).. But I want to. I’ll probably try to catch up later. Anyways I know it’s technically Day 6, but here’s my Day 5 fic. Set in The Headband episode! Mostly Aang-centric but still with some good ole Kataang at the end. Again I made it a lil angsty and tbh I don’t even know if it fits the prompt

Aang watches as the flames engulf his staff, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. He thinks about the saddle the sandbenders had thrown out when they traded Appa, about the map he packed when he ran away that fateful day; scribbled with all the places he planned to visit, about the clothes he was wearing when Azula struck him; now left tattered and torn. The anguish that he feels watching the last physical item that tied him to his old life is red hot and all-consuming, just like the flames before him.

“That’s okay,” He’d said, even when it was not. “It would give away my identity.” He tried not to think about how he was the only piece of the Air Nomads and their culture left in existence. A living relic. Aang’s identity as an airbender was the only thing he had yet to sacrifice, and he wasn’t planning on doing so anytime soon.

Which is why, when he puts on the headband for the first time, it hurts him more than he can put into words. He realizes as he closes the cloth around his forehead that there isn’t anywhere he can check for his reflection, and is grateful for the small mercy. He can’t even begin to imagine what he would look like without his tattoos.

This war, he thinks to himself. It just keeps taking and taking and taking. Aang is sure by now, as he hides his tattoos, that he no longer has any more left to give.

Still, he shakes the thoughts away and plasters on his signature lopsided smile. “Tada! Normal kid.”

He watches Toph and Sokka squabble over the earthbender’s new Fire Nation style shoes. In this instance, as she and Sokka bicker about, Aang finds that from an outsider’s perspective, they really do look like nothing but normal kids. Just a bunch of friends hanging out close to the shoreline. The minor moments of normalcy they are afforded are few and far in between, so Aang lets himself laugh wholeheartedly because he doesn’t know when he will next find this type of joy.

Katara’s voice breaks him out of his laughter. “How do I look?” She stands from head to toe in red, a nice contrast to her dark skin.

Beautiful is his first thought, because she is. The thought that follows is, “Uhh, your mom’s necklace.”

The waterbender immediately reaches up to touch the pendant at her neck. “Oh,” is all she says at first, obviously reluctant. Aang watches her unclasp and remove it anyway. “Oh yeah. I guess it’s pretty obviously Water Tribe, isn’t it?” Katara’s fist closes around the small choker, concealing the last of her true identity. Here and now, she follows the rest of them and gives into the guise of a Fire Nation citizen.

The disappointment her face mars is a painful reminder that they are all sacrificing bits of themselves for this war. That, consequently, they can all find solace in one another. Aang wonders briefly if that is a blessing or a curse.

Again he pushes this thought away. Instead, he follows his companions as they begin their trek into town.

It’s a slow day in town. Granted, he couldn’t really think much of it, since he and Momo somehow got roped into attending a local elementary school. The first day isn’t so bad, though Aang doesn’t remember this many customs present all those times he visited Kuzon. It takes him one too many times to get the bow right that he worries he’ll blow his cover soon. He has one of his new classmates to thank for hinting at him the proper way. Later, he learns that her name is On Ji.

Of course, when he returns to their hideout, he gets an earful from Sokka for wandering off. That doesn’t stop him from attending the next day.

But the second day is what really tests his limits.

Of all the ways to start the day, Aang never imagined staring at a portrait of the former Fire Lord Sozin being one of them. He follows the suit of the other students and stands rigidly, mouthing incorrectly to all the words of an oath he knows nothing about. The teacher catches on and is quick to punish him and his classmates with a pop quiz. This puzzles Aang even more. As if having to pledge allegiance to the very man who started the war wasn’t weird enough, the teacher adds insults to injury by starting off their quiz with:

“What year did Firelord Sozin battle the Air Nation army?”

He raises his hand almost immediately. The teacher, clearly irritated, indulges him anyway. “Is that a trick question? The Air Nomads didn’t have a formal military. Sozin defeated them by ambush.” He tries not to make it sound so defensive, instead feigning confusion. Almost all of his peers stare dumbfounded at him, but he waits for the teacher’s response anyway. These are his people they were talking about. How could they fabricate history books so blatantly? Was wiping them off the face of the earth not cruel enough?

“Well, I don’t know how you could possibly know more than our national history book, unless you were there a hundred years ago.” She clips and raises an eyebrow, as if challenging him to defy her.

The young airbender’s nervous laughter rings throughout the classroom. He wants so badly to question her further, to probe how exactly an Air Nomad militia came about, when it was within their ways to avoid violence at all costs. They were carefree, spontaneous, and had a spiritual weightlessness to them. But these words die on his tongue, all for the sake of keeping his identity secret. It pains him that he has no choice but to accept these lies knowing they are untrue. Though he owes it to his people to set things straight, he sits down and lets the culture of the Air Nomads once again get lost in translation.

It is during Music Class that he finally snaps.

He was just dancing. But the teacher had called it a “nervous disorder.”

“Dancing is not conducive to a proper learning environment.” The instructor asserts. He lets Aang march in place instead. They carry on, and Aang marches in his seat like he was given permission to, but somehow he can’t find it in himself to keep blowing the tsungi horn.

Though he doesn’t agree with it, he could understand the intention behind the Air Nomad genocide. It was to obliterate all obstacles that prevented the Fire Nation attack and reign. But what then, was the point of their overrule if they destroyed all the cultures of the Fire Nation too? What kind of empire did Sozin plan to lead if all of his people were fed lies and lived off of obedience? Aang couldn’t understand.

What he could understand was that another culture was dying. And he couldn’t just sit back and watch.

He came to the conclusion as he, Sokka and Katara returned to their little cave. “I’m going to throw them a secret dance party.”

“Go to your room,” is the first thing Sokka can come up with. He gets a laugh in return. It’s obvious the airbender isn’t going to heed his warnings, but Sokka tries anyway. “Aang, are you really going to risk being found out for a dumb dance party?”

Except Aang’s no longer laughing. His gray eyes have steeled over when he replies. “It may be just dancing to you, Sokka. But it’s a tradition with historical importance to me. It’s a cultural heritage that I can’t just let die out here. Not again, when I can help prevent it.”

Those words alone are what get all three of them onboard with his idea. Though the party was found out in the end, Aang regards it as a complete success.

It starts off a bit awkward, no doubt, the majority of them timid. Aang can’t even blame them when he knows they’ve never witnessed this kind of dancing, maybe even any kind of dancing, in their entire lives. Luckily On Ji and a few others quickly warm up to the occasion, which then makes it easier for even more of Aang’s peers to join as well. Aang himself has the time of his life having the chance to do a little waterbending dancing with Katara. He is surprised that she trusts him to lead her wholeheartedly. For a moment all the other kids just stare as they make their way along the makeshift dance floor. Both Aang’s cheeks and ears blush as he thinks about their intimate little moment. Even so, the occasion itself is what makes him the happiest. And if he were honest with himself, it’s the happiest he’s been since he woke up after being struck by Azula. He isn’t sure why that is.

Aang looks down at the clouds as they fly past, the cave having been out of their peripheral view for sometime now. He thinks about why that event made him so happy, and comes up blank.

Later, when they’ve landed and finished setting up camp, Aang lay on the ground staring up at the stars. He sprawls his arms and legs out, just feeling the earth beneath him. It brings him an unexplainable comfort that the earth still crumbles in his palms the same way it did before he set out into that storm, all those years ago.

“Can’t sleep?” Katara whispers. She’s lying on her side with a palm to her cheek, her hair loose of all its ties. Behind her, Toph and Sokka lay sound asleep.

It’s a simple question, but somehow it compels Aang to reveal all of his innermost thoughts. They spill over one by one before he can put a stop to them.

“I just.. These past two days really opened my eyes. It made me realize that the war didn’t just take away from all the other nations, but from the Fire Nation too.” He turns to her, watching as the shadows of the campfire catch on her face, then turns back to the sky. “Seeing all of those kids dance with me tonight. I helped them relearn one aspect of their culture that the war wiped out. It just feels so.. Fulfilling. To know that I restored something. Even if it wasn’t something for my people. It gives me this new surge of hope, Katara, the fact that I managed to restore something lost to the war.” He turns to Katara. There she lies, just an arm away from him. “And you helped me.”

“I'm glad that you got to experience that, Aang. I think it healed a part of you that you didn’t know was wounded.” He sees the stars reflect in her eyes as she continues to speak, and hangs onto every syllable. “That hope you feel right now? That’s how I felt the day Sokka and I found you in the iceberg.” She pauses before she says her next words. “And I feel it grow exponentially every time you take on your role as the Avatar.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears and continues. “I hope you understand now that you’re capable, Aang, of ending the war and restoring balance. You were always capable. But now more than ever.”

All the words in the universe evade him. He can’t even begin to explain all the emotions filled in the space of his chest. All these intense feelings he never even knew he was capable of feeling before tonight. One word and they’ll all come spilling out. His vision blurs as he tries to make sense of them all, but Katara remains smiling at him.

Aang closes his eyes and lies on his back again, swallowing in his tears and taking a moment to gather himself. He understands now, why her words bring so much comfort yet evoke the same amount of pain, too. Because saving it all means risking it all. And Aang, one way or another, is risking the Air Nomads by fighting this war. He'd never spoken of this worry for fear that voicing it out would bring it closer to coming true. It was eating away at him the same way it was hurting him. But she’s just given him the realization that they have a chance. A fighting chance.

It takes all of him to gather enough courage to ask the next question.

“Katara?” He questions with as steady a voice he can manage.

“Yeah?”

Aang holds his breath. When he speaks, the words come out garbled and rushed. “When the war is over, do you think there’s a chance to revive the Air Nomads and their culture?”

My people and my culture. Do we have a chance?

She answers him in a heartbeat. “With you around, definitely.”

Somehow the weight of those two simple words are all it takes to break the dam. His tears betray him and he lets them, neither ashamed or uneasy. We have a chance, his mind chants over and over. One day, he will watch others inherit the culture of him and his people, not die out. He lets the weight of the unsettlement float away and cries, because this is the last time he’ll ever let it consume him the way it did.

He thinks about the remains of the Southern Air Temple, of the Fire Nation’s buried cultures, of the crisp smoke emanating from the buildings of Omashu the last time he’d seen them, of how he’d flown out Katara with him and consequently robbed the Southern Water Tribe of their last waterbender. They all have a chance. Aang will give them that chance.

He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder and turns. Katara lies beside him, still smiling.

Neither of them break the silence after that.

#kataang week #kataang week 2020 #kataang tag #sorry i totally left out the legendary kataang dance because i knew i couldnt do it justice #anyways this also means that sozin and ozai’s plan was to rid the earth of ALL four cultures even their own #they wanted to train their people like cow so they would never be questioned #god is it possible to despise a fictional character with this intensity #aang x katara #atla #atla fanfic #fairy writes #tumblrfic #wordvomit

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scripttorture · 5 years ago

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Under the right conditions, is it possible to "brainwash" someone using torture? My character was raised by someone who wanted to turn him into their own weapon, so they would condition them to react a certain way, using what can be seen as torture methods. The history of this character will only be shown in flash backs but I want to get this right and show the terrible and lasting impact of that history.

Nope.

Not even remotely possible. And the way this trope is used in most fiction it isn’t really survivable either.

The best case outcome I can see for a situation like the one you’ve described is a severely physically disabled and severely traumatised adult who would probably be unable to care for their own needs or ‘pass’ as a normal member of society.

I’m also… skeptical of some of the phrasing here. ‘Can be seen as torture methods’ sounds very much like plain ol’ torture to me. Whatever apologist material you’ve read I can assure you that in reality there is really very little grey area.

Chances are what you thinking of is torture and has serious long term physical consequences. Like death.

If you really do want to get this right then in my opinion you have a choice between keeping the torture or keeping the character as an effective fighter.

I can’t tell you which is the better choice for your story. That is up to you.

But if you want to be realistic and if you want to be respectful to survivors you can not have both.

Neither option is right or wrong. It depends on what you think the most important part of this character is.

If the torture seems to be the most important part then that’s going to mean accepting the effects on the character.

A lifetime of torture starting at a young age is likely to result in death. When it doesn’t severe mental health problems and developmental delays are guaranteed. Long term physical disability is incredibly likely, but the exact form it would take depends on the abuse.

Intellectual disability is also really really likely. Especially if the character is kept in solitary confinement, starved or food is withheld as a punishment.

A character like this would be much less effective as a fighter then an ordinary person. They would learn how to fight much more slowly. Their strength and reflexes would be worse. They would be significantly hampered by chronic pain and whatever other forms of physical disability the abuse left them with.

Essentially if a character like this reached adulthood they would probably require some form of regular support. This could range from health care worker visits every other evening to 24 hour care. It would take years of support, care and concerted effort for the character to be able to care for themselves and function as a member of their community. Even with all that support they might never be able to care for themselves.

This is what I mean when I talk about the misconceptions we have around torture being harmful.

Because we have all seen dozens of examples of this narrative. Where tortured characters are ‘forced’ to become warriors, assassins, ‘killing machines’.

The reality is these people struggle to leave their homes. They struggle to feed themselves.

And we turn around and paint them as dangerous for it, for daring to survive.

It just isn’t cricket.

Which brings me to option two. Trying to make the character into an effective and loyal fighter.

That means getting rid of any physical abuse in the narrative because it is more likely to produce resistance to the ‘teacher’ character and is more likely to make a less effective fighter.

When I say ‘any physical abuse’ I absolutely mean it. Spanking, going to bed without supper, standing or sitting in the corner for long periods, washing their mouth out with soap. Any physical punishment should be avoided in the story.

Even if it’s a punishment that is normalised or portrayed as ‘less harmful’.

Solitary confinement also definitely counts. The definition is less then 1-2 hours of human contact a day.

There’s research on the effects of solitary confinement on young children, but studies on incarcerated teenagers in the US clearly show a larger negative effect in children compared to adults. If the effects on teenagers is severe enough to have a lasting impact on their ability to socialise then I think it’s safe to assume the impact on younger children would be devastating.

Realistically speaking if you want a character to be capable of interacting with others in a passably ‘normal’ way then that character needs to have regular, positive interaction growing up.

Abuse does not instil loyalty.

In fact the evidence we have for torture pretty clearly shows that it increases resistance. It produces opposition, often lasting and strong opposition. This does not necessarily mean violent action; it means that survivors and witnesses tend to despise torturers and anyone they associate with torturers. And they act on those feelings in whatever way they can.

Abuse does not aid learning or training.

It does make students significantly more likely to die.

If you want a character who is loyal and can fight well then realistically speaking the process you want to describe is more like a cult. I refer to these techniques as ‘ICURE’ partly because some of the literature does and partly because I feel like it’s a helpful acronym that reminds readers what the techniques are.

ICURE means: Isolate, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive arguments. Let me break that down and explain how it works.

The group (or possibly just the abusive individual in your story) isolates the targetted character from people outside the group. This can mean physically imprisoning them or (more commonly) making it difficult for them to socialise with people outside the group.

This can be done with punishments. But more often it’s achieved with manipulation rather then violence.

If the target is encouraged to ‘convert’ others or persuade them to join the group that can severely limit the social interaction they have with people outside the group. It teaches people outside the group to avoid that person otherwise they’ll get a sermon.

Another approach might be putting social or emotional penalties on interacting with people outside the group.

For example, say this child character sees other children playing in a park and asks the teacher character if they can go and play.

First the teacher might say that other children are awful and do they really want to go? They won’t enjoy it. Are they sure? Well the teacher has a lot of things to do today it would be very inconvenient. Are they really sure? They won’t have fun. Other children are bad and mean. Wouldn’t they rather do some more training like a good child or play a game with the teacher? Are they really really sure? Well alright fine they’ll go outside but only with the teacher and only for twenty minutes-

This kind of interaction teaches children that trying to interact with people outside the group is not worth the effort.

This is part of ‘Controlling information’. It means that anything the character learns is first filtered through the larger group. It’s a form of censorship which means the character is only exposed to information that supports the group/ideas the group wants the character to have.

This is combined with creating uncertainty about beliefs the group wants the character to reject. Often this means only providing information that discredits their outside belief systems. It can also mean extended discussions about ‘why x is wrong’.

Things that are designed to create uncertainty don’t have to be true or accurate. Often they’re not. But if the character has little contact with outside sources they may never find out the truth.

Repetition is, what it says on the tin. It’s repeating this pattern of only giving the character information the group wants them to have, positive messages about the ideals the group wants to instil and negative messages about previous belief systems. Consistent repetition over a long period of time has an effect on our beliefs. Sometimes it even effects them when we know the information is wrong.

Emotive arguments means- well keeping any discussion away from logic. Something like- going from ‘well I’m not sure this idea about our belief system lines up with what you taught me’ to the manipulative character asking why the target hates them/God/the entire group.

This sort of environment through childhood would lead to an intensely isolated individual, almost entirely reliant on the teacher-character for all their emotional and social needs as well as physical survival.

And that produces a character that’s likely to be intensely loyal.

Because we are social animals and we need positive interaction. We will often to choose to go along with group-actions, even if we don’t like them or feel they’re wrong, if the alternative is being alone.

Manipulative groups and individuals often go out of their way to persuade targetted people that the only options are them or complete isolation. It’s a horribly successful strategy.

Rounding this off- I suggest you take a look at this masterpost on common torture apologia tropes.

You should also read this post on researching torture and this one on the most common effects it has on adults.

I can’t tell which of these two options is the correct one for your story.

All I can really do is explain why the story, as it is right now, is unrealistic. And how that repeated fictional trope harms survivors and our understanding of torture.

Where you go from here and how you use that information is up to you.

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw child abuse #tw child soldiers #child soldiers #treatment of child soldiers in fiction #ICURE #writing victims #torture does not work #torture as training #torture as punishment

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 5 years ago

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I love Tolkien too!! Who’s your favorite character?

Anon, how dare you make me choose my favorite character when there are so many beautiful characters to pick from?

In all honestly, I find that I can’t answer that question. I hope you're okay with reading a much, much longer response than you probably imagined originally. I’ll go over my top characters and why they’re so high on my personal list, because many of the reasons are different from character to character. These aren’t in any particular order.

This also isn’t even all of my top favorites, but the answer became so long that I had to limit it to a few. Basically, I wrote whole character analyses gushing about why I love the characters I mentioned - Sauron, Melkor, Manwë, and Varda. Enjoy :’)

Sauron

I loved reading about just because of how evil he is; it makes him very entertaining (and horrifying, more often than not) to read anything he’s involved in. He’s the worst. Literally the worst. I love how cunning and deceptive he is because I’ve always had a penchant for conniving characters.

“Now the Elves made many rings; but secretly Sauron made One Ring to rule all the others, and their power was bound up with it, to be subject wholly to it and to last only so long as it too should last. And much of the strength and will of Sauron passed into that One Ring; for the power of the Elven-rings was very great, and that which should govern them must be a thing of surpassing potency; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Shadow. And while he wore the One Ring he could perceive all the things that were done by means of the lesser rings, and he could see and govern the very thoughts of those that wore them.”

But I also find Sauron interesting because it looks like he began as an anti-hero, a Byronic hero, even someone who had good intentions but coupled them with extreme measures and moral greyness. And instead of being your stereotypical angsty brooder who eventually finds “the light”, is redeemed, and finds happiness, Sauron plunged deeper and deeper into malice, ill intentions, and a desire to dominate.

“In my story Sauron represents as near an approach to the wholly evil will as is possible. He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth. But he went further than human tyrants in pride and the lust for domination, being in origin an immortal (angelic) spirit. Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants, by a triple treachery: 1. Because of his admiration of Strength he had become a follower of Morgoth and fell with him down into the depths of evil, becoming his chief agent in Middle-earth. 2. when Morgoth was defeated by the Valar finally he forsook his allegiance; but out of fear only; he did not present himself to the Valar or sue for pardon, and remained in Middle-earth. 3. When he found how greatly his knowledge was admired by all other rational creatures and how easy it was to influence them, his pride became boundless.”

Tolkien himself says that Sauron “began well”, and because of his admiration for Morgoth’s immense power, was corrupted alongside him as well. It was also the fault of his arrogance; when he discovered that other beings admired and were amazed by him due to his status as a (former) angelic being, the praise basically got to his head. While I love redemption stories, it’s refreshing to read about a character who had his chance and let it go. And Sauron’s evil is absolutely unquestionable. It’s not up for debate; he is malevolent, selfish, and duplicitous, and through his desire for order, perfection, and control, actually seems to represent what Tolkien considers a very absolute form of evil.

“The most improper job of any man, even saints, is bossing other men.”

And what I find so gripping about Sauron is that he doesn’t carry out his cruelty with professionalism and a sense of necessity; he absolutely relishes it.

“Then straightaway they brought him into the dreadful presence of Sauron; and Sauron said: ‘I hear now that thou wouldst barter with me. What is thy price?’

And Gorlim answered that he should find Eilinel again, and with her be set free; for he thought Eilinel also had been made captive. Then Sauron smiled, saying: ‘That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!’

Now Gorlim would have drawn back, but daunted by the eyes of Sauron he told at last all that he would know. Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim, and revealed to him that he had only seen a phantom devised by wizardry to entrap him; for Eilinel was dead. ‘Nonetheless I will grant thy prayer,’ said Sauron; 'and thou shalt go to Eilinel, and be set free of my service.’ Then he put him cruelly to death.”

Melkor

My initial reason for liking Melkor seems very similar to my reasons for liking Sauron: He’s a stellar villain, and, like Sauron, a complete and utter monster. And he’s intense. He’s terrifying; Tolkien’s descriptions of him are great, and just reading it on a page is captivating.

“… And he descended upon Arda in power and majesty greater than any other of the Valar, as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire; and the light of the eyes of Melkor was like a flame that withers with heat and pierces with a deadly cold.”

Yet he’s also quite different from his lieutenant, in my opinion. Melkor seems to be much more motivated by personal envy than Sauron is:

‘As a shadow Melkor did not then conceive himself. For in his beginning he loves and desired light, and the form that he took was exceedingly bright; and he said in his heart: 'On such brightness as I am the Children shall hardly endure to look; therefore to know of aught else or beyond or even to strain their small minds to conceive of it would not be for their good.’ But a lesser brightness that stands before the greater becomes darkness. And Melkor was jealous, therefore, of all other brightness, and wished to take all light unto himself.’

He has a very interesting desire for light (tying into the envious aspect of his nature) that does nothing to redeem him in the slightest.

“He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness. And darkness he used most in his evil works upon Arda, and filled it with fear for all living things.”

‘With Manwë dwells Varda, Lady of the Stars, who knows all the regions of Eä. Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or of Elves; for the light of Ilúvatar lives still in her face. In light is her power and her joy. Out of the deeps of Eä she came to the aid of Manwë; for Melkor she knew from before the making of the Music and rejected him, and he hated her, and feared her more than all others whom Eru made.’

A very interesting quote that has sparked a lot of discussion. Whatever this “rejection” means (I have my own thoughts in this, but I’m trying to keep this objective for this post), Melkor sought spirits of light to recruit to his side, and it seems that Varda embodies light, purity, holiness, etc. Her titles reflect this, as does this statement about the light of Ilúvatar.

Now this embodiment of light, this spirit of brilliance, rejected to join Melkor’s side, and Melkor ‘hated her’. It’s quite obvious that Melkor is, for lack of a better word, salty, that Varda, whose face shines with Eru’s light, “rejected” him. He cannot have Eru’s light (the Flame Imperishable), and Varda is perhaps the closest he can get to this. But she declines to ally herself to him, and he despises her for it. He’s not just peeved at losing a powerful ally, he loathes her on a personal level because she represents light that he can never have, no matter how much he desires it. (Take that as you will.)

Melkor is compelling, to me, because of how contradictory he seems. He’s absolutely monstrous and evil, no doubt about that, and his malice, like Sauron’s, is unquestionable. But he’s also a very convoluted character; clearly, much of his evil is borne out of personal insecurities. If you think about it, his duality makes perfect sense and is not contradictory. I like that: a character that’s undoubtedly evil embodied, yet is still layered in a natural, human way, and not one-dimensional.

Manwë

Manwë is a character I adore for entirely different reasons than the first two above. As a person, he’s probably one of the characters I adore most out of any fictional universe. I love how he’s described as majestic and kingly - and he is!

But Manwë Súlimo, highest and holiest of the Valar, sat upon the borders of the West, forsaking not in his thought the Outer Lands. For his throne was set in majesty upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, which was the highest of the mountains of the world, standing upon the margin of the Seas. Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the sea and could pierce the hidden caverns under the world, and their wings could bear them through the three regions of the firmament beyond the lights of heaven to the edge of Darkness. Thus they brought word to him of well nigh all that passed in Aman: yet some things were hidden even from the eyes of Manwë and the servants of Manwë, for where Melkor sat in his dark thought impenetrable shadows lay. [...] Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace. The Vanyar he loved most of all the Elves, and of him they received song and poesy. For poesy is the delight of Manwë, and the song of words is his music. Behold, the raiment of Manwë is blue, and blue is the fire of his eyes, and his sceptre is of sapphire which the Noldor wrought for him; and he is King of the world of gods and elves and men, the vicegerent of Ilúvatar, and the chief defence against the evil of Melkor.

I apologize for the sudden subjectivity, but in my eyes, you will never read a more badass description of a character. Period.

Anyway . . . despite his magnificence and power, Manwë is very well-intentioned, very noble, not at all corrupted by his authority, although he is quite literally the ruler of the entire world (Arda).

Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace.

As explicitly stated by Tolkien, Manwë is good. And personally, I think he’s one of the strongest characters in Tolkien’s universe. In power, yes - I mean, I believe he’s stated to be the second most powerful of the Ainur, right after Melkor. But in strength of character, Manwë far surpasses his brother and a good amount of the other characters. He shows it several times; for one thing, not being corrupted by the amount of power that he has is impressive in itself, but I also think this is noteworthy. It’s a decision he is often criticized for, but as Tolkien himself insinuated, Manwë choosing to release Melkor and offer him a second chance was a good thing.

“Who then can say with assurance that if Melkor had been held in bond less evil would have followed? Even in his diminishment the power of Melkor is beyond our calculation. Yet some ruinous outburst of his despair is not the worst that might have befallen. The release was according to the promise of Manwë. If Manwë had broken this promise for his own purposes, even though still intending ‘good’, he would have taken a step upon the paths of Melkor. That is a perilous step. In that hour and act he would have ceased to be the vice-regent of the One, becoming but a king who takes advantage over a rival whom he has conquered by force. Would we then have the sorrows that indeed befell; or would we have the Elder King lose his honour, and so pass, maybe, to a world rent between two proud lords striving for the throne?

Of this we may be sure, we children of small strength: any one of the Valar might have taken the paths of Melkor and become like him: one was enough.”

Rather than doing what Melkor would have done - going back on his words out of fear and refusing to extend a helping hand to a defeated enemy - Manwë chose to do what he believed was right, what was according to his morals. He didn’t waver or back away in the face of peril and stayed true to who he was. And to me, that’s the ultimate act showing strength of character.

Varda

Ah, the OG queen I stan. I always loved Varda, truthfully, but @marta-elentari ‘s metas made me love her even more.

Varda is that character that makes me scream “Yes queen” from the very start. I love the feeling of power and brilliance I get when I read descriptions of her:

‘With Manwë dwelt Varda the most beautiful, whom we Noldor name Elbereth, Queen of the Valar; she it was who wrought the Great Stars; and with them were a great host of fair spirits in great blessedness.’

My first impression of her was that she was a very intelligent woman and a very keen judge of character, considering she was the first to sense the darkness in Melkor. I also admired her for rejecting him, because Melkor coerced multiple powerful Maiar to his side, even those with good intentions (*cough* Sauron *cough*), and I don’t imagine his powers of persuasion were any less potent or any less on display when he attempted to cajole Varda to join him. Yet she declined.

But then, courtesy of @marta-elentari , I found these quotes:

‘And Manwë and Ulmo and Aulë were as Kings; but Varda was the Queen of the Valar, and the spouse of Manwë, and her beauty was high and terrible and of great reverence.’

I find this “high and terrible” description to be very interesting. Insofar I had only known Varda is this Virgin Mary-type figure, but I think that quote added some less ‘holy’ aspects to her personality. And I loved that. We see the word ‘beauty’ juxtaposed with ‘terrible’ in LOTR, when Galadriel is tempted by the Ring:

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!”

This quote is an external manifestation of Galadriel’s buried desire for more power, a change from the wise and kind Lady of Lothlórien that Galadriel was initially characterized as. Of course, learning more of Galadriel’s history and her younger days’ desire to come to Middle Earth and rule her own kingdom - another form of power - it makes sense and is not at all odd.

But the similarity in word choice makes me wonder if Varda was ambitious and desired power and a position of rulership, just as Galadriel did. Because I’m a sucker for ambitious female characters, I latch on to this theory, and it makes me love Varda very much: a Holy Mary figure who is mighty and pure, but also more complex than the surface level seems to indicate, and a woman who isn’t punished for her ambition.

#asks #tolkien #tolkien meta #character analysis #tolkien quotes #lotr quotes #sauron #mairon #melkor #morgoth #manwë #varda #galadriel #artanis

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mysticdragon3md3 · 5 years ago

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Processing my thoughts: Trying to figure out my inexplicable, weird, confusing hatred of Akechi.

[If you like Akechi, please don’t read under the cut.] [And if you’re the Tumblr mobile app, please for the love of gods, actually hide my text under the cut, to protect his fans. I don't like it when people dump on characters I love; I don't want his stans having their days ruined by this.]

I've gotta admit it. I'm having waaaaaay too much fun hating Akechi. I know I said I'd try to keep negativity off my blog, and it's better to express your fandom through what you love vs what you hate,... But I think now I finally understand why my sister always needed an arch nemesis in much of her life, to be happy. It's just fun to dump on someone---Well, not a REAL someone. That's why I always shook my head at my sister for enjoying hating real people from afar. But a fictional character? That's something I can live with. What real feelings are there to hurt? None! So recently, I've just conceded to having fun hating Goro Akechi. It's really weird.

So if you want to Unfollow, come at me bro. I've always kept my blog for myself, my own enjoyment, and no one else. But for anyone who sticks around, you'll contribute to making me look at my Follower count and continually shout, "What are you guys sticking around here for?! Why do you like my weird posts?!? I don't understaaaaaaaand!"

But the REALLY WEIRD thing is that I don't think murder is enough to make me dislike a character. Sure, lots of my favorite characters are the pure-hearted ingenues/himbos, but the other third are evil, manipulative, devious, and straight-up orchestrate murder/suffering on grand scales. Lelouch vi Britannia, Devil Homura, Mitsuzane "Micchy" Kureshima, Kikyo,...Akira Kurusu to some extent...I freaking LOVE my diabolical characters. I love the fantasy of just being devious and evil---at least in fiction. So why do I dislike Akechi Goro so much? o_o? It's pretty weird. Especially when I look through a lot of other people's posts about why they hate Akechi and their entire arguments boil down to "he murdered people; that's irredeemable". And I could get behind that in real life, but for fictional characters...? I feel like there has to be more.

And honestly, I don't have to look too far. I know myself enough to know my pet peeves. And there's just something about bullies, undue Malice, and remorseless sadism dripping with enjoyment over undue bullying, that flips my psychotic switch. It's the reason I had to give up watching My Hero Academia, after trying to give it 3 chances, because just one scene with the bully Bakugo ruins my entire day. It’s the reason I hate Oikawa Toru and how he just relishes making others suffer. It's the reason I can't watch high school dramas that include bullying, without going into a homicidal rage, until I'm allowed to beat something with my bare hands. There's just something about bullying that makes me Hate so much...Which is weird because I've never been bullied in my life. (At least, enough for me to notice.) My intense hatred of bully characters would all make sense if I experienced the cliche of "bullied in high school" and "addicted to power fantasies where the bullies get their just deserts as a self-insert fantasy surrogate to get back at my bullies". But that's not possible, because I've never been bullied. Not in school, not by my siblings, not by my cousins,... So what the heck?

[In retrospect, I’ve always been more offended by causing pain in life, vs causing death. Because death is going to happen no matter what. Plus, after experiencing suicidal depression, I know how much more horrible it is for existence to be painful, vs the prospect of death. In that light, I remember seeing death as a positive, a release from pain. So it takes an especially horrible jerk to make existence painful for people, and especially to enjoy that pain they caused. That’s why being a bully is much more unforgivable to me, than being a fictional character who has murdered.]

All I know is that Akechi Goro was introduced as a bully and I hate him for it. His first scene in the game, had him meeting with Sae, and that just introduced him as a brilliant prodigy high school detective. Pretty superficial profile; nothing really about his personality. Second real intro scene, he's ripping apart Makoto's insecurities for no reason, and with such a polite, flippant attitude, that she can't fight back without breaking some kind of propriety, so she's just left helplessly beaten. (Incidentally, getting away with hurting people, just because they speak politely, loudly, utilizing authority, or some other overpowering manner of speech, is also one of my big pet peeves.) Next interaction with Akira-tachi, Akechi is very clearly threatening his friends. HIS FRIENDS. Whom, by this point in the game, I'm feeling very protective over. Accusing them of being the Phantom Thieves, threatening to oust them, trying to trick them into incriminating themselves, just being generally menacing towards them for a long while, etc. So in the scenes introducing Akechi's character and interacting with Akira or his friends (AKA, the characters which the direction clearly frames as guiding the audience to have sympathy towards, even before Makoto officially became part of Akira's friend group), Akechi is just a Malicious bully and threat to his friends. It just set off all my alarms and pissed me off. Maybe if my first introductory to Akechi was through the anime, where all his introductory scenes pretty much portrayed him as innocuous, maybe then I would have been neutral on him. Maybe I would have even liked him, since his seiyuu is Soichiro Hoshi and Soichiro Hoshi's Sanada Yukimura was my favorite character/OTP, for years and years, right before I got into Persona 5. But that's not what happened. The original Persona 5 game introduced me to bully-Akechi and it happened to exactly strike one of my highest pet peeves.

So how I feel about Akechi is really weird... the hate stalking, the contradiction vs my love for Lelouch/Homrua/Micchy, the inexplicable reason why I hate bullies like him so much,...

...And yet, it's not so weird at all.

Also, I think gaining a taste for watching so many geeky YouTubers rage over bad movies or insufferable fiction tropes or comedians rage over the news, has desensitized me to hate-watching or including rage-hate as an expression of my fandoms in general. Maybe that lead into this whole hate-stalking with Akechi. Because I used to not have fun feeling hate for anything. I would’ve rather just leave and spend my time on positive things instead. Despising anything was not fun for me. I used to not understand the phrase “a character you love to hate”. But now, I do. Go figure: bad influences happen and tastes change. 😅 But though it’s become a little more difficult for me to automatically feel that the love for a character I hate, is valid too---I still feel that way. I would be crushed to be told my love for certain things in my fandoms are “invalid” or “wrong”, and at the same time, I recognize that just by me loving something, there must be someone in the world with opposite opinions. I would be hurt if I was attacked for my fandoms, and I wouldn’t want fans of the things I hate to feel that way. I go through the motions of reminding myself that his fans can still fanboy/fangirl over a character I hate and be valid, having valid reasons or valid feelings. And I still try to rigidly conduct myself in the fandom in a way that hopefully doesn’t make his fans feel hated or invalid. They’re just in a whole other world from me. ...a very different, very far away world, a parallel universe that I don’t quite understand. But they’re having fun. And we’re all having fun in each of our own worlds, and that’s what’s important. ^__^

#confused with myself #processing thoughts #venting #rambling #self analysis #get out of here akechi #bullies just make me snap into a psychotic rage #bully characters

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isitandwonder · 7 years ago

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A while ago there was an interview going round with Luca and Armie, published in the German Vogue in January 2017. I finally got hold of a copy and translated it into English.

@foryou-insilence - it’s on it’s way to you!

Just a few remarks:

I’m not a translator, so this is just what I made of it. I tried to give a choice of words when the meaning could have different nuances. If you have any questions, just ask. If anyone has better ideas how to phrase or translate it, pelase, have at it.

I think the interview was conducted in English, then translated into German, and now I translated it back into English. Something might have been lost along the way.

It seems a bit jumpy in topics, so I think it was initially longer or they omitted the questions asked by the interviewer.

They use the informal you (Du) in the German text instead of the more formal address (Sie), indicating a relationship of equals. I also got the feeling that it was done during filming, because they both often use present tense when talking about CMBYN.

If anyone wants a scan just send me a PM and provide an email address.

Completed! [Could also mean 'hyphy']

Director Luca Guadagnino and actor Armie Hammer talk the power of sensuality, ugly beauty and sex in front of the camera

The Italian director Luca Guadagnino is a master of the emotional intimate drama like I Am Love (with Tilda Swinton) and A Bigger Splash (with Ralph Fiennes) which unsettle and enthrall through their intensity. Armie Hammer distinguished himself through his multilayered interpretation of discrete parts/roles, not least his dual role as the Winklevoss-twins in The Social Network. Now, Luca Guadagnino earmarked for him the part of Oliver in his film based on Andrè Aciman's novel Call Me By Your Name (Berlinale 2017), a young American drawn into an amour fou.

For this Vogue talk, both met in the Palazzo Albergoni in Lombardy, a century-old villa, that is, in the movie, inhabited by an American Professor, his Italian wife and their 17-year-old son Elio. Oliver is a guest at their house, and like him, Armie Hammer was transformed by his Italian experience.

AH: We already talked about that the mood of the film is relaxed and at ease. Thanks to you [in the translation, the informal 'you' is used], this is also true beyond the camera. And that even despite the difficult circumstances, the rainy weather, for example.

LG: This happens without me thinking about it. I like having guests. And this film is about someone who is a guest, a visitor. Many aspects of human relationships can't be controlled, but some stuff can be defused/disarmed. Filming is a hectic process/action full of conflict, related to personal discomfiture/unease. Filming A Bigger Splash was all about that. This time I wanted to avoid such tension. But there's always inner tension, that mounts through shooting and is connected to the content of the film. I try to channel the intensity within my staff into the story. Especially the cultural differences between Italian, French and Americans gad to be channeled.

AH: Your movies are always set in Italy, despite their international cast?

LG: It is easier to organize. To tell the truth, I hope this will be the last film for a long time that I shot in Italy. By the way, I wanted to work with you for a long time, and Call Me By Your Name was the right moment to ask you. The international cast wasn't a conscious decision/consideration, it just happened naturally. As a European director I wouldn't cast Americans if it wasn't for the benefit of the story.

AH: I love the filming experience and the life in Crema, where we live. It's the most picturesque little town I can imagine. No one speaks English. That's absolutely new for me as an American, who usually gets through with it [English] everywhere. I immerse myself 24 hours a day into this other world. It's a somewhat analogue experience. My smartphone is usually switched off, mostly because of the time difference. This isolation makes it easier to concentrate on the project. I have the feeling to have ended up in another universe.

LG: Seriously? You don't know this kind of film-making?

AH: Absolutely not. I've never worked with a director with whom i felt clicking from the get go. I just walked into a world where everything is lovable/amiable, the colleagues, you, this villa.

LG: But isn't it always like this? Now you got me interested.

AH: You give me the feeling of being an equal. Here's no hierarchy, the director isn't some kind of god on top [of a mountain] and I, as an actor, stand beneath him, even beneath the author and producer and so on.

LG: So that's how it usually is?

AH: Yes, especially with projects with gigantic budgets made by large studios. With those, you are just an actor who has to fit a casting mold.

LG: As a director, I always feel like a young school child with yet many years before graduating. I still have to learn and research a lot. I don't just want to gain a notion/concept of the fictive characters, but from the actors as well. This stance might spring from films made in the post-war era and exploded in the 1970s. Directors like Scorsese or Coppola blurred the lines between actors, characters and plot. I ask myself how I can do a bigger movie with this attitude/mindset, an action movie for example that I like to do next.

AH: Like French Connection?

LG: Absolutely. As a viewer, one gets completely pulled into the life of the policemen, played by Gene Hackman and Roy Schneider. You sense the risk they and the director have taken. The film is a phenomenal adrenaline rush Something like that is enormously inspiring. I'm not interested in fiction, I hate the artificial, the construed, polished. I want to discover something while filming, I want to, how do you say it...?

AH: You want to be a midwife?

LG: Exactly. I'm a midwife. And my new interpretation of Suspiria will get equally personal as Call Me By Your Name. I always felt that I wanted to do this film again. I want to acknowledge the feelings it evoked in me when I was ten. I hope it will shock the audience.

AH: That is an interesting approach to make a film, to let the audience feel what you once felt.

LG: Just like I hope I can convince the audience with our film that it doesn't matter with whom you fall in love.

AH: That you can fall in love with everyone?

LG: I love the impossible and despise the possible/feasible. When I sense that something impossible is about to become real, I get enthusiastic.

AH: The novel by Andrè Aciman that inspired our film is a challenge as well. It is told from a very special perspective. You are totally in Elio's head. You hear his doubts and see the scenes like he paints them. But the film is more the study of two human being who overcome all conceivable obstacles and fears.

LG: A face can tell a lot about what's going on inside [one's head]. And when you have fantastic actors, they create an emotional world that becomes tangible while watching them.

AH: Usually, I do months of research before I start filming and read everything I can get my fingers on. But the information I need for Oliver can't be drawn from Aciman's novel. Instead, I tried to find out what it meant to grow up during the 70s and 80s. And I tried to acquaint myself with the Jewish identity, which is important for my role. But particularly did I try to understand the atmosphere/mood of the film. My character is curious, sensual/sensible and open for everything that he comes across. It doesn't matter if it's a glass of peach juice, Elio or young Chiara. He moves differently in the world than I do. To understand that was a big part of my preparation.

LG: The film doesn't portray Oliver like Monica Belluci was enacted in Maléna by Guiseppe Tornatore – as a beautiful woman to stare at. That he's a handsome man was but an ironic detail for me. All characters are beautiful, but not because of their outward appearance but because we are allowed to look into their heart and soul. What is important is the emotional journey/process Elio embarks on, and which we can experience through his looks. How does he act on his infatuation/crush? Does he create something deeper/more profound out of it?

AH: I recognized that in the whole movie there isn't one single beauty shot, which is all about the most attractive angle in flattering sunlight, to draw attention to a face. Nonetheless, every angle is gorgeous, in all your films. They are always careful yet cunning/subtle.

LG: I'm interested in sensuality, not beauty. If I hear the word beauty I take up arms. For me, it's about how humans surrender to sensuality. In the end, you can't say no to an erotic challenge. Another impossibility I constantly think about.

AH: Water is a sensual element in this movie.

LG: And I can't even swim. When I set foot into water I drown. I hate the ocean/sea, I hate the heat, I hate the humidity, I hate the people surrounding me, I don't want to present myself naked in front of them. Even Pantelleria [an Italian island] disgusted me during filming A Bigger Splash.

AH: That's kinda funny: we filmed some/huge parts of this film in the water and you hate it!

LG: It's about its meaning in the movie, like the sex scenes. They are meaningless as well if they are not some sort of dialogue between two people.

AH: Believe it or not, I had my first nude/sex scene in Call Me By Your Name!

LG: What? You didn't do this before?

AH: No! But you and the crew just handled it like it wasn't something special, just like every other scene. And as soon as it says 'Cut!' you come up like out of a fog: there's the boom operator, the camera man, just doing their job. I wished I could bottle feelings, the feelings before and after a scene. I would need weeks to understand and explain the difference. Anyway, it doesn't feel like something special/particular for me as well by now.

LG: You did it totally emotionally believable/true. It was fantastic. Actors are in a very fragile place.

AH: We are very exposed, not only because the whole crew is there.

LG: The actor grants the director a huge credit of trust/takes a leap of faith. And then the film is released into an unknown world.

AH: But that's exactly why I became an actor.

LG: And when do you turn into a director?

AH: I certainly will never write my own script. I lack the concentration to devote myself to it for months on end. But I'd madly love to direct. But when I see how effortless and fluent this process is for someone like you, I think I'll never be able to do that.

LG: What does it mean, in your opinion, to be a director? You already worked with the best.

AH: I think it's about to reconcile everyone and always keep track of everything. I have no idea what goes on inside a director, it all happens out of view. And it's so fast that I fear to interfere/impede everything when I ask a question. But there are other directors who work differently, who think out loud prior to every scene, where the camera should be placed.

LG: Do you prefer that?

AH: Of course. No one's so close to the camera as the actor. And if the director walks over and talks to the camera man, I listen closely. I always knew I wanted to work in movies, in whatever job. As a kid I went to the cinema every weekend and watched everything on the bill. I had no idea what a director or producer does, and so actor was the obvious choice.

LG: Directing means to be an outsider. You have to man up for a job that's deep and dark.

AH: Why? What is the reason for this alienation?

LG: Today I thought about what I like. When I grew up, I loved directors who's movies were strong, uncompromising and hard to bear. Those films were inherently unsuccessful but later became legends: Stanley Kubrik, for example, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Michael Powell, Federico Fellini. I can't make a Hollywood movie under these conditions, you are dead before you get a second chance. Therefore: I like directors who do what they want and address my desires. It is frightening, but I as well always get what I want. I was in love with Ralph Fiennes, his pictures hung in my room. And then he worked with me in A Bigger Splash. It is important to get what you really want. I truly have to own and desire the actors who work on my movies.

AH: Was that the case with me as well?

LG: When I saw The Social Network: yes, the film is brilliant, the script is great, Jesse Eisenberg is a fantastic Mark Zuckerberg – but who the fuck are the Winklevoss twins? There was something in you that I wanted to bring out in front of a camera.

AH: And we did it.

LG: My next goal is to find/expose your dark side. As an actor, are you seduced or a seducer? I always hear that actors are seductive. But as a directorI have to say that they also get seduced and sometimes even betrayed.

AH: Those who are not involved in the process of film-making romaticize the existence of actors. It would be wonderful if I was mobbed with scripts. But the truth is, there are so very few fine directors and great scripts that everybody wants the part as soon as it hits the market. In this fight for the one chance I feel like a prize boxer. Sure, there are colleagues who automatically receive fantastic offers...

LG:... but you don't want that, not really.

AH: True, but you seduced me and it was 100% worth it. Filming with you left a huge impression in my personal and professional life.

LG: It is irrelevant how many films you do a year as an actor. The only important thing is to give an emotional iconic performance. Which you did. That's how film history works. That's how I see it, and I'm a film historian.

AH: You know more about film than anyone else. And that's why you do such nice/lovely movies. But you cast such an interesting/interested glance on many things, on everything, whatever it is. Your reasoning is always cultivated, thought through.

LG: The practical problems in film making are so overwhelming, you have to work with each shot and then with the sum of it.

AH: I worked with directors who decided 'the trees have to stand differently'.

LG: It is crazy. That's how I wanted it when I was 17. You film in a garden that gets arranged to your will. But that's not how it works.

AH: I also know other directors who just let things happen, like midwives.

LG: There we come back to the masters of the craft. They didn't close the door to reality, like Jean Renoir once said.

#armie hammer #luca guadagnino #interview

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shirks-all-responsibilities · 2 years ago

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I had to sit and process and take a break after I read this–-what a chapter. What an experience reading this. What a fic!! You should feel so proud for crafting this world, and crafting such an Ezra!

I love your mind and wherever you drew inspiration for the dark and despairing elements of this fic. That Glasshouse prison was horrifying–-those semi-translucent walls stacked almost to seeming infinity were awful enough, and then realizing that his people’s somewhat permeable barrier between others minds and feelings and thoughts was amplified in such an awful place?? That's pure wretched AGONY.

Ezra’s uncle here is on my list of most despised fictional characters of all time. I don’t even have words for it. Such fucked up morals and priorities, that society’s grievously unfair weighing of crimes. I wanted to strangle Ezra’s uncle for how he deviously commandeers Ezra to be his little secret servant, dead to all of the world except him, beholden to him for the rest of his life. And how the uncle takes pleasure in so many LIES, surely his claims of the failed uprising and Rien’s fate were false?? Oh the possibilities, so much could have happened after Ezra left the Glasshouse, what if the uprising succeeded and he doesn’t even know?! So Handmaid’s Tale-esque! OK but, for my heart, the Uncle was straight up gloating and lying about Rien's fate right? Cuz in an earlier chapter Ezra very recently muses about not knowing Rien’s fate…so he must've learned a little more about the truth at some point? Pls my heart can only take so much!! 😊

What I really love about this fic is how though we know much more about Ezra’s backstory than hers at this point, it’s clear that they are both human beings for whom solitude and being truly alone was deeply clarifying and transformative, learning to almost meditatively appreciate life and its absurdity, and gaining perspectives that can only be done after intense personal suffering and being truly alone in the world. I always connect with this in fics and love it whenever I (rarely) see it. 🥰 And I just love that Ezra is older and has lived through so much life, and so much SHIT–-god the way his entire being and spirit was completely broken and practically ground down to ashes, to endure such suffering, to get to the point of believing death was certain, and then to find himself suddenly given a second, wondrous chance? As wondrous as the cosmos that surround them. It’s indescribably beautiful. 🧡

And after alllllllll that's happened so far, the deep intimacy they will be bringing to their looming sexytimes has been ramped up as high as it can go!! That line that Ezra wanted to “make her feel like the most loved being in the entire universe” was so precious and hit me deep in the feels!

I loved your last reply about how you see Ezra, all gloriously floofy-like. 😍 Oh how I wish I fully visualize Ezra’s white hair–oooh and his little streak is yet to happen ehhh? I’m so excited for that reveal!!

Thank you as always for this marvelous story, and making us care for these characters you’ve crafted so much!

Starman Chapter Fourteen. Whewwww it has been a journey my friends. And we are starting to see the glimmers of the end. Warnings for patriarchal nonsense and gross sexism and misogyny, murder, incarceration, self harm, one mention of abortion, one mention of rapists, one mention of cannibalism, one mention of torture, extreme age gap marriage and subsequent pregnancy, death, some religious discussion.

Word count: 6.8k

Starman

Chapter Fourteen

Starman

Bold, bright midday sunlight streamed through the room, illuminating it in shades of decadent golden honey and cream. Several windows had been thrown open, welcoming the salt-tanged, whispering breeze that was coming from the ocean and causing the curtains to softly undulate as it caught them. He could hear birdsong over the faint background noise of the waves - an arpeggio of startling beauty and delightful simplicity from the unseen creature. Ezra was settled on the sofa once again, and this time he was surrounded by her - his back pressed against her front, her legs caging him either side, one of her calves draped lazily over his knee and the other a support for his arm. She was playing with his hair, her fingers running softly through his curls, causing him to hum in pleasure and lean back to get closer to her touch. It was a still moment of peace and serenity and love and absolutely everything Ezra had ever wanted.

Despite this idyll, he could feel the tendrils of anxiety and restlessness snaking themselves through him. He was apprehensive for several reasons, not least at the thought of what was to come after he had told her everything he had to. After he had departed the Glasshouse he had slept with a few people here and there - faceless individuals that he buried himself into to in an attempt to dull the sharp pain of Rien's rejection and departure and to try to feel something, anything other than the relentless downtrodden misery that the Glasshouse had sunk into his soul. He had felt no connection with any of them at all. They were a means to an end, a shallow sating of a hunger that ran incredibly deep and could not begin to be addressed by casual sex. But being with her here and now...he wanted her so badly - to feel every part of her, to kiss her all over and make her feel like the most loved being in the entire universe. She wanted him too, he knew that for a certainty now and was relieved about it. But that made it that much more difficult to resist her. And resist he must for the time being. He couldn't bear the thought of her rejecting him once she knew the whole sorry tale, and the closer they got the more unbearable the prospect of that potential rejection became.

"Its your home too you know."

Her voice broke into his thoughts and he looked down at the translator he had on his lap.

"Pardon me?" he asked, feeling as if he had come in partway through a conversation.

She pulled him back against her a little tighter and he felt her breasts push against his upper back as he lay flush against her chest. Her chin was resting lightly on his shoulder, her cheek brushing the side of his neck and her arms came to encircle him around his stomach as she spoke again.

"Before. On the beach. You said we should come back to "my home". Its your home now too."

He heard the warmth of the smile in her voice as she openly verbalised the welcome he had felt since the very moment he had set foot inside her little house and he closed his eyes and bit his lip against the happy yet still trepidatious tears that threatened to fall. Home. He hadn't had one since he was a child. Not really. Rien had felt like home for a long time, but there had not been a physical place where he could feel that acceptance and warmth and love for...well, decades. Yet he did feel it here. From her and from Dog in his blanket-strewn bed and from the very bones of the building. It was as if she had suffused herself into the spirit of this place, and he was only too glad to be welcomed into its embrace.

"My life. My love," he said, a little querulously. "Thank you. It means more to me than you can ever know to hear that."

She nuzzled her nose softly against his ear before whispering the words he had come to recognise in her language without the aid of the translator. "I love you."

His chest burned with the cascading feelings at her touch, her words, her proximity and he snuggled himself back against her even more, not wanting there to be a breath of air between them, wanting to be as close to her as he could possibly be. He leaned his head back and felt her mouth trail from his ear, across his cheek to capture his lips with hers. She murmured something against him and for a moment he couldn't bring himself to look at the translator, hazily drunk on adoration of her as he was. After what felt like several glorious minutes he glanced down to see her question.

"Do you feel ready to talk?" Her tone wasn't pushy, wasn't demanding. It was an opening, an invitation to begin what he had insisted he needed to. She wanted to make it as easy for him as possible to get through this. Still, reluctance warred with cold dread within his stomach and he had to force himself to nod softly, rubbing his nose against hers as he did. She kissed him again, and stroked his hair as she looked with purest kindness and love into his eyes. What he had to say was at total odds with his current situation and he didn't know how to go about it without spoiling the mood between him. She could see his hesitation and brought his hand to her lips to kiss over the back of it and over his fingers. "Your pace, Ezra," she murmured, echoing his own words back to him. "We don't have to do this now if you don't want to."

It was this more than anything that spurred him on. He couldn't bear to have it hanging over him, over them any longer. He brought his knees up a little higher to his chest and rested the translator against them so she could see his words more easily as he spoke. He took a deep breath and began.

"The Glasshouse was the most notorious prison in all of the seven systems. Once a moon of staggering natural resources, it had been all but hollowed out over the course of a long-ago century and its shell used to encase those considered the lowest of the low throughout all of the allied planets - political deviants and scholars that insisted that the society that was presented was by no means the only one that could exist, fraudsters and embezzlers, scientists who promised cures for the widespread fertility problems and failed to deliver alongside those who looked like they might actually put forward a viable solution and upset the status quo, providers and seekers of abortions-"

He could hear the puzzled frown in her voice when she asked her question. "What about those who committed violence? Murderers and the like?"

"Oh they abounded within the walls too. The very worst of the worst. Mass killers, serial rapists, there were even rumours of those who had resorted to cannibalism to avoid starvation and had retained their taste for the flesh of their own kind even when other food was freely available. Violent crimes were generally only punished to the degree of the Glasshouse if they affected the higher orders in some way. Or if the numbers or state of their victims were so outside the bounds of what the highers considered "normal" among the lowers as to be unable to be ignored. Some poor unfortunates had committed petty crimes only, but had been made an example of. Still more had been thrown in there for reasons unknown and left to rot, forgotten about and left to die by the decree of those with more influence and money than they. My people, almost all of them regardless of status, have the ability to sense thoughts and feelings. It tends to be a two way connection among mates in most instances, but in a place like that where the despair and grief and devastation is emanating from every living thing within its sphere, you can feel it. All of it. Every single moment of the day. The deprivation of the body is nothing compared to the assault upon the mind and spirit. It....I...." He broke off, and drew in a shaky breath. Her arms tightened around him, bringing him back to the moment and reassuring him with her very presence.

"If its too much-" she began.

"No!" he exclaimed, more forcefully than he had intended. "No," he repeated more softly. "I need to do this. And with you here, I know I can do just that."

He felt her nod of encouragement and acceptance. "Just know you can stop if you need to." Ezra exhaled deeply and resumed.

The cell he had been imprisoned in was basic in the extreme. A thin mattress on the floor with a thinner blanket on top of it. A bucket for his body's needs. All else were walls of white translucence - above, below and on all sides. The cubes of the cells were stacked, one on top of the other, one in front of the other, in a seemingly neverending formation that was only broken up by the narrowest of paths between them that allowed the mechanoid guards to patrol all day, every day, and deliver the occasional sustenance to the prisoners. Nothing was soundproofed and the howls of rage and madness and despair echoed throughout the hollow moon constantly, a white noise of anguish to assault the mind. Ezra could see shapes through the semi-transparency of the walls - the unceasing pacing of the person in the cube above, the writhing, twisting madness of the captive to his left as they hurled themselves fruitlessly against the reinforced walls. Sometimes they would make themselves bleed - headbutting the wall until a spray of red would erupt and the guards would attend, binding the prisoner for days at a time until they quieted sufficiently to be released. That neighbour was still more preferable to the one on the right who did nothing but weep. Day after day, hour after hour they would howl and sob and snuffle until Ezra wondered how they didn't die of dehydration. He shouted at them once, yelling at them to cease, to desist, to shut the FUCK up for once, adding his voice to the cacophony of insanity that pervaded the prison. He screamed at them until his voice gave out and he swore he could taste blood. But when his frustration and rage ebbed into exhaustion, the pitiful noises remained. It hadn't made him feel any better, nor had it made a jot of difference to the situation except to add to the swirling eddies of fear and pain and lunacy that came from every cell and coalesced to the oppression and animosity and anguish that soaked every atom of this place. He had curled up under his blanket and shed his own tears then, his heart breaking in the face of utter despair.

Time meant nothing within the Glasshouse. The lights were harsh and permanently on and emanated from each side of his cubed cell. There was never a moment of peace or quiet. Meal times were intermittent, he suspected that they did not even occur daily. He tried to mark time by monitoring the patrols, but they were so frequent as to be meaningless. He was forever watched, forever surrounded and yet forever alone. After a time he began to understand the incessant pacing, the headbutting. They just wanted to feel something and he too needed to know that he still existed and that what he was experiencing was real and tangible. It first became an escape, then a habit and then pure necessity to retreat into his mind, to reject his current circumstances and relieve his happiest times with Rien. He slept more frequently than he needed to and ate less frequently than he ought, not wanting to engage with this reality if it was all he was ever to know again.

And then, at some undefinable time after his incarceration, Ezra had a visitor.

He awoke to a new sound, a different kind of pounding than the one from his boisterous neighbour. It sounded almost like...knocking. Ezra pulled the thin, stinking blanket away from his face and squinted against the harshness of the light coming from all around. He sat up and blinked rapidly at the scene in front of him, trying to make sense of what his eyes were observing. The front of his cube, the side through which he could usually see the shadowy figures of his jailers and through which he received sustenance and empty buckets, was now somehow fully transparent. Standing there, flanked by two mechanoids and looking calmer than he had ever seen him before, was his Uncle. Ezra rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dislodge the unwelcome vision that had no doubt been engendered by the deprivation of his body and the constant overstimulation of his mind. He was going mad. There was no other explanation for what he could see. His Uncle smirked unpleasantly.

"I see you're finally with the rats you were so desperate to betray us for," he said smugly. Ezra said nothing, but stood on wobbly legs and made his way shakily over to the now-clear side of his cube, placing his hands on the reinforced polycarbonate sheet to steady himself mentally as well as physically. His Uncle correctly interpreted the look on his face. "You are not mad. At least not yet. I truly do stand before you."

"Why?" croaked Ezra, his voice hoarse and rusty from disuse.

"To see you getting what you deserve," his Uncle said bluntly. "And to give you what news I can of the outcome of your actions. You failed, boy. Your ridiculous uprising failed. And we know all about your theft and fraud. Stealing from your parents is one thing, but from me? You really thought you could get away with it?!"

Ezra half smiled at his Uncle. "Have you come to kill me for that?"

His Uncle huffed a noise of disgruntlement. "No. Much as I would take pleasure in such an act, you will suffer far more through your incarceration. And if I am completely honest, there is a part of me that admires the rapacious audacity of thieving from me right under my nose. You really did grow some balls while you were away. I recouped my losses in part from your parents' anyway-"

"You'd beggar your own sister?" Ezra said disbelievingly.

"Nothing I do is any of your business, boy," his Uncle growled. "But that she birthed an insolent, disgusting whelp like you means some part of her is clearly deficient and the more I can distance myself from her the better. Besides," and here he bestowed a quite hideous grin upon Ezra, "I have recently come into a much larger sum than your parents could claim even before their reparations to me."

Ezra stayed silent, watching the slightly mad glint in his uncle's eyes. He still couldn't quite work out why he was here. To gloat, to rub Ezra's face in it, yes. But he wouldn't have made the trip here to this horrific place just for that. There had to be more to it. "Your little wife, boy," his uncle whispered, and Ezra turned cold at his tone. "She is alive and very well." A surge of relief flowed through Ezra and he let go of an anxiety he hadn't even realised he had been holding on to. One less bloodstain on his hands. Even though Rien had been the one to strike her, he had felt more than partially responsible for what had transpired. This time, his uncle mistook his expression. "Don't think it will lessen the charges against you once you come to trial," he lectured. "Murder might have been excused, had she not been a higher and fertile. But the fraud! The embezzlement! Those are unpardonable."

"Is she...well?" Ezra asked hesitantly. He hoped there had been no lasting damage from her head injury and while he agreed with Rien's assessment that she was part of the problem he still couldn't rid himself of the feeling that she didn't deserve the heartache they had dealt out. She was a pawn in the game, much as he had been once upon a time. For all the terrible things she might conceivably do in the future with her wealth and influence, that she was part of the madness of the upper echelons of society was not something she could help and he felt that she shouldn't be punished before she had actually done anything wrong.

"She is better than well" his Uncle said, and Ezra noted that a lecherous tone had joined the smugness in his voice. "She is pregnant." Ezra's mind whirled. How long had he been in here that she could marry again and be with child? Months, then, for a certainty. His Uncle was talking again and he tuned back into his words. "After the...unfortunate...death of my last wife I now have a new one. And I suppose have you to thank" he sneered. Ezra's skin goosepimpled with disgust. Surely not. Even he couldn't be that vile. "She was spoiled goods," his Uncle went on. "No one would accept her even though it was demonstrably proven that you had never had her. None of the respectable families wanted to be associated with the stink of your treachery. So I took her in, poor thing. Her father was really rather grateful to me. And now she's been successfully bred by a real man instead of some whimpering, simpering upstart."

Despite the lack of food in his stomach, Ezra found himself wanting to vomit. That poor girl. A pawn indeed. "I bet she wishes she WAS dead." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he braced himself for his Uncle to rage, to shout, to order the mechanoid guards to beat him to within an inch of his life. The predatory smile his Uncle gave him was somehow worse and far more worrying.

"There are some creatures in life that need to be taken care of. Those that crave structure and the guidance of someone stronger than they being in charge and leading their way. My wife is one such person, though all women fall into that category I have found. But you are also that kind of weakling, boy. And speaking of needing to be led, aren't you going to ask about your "valet"? Hmm? Don't you wonder what happened to the man you betrayed your kin for? Who tried to abandon you to take the fall?"

At the mention of Rien, Ezra felt as if he had taken a punch to the gut. The swirling guilt and sorrow and pain in his body was suffocating, refusing to allow him to draw a breath in. His Uncle could see the effect of his words and that triumphant little smirk that Ezra had the overwhelming desire to smack off his face returned. Indecision warred within him. He desperately wanted to know of Rien's whereabouts, of course. But if his Uncle knew then that meant...that meant....Ezra closed his eyes against the myriad of terrible ends that Rien could have come to. The need to know gnawed at him, burrowed into the very marrow of his bones and the words burst out of him before he could stop them. "What of him?"

Silence met the question and Ezra opened his eyes to see that same smirk upon his Uncle's face. His eyes were lit by self satisfaction and Ezra knew he had made a terrible mistake by showing his hand, by revealing that he truly had cared about Rien. Icy panic gripped his guts once more.

"The thing about you, Ezra, is that you never learn," his Uncle declared softly. Ezra was shocked. Not so much by what sounded very much like the beginnings of a lecture, but by the use of his name. He could not recall his Uncle ever using it before and the surprise of hearing it knocked his mind back into sharp wakefulness. He still didn't know what game his Uncle was playing, but he was suddenly very aware that he was walking a knife edge. That things could potentially get worse for him, worse even than incarceration in the Glasshouse. His Uncle spoke again, still in that same measured soft tone. "There is no real right or wrong. Those concepts are so subjective as to be meaningless. There are, however, opportunities. And if you choose not to take advantage of them when they present themselves then you will lose. Every time. I am here to offer you such an opportunity."

He could feel his mouth fall open, stood stupidly agape at his Uncle. An opportunity? From the person he despised above all others? From the person who had gotten him imprisoned in this hellhole in the first place? His anger flared, gathering the tatters of his broken pride within him and making it shining and whole for just a few brief moments. A few moments where he truly felt like Ezra van Ione once more. He drew himself up to his full height, the effect spoiled slightly by the way he swayed on the spot from dizziness caused by lack of sustenance. "You set me up to ask about my valet, yet never had any intention to furnish me with information. All you do, you do for your own gain and I do not trust you. I have never trusted you. I refuse your "opportunity"."

Ezra pushed himself heavily away from the clear side of his cell and began to walk slowly back to his mattress on the floor. He could hear the nasty smile in his Uncle's voice as he replied. "You see? Before I even set the terms of the deal you refuse to hear me, you refuse this opportunity to better your circumstances and your surroundings. I would say I'm disappointed, but I really couldn't give a kooka crap about you, boy. I knew you would react this way. You are too stupid to do otherwise." Ezra half collapsed on to his bedroll, hugging his knees against himself and pointedly staring at the wall away from his Uncle. He heard footsteps and the familiar whirring and clanking that accompanied the movements of the mechanoids before his Uncle spoke again, this time with a streak of cold anger touching his words. "You really have learned nothing. Tell me, has it never struck you as odd that somehow everything is always someone else's fault? Your parents, me, your wife, your lover? Its never down to you is it? No matter. A little more time here will teach you your new place in the world, will have you desperate to hear my voice again. But who knows if you will survive to do so?"

It could have been weeks, it could have been months. The crier to his right became silent one day and a while after that Ezra could see the mechanoids dragging something out of the cell before a new inmate was shoved in there. This one was a talker. Desperate, hushed pleas reached Ezra's ears, begging for him, for someone, for anyone to reply, to make them not feel so alone. Ezra could not make himself respond. They were all alone in here, and he doubted this person would have anything of interest for him to hear. When they got no replies from the cells around they began to shout their innocence to the world at large, defiantly and confidently stating that they would soon be free, that it was all a terrible mistake, that they couldn't keep them here forever. The weeping started up again not long after that, and Ezra felt oddly comforted by the familiar noise, even as the part of himself that still clung to sanity felt disgusted at his reactions. He had to get out of here, he knew. Else he would surely die in madness and sorrow like everyone else here. He had to take whatever opportunity his Uncle could present. And so when he returned, Ezra listened.

He listened to the bragging about how his Uncle knew he could break him, how weak Ezra was, how foolish, how he would die in poverty and pain within the Glasshouse or without and how his Uncle would take the greatest of pleasure in that knowledge and even more that he had been the cause of the just retribution. He listened to how his Uncle had lied to his parents - how he had informed them that Ezra had died in the failed uprising in the wharves and how his body had been desecrated as a traitor's ought to be before it had been flung into the sea to rot and bloat. He managed to keep his face carefully impassive as his Uncle finally revealed that they had caught up with Rien at the spaceport, had tortured him most hideously before his public execution, how he himself had looked into his eyes and seen nothing but fear and cowardice.

"As all of his ilk are," his Uncle concluded, sniffily. "As you are too, boy. If ever my son were to behave as you have, I would kill him myself."

Ezra felt the bile of rage reaching up his gullet and swallowed hard in a mouth made sore from dehydration. He kept his gaze carefully lowered as he replied in a soft, bland tone. "What of this opportunity you spoke of?"

"You can be free of this place, boy." His Uncle's words startled him and Ezra looked up hurriedly in disbelief. His Uncle's impassive face stared back at him, revealing nothing. "I can have you out of here in moments," he continued pulling a sheaf of official looking documents from within his longcoat pocket. "All you have to do is agree to three terms and sign here to that effect."

"And what are these terms?" Ezra asked, weariness warring with wariness in his voice.

"One, that you relinquish all claim to money, valuables and property held by the family as well as your family name. Two, that you never again attempt to contact or see any member of your family again. I have told them you are dead and you will be dead to them in every conceivable way. Only I shall know the truth and believe me when I say that I have no desire to be associated with you by blood or any other means."

"Those terms are acceptable," said Ezra in a small, tight voice. It was better that his family believed him dead. With the uprising finished before it had ever really started, there was no way he would ever be accepted by them again anyway. Those bridges had been well and truly destroyed. "What is your last condition?"

"That you work for me," his Uncle replied, that smirk reappearing on his face. "I understand that you spent some time in the Pierpoint mines before you crawled back to your mother? Oh yes, I dug into your story, boy. And given that my pockets are far deeper than your own, I was able to procure the truth with little difficulty. A new substance has been discovered on a couple of far off moons in the furthest reaches of the seven systems. Aurelac. It is by all accounts incredibly difficult to obtain and thus much sought after and extremely valuable. You will be my own personal prospector. Everything, and I mean everything you procure shall be given over to me. In return I shall furnish you with transport, tools, anything you could possibly need to locate and extract this material, alongside food, clothing, and medical supplies. You shall receive no monetary recompense for obvious reasons. And you can live out your miserable chosen existence out of the way and out of trouble while working to pay me back for everything you ever took. Alternatively you can stay here to lose your mind and lose your life within these walls. It is entirely up to you."

"I agree," Ezra whispered as soon as his Uncle ceased speaking. "I agree to your terms and I shall sign your papers."

"I thought you might," his Uncle crowed, thrusting the documents into the hands of one of the mechanoid guards and striding away, triumphant.

Ezra closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, once more grounding himself in the heady mix of the sea breeze and her scent as she clutched him a little tighter against her and murmured into his ear, her voice broken by sorrow for him. "You did not deserve this. Any of it. You are a good man, Ezra and you did not deserve what happened to you."

"I feel I did, little bird," he countered. "I stole from people - their lives, their hope through my falsehoods. Perhaps my penance was just."

She shook her head. "I cannot bring myself to agree. The man that you are now...I cannot imagine you ever deserving such a thing."

"I had to go through this to become the man I am now," he reminded her gently. "And I would not change a moment because all led me here. To you. And Kevva knows I could endure the same a thousand times over if I knew you were awaiting me at the end of my ordeal."

She kissed the shell of his ear and nuzzled her face softly against his. "I will always be here, my love," she replied, her voice deep and truthful. They sat in contented peace for a few moments, each feeling the heat of the other's love emanating from their very souls. Then she spoke again. "I have to ask - and its something I've meant to ask before and never found a good time to - but what does that mean?" She pointed at the screen to where he had mentioned Kevva's name. "It comes up as "translation unavailable" every time you say it."

"It is the name of a deity where I am from...the deity really, though some believe in multiple gods and others believe in none. I myself lean toward the latter, though since our encounter I have begun to question whether in fact divine intervention played a part in what appears to be our fated meeting. Kevva." He over pronounced the last word so that she could replicate it.

"Keh-vah,"she enunciated back to him, the vowels sounding harsh and clipped in her accent.

He smiled at the sound of his language from her tongue and kissed over the back of her hand before continuing. "I spoke to Kevva many times over the years that followed. Sometimes to pray, more often to curse. My Uncle was as good as his word, which surprised me in all honesty. I had expected to be deposited on a faraway moon and left to die and yet still found that idea preferable to the one of perishing within the Glasshouse. I suppose I should not have underestimated the depths of his greed. I was duly provided with the basic materials to perform my prospecting and mining and to survive whilst doing so, but little else. I sent back everything I was able to extract as instructed and found a measure of peace that I had been missing for many years. Life was hard, yes - backbreaking work and strict rations and working in all weathers. But I was alone and I found myself beginning to take joy in the peace that brought. When my outward functions were repetitive and predictable it allowed me to think my own thoughts without intrusion, begin to build myself back up from the mess of my previous life. Aurelac was only found within forested terrain and the greenery too helped to soothe my soul, bring me back to myself. Or the new version of myself that I began to embrace, away from the trappings of my family and all the destruction both they and I had wrought. It couldn't last. Peace seldom does. Soon there was an influx, a great avalanche of prospectors all wishing to mine as I did. Intitally there was enough space that we did not encroach on each other's operations. But there is always someone who wants something for nothing, and very soon brigands discovered that they could just as easily kill and rob those who had actually laboured for the gems and achieve the same wealth with minimal effort. I suppose it was the circle of consequence coming back to me, after all I had done much the same to others in my younger days. My uncle began to send the occasional hired "companion" - they were there to protect his aurelac of course, and once more I found myself a killer, this time to protect that which was most precious to me - my freedom."

He shifted, turning so that he was facing her instead and clasped her hand again as he began to resume his story, slipping his fingers between hers and squeezing gently. "It was then that I met Cee. An accidental encounter, partially similar to our own now that I think on it. At this time I was travelling with a hulking brute who referred to himself only as "Number Two". While he was extremely blessed with strength and stamina, he was less gifted with common sense and he managed to fry the compressors in our ship-to-moon transport as we landed on a place known only as The Green. We began to think we were stuck until we came across another prospector - Damon. I could tell he was contemptible as soon as I laid eyes on him and he proved my gut correct when he tried to rob us of our entire harvest with his daughter - Cee - as his backup. Number Two shot him, and Damon shot right back. Only Damon's aim was truer and Number Two died immediately. I put Cee's father out of his misery - he would have gone slowly and painfully had I not intervened. The girl didn't see it that way, unsurprisingly. Perhaps I should have been somewhat kinder and performed the mercy when she was not present, but I allowed my anger at Damon's actions to get the better of me. When I tried to commandeer Cee's own lander to get us off the moon she shot me in my arm. Right in the meat of the bicep. I attempted to treat it, but the air on that particular moon was so noxious that the flesh surrounding the wound began to die almost immediately. She took me prisoner and during that time we got to know each other she and I. It had been a long time since I had met someone so self possessed and smart. She needed someone to protect her from the darker face of the seven systems - something her father seemed to have been incredibly bad at - and I needed someone to show me that it wasn't pointless to strive for dreams and goodness and to be better, though I didn't realise that at first. She helped me to be less cynical, allowed me to be softer without it feeling like failing."

She reached for his face and stroked the small smile that had appeared there, mirroring it with one of her own. "Its wonderful when that happens isn't it?" she asked meaningfully and his face split into a true grin as he took her implication.

"It is decidedly so, my love. If I have given you that gift as it was given to me, I can ask for no greater joy." He kissed her fingers softly before continuing. "As I believe I mentioned before, she saved my life when she took my arm. We escaped that Kevva-forsaken place and went out into the seven systems. She was already well on her way to knowing how to prospect and mine, but I taught her all I knew and she soon surpassed the skill I had possessed with both arms. But the aurelac was drying up, supply was becoming more and more limited, and I was no longer at peace with the notion of dying in the course of fulfilling the contract with my Uncle. I had Cee to think of now, I had her to take care of. There had never been any caveats within the contract I had signed with regards to this particular turn of events. Either my Uncle had assumed the aurelac would not run out, or he had thought I would die before it did. Regardless, I had no choice but to break the terms I had agreed upon. Cee and I roamed, we travelled far and wide attempting to keep our heads above water. But eventually, inevitably, the darkness caught up with us. We ended up on a planet called Padorix - a dustbowl that was rumoured to contain precious ore in abundance. We were just desperate enough to chase these whispers, and of course it came to nothing. We had worked all night and as she fell asleep by the light of the dawn's first rays I suddenly realised what I had to do. It all became so...simple. The next time we made planetfall somewhere with a big enough settlement, I contacted my parents, and that evening I visited a pharmacy and reverted to my old ways. I drugged Cee and then I went home for the last time. On this occasion I was apprehended and arrested the instant the ship landed - my uncle's paid thugs physically held me as Cee was turned over to my parents at their insistence. I had told them that she was my daughter you see. And they so desperately wanted to believe it was true that they demanded they take custody of her. It was the only time I had ever seen my mother stand up to her brother and the only time I ever saw my father take her side over his. I was so proud of them in that moment. And after that my last incarceration, my trial and conviction, my encasement in that pod that was supposed to be my eternal resting place. And then you my love. All I could ever want or need. My life eternal."

She shifted forward so she was on her knees beside his seated form. "And then you, my love," she echoed. "You may not need to hear this, but I need to say it nonetheless. Nothing you have told me has changed my feelings about you in a negative way .In fact, I have so much admiration for your tenacity and your ability to put yourself back together after you were broken in so many ways. I love you. I love the man you are. And all of those things your Uncle said - you know they aren't true, don't you? You are strong, and brave, and intelligent and wonderful. And you overcame everything. Every heartbreak. Every cruelty. And I'm so glad that you did and that you found me. In the whole universe, you found me."

"I feel that you found me, little bird," he replied softly. "Somehow you called to me across the stars and I was drawn to you. You welcomed me into your home, your life, with open arms and I am so grateful that you did. Thank Kevva above that you are so generous, so kind, and so wild of spirit that you took a chance on a half drowned, half starved man."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against his. "How could I do anything else?" she murmured. "When you inspire such feelings in me that I thought were dead and gone?" Her kiss deepened, he could feel how desperately she wanted to know him, to share him, and that same desperation clawed at his heart as he slipped his hand under her clothes to brush against the soft, bare skin of her back. She immediately straddled him, pressing her body against his strongly, almost aggressively with how firmly she was moving. Her mouth never left his, her kisses bruising in their intensity and he felt himself begin to harden as he felt the heat of her over him even through their clothes.

She drew back, her mouth swollen with kisses she had given and those yet to come and her eyes were more fiery and more etherally beautiful than a supernova as she suddenly stood, pulling him up with her by the hand as she led him from the room.

#poor bby Ezra #my heart #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x ofc #ezra x ofc #starman ezra

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arkhamarchitecture · 7 years ago

Text

the ioun post you knew was coming

Let’s start with the most important point, one I do not want any of you to forget: I’m not mad at Scanlan for getting Ioun’s blessing. I’m disappointed that Percy didn’t. There is a huge difference between these two things and I will lay them out as such. If you came at me for this post arguing that I hate Scanlan or I’m insulting him, I’m just going to ignore you because you clearly didn’t read anything I’m about to write.

For starters, let’s break down the two characters here in terms of things Ioun values, which is knowledge and the spread of knowledge, and the big thing she doesn’t like, which is secret keeping.

Percy adores learning in all its forms, is happy to teach others some things, but not things he deems dangerous. He believes very strongly in keeping records of histories and people, and he absolutely endeavors to preserve knowledge where he considers the knowledge worth preserving. And also, for all that people call him an arrogant elitist (and to a certain extent, he is), Percy is shockingly willing to alter his entire worldview based on new information and explanations people give him. Percy went from thinking magic was frightening and incomprehensible garbage to incorporating more of it into his arsenal just because Taryon spent a lot of time over the year break talking it over with him.

Does he keep secrets? Yes, absolutely. Percy is an intensely private person and doesn’t like sharing details about himself. He also believes that dangerous information should be suppressed or, if possible, destroyed. Recall that until Ripley made that impossible, Percy had hoped that guns would die with him and their secrets lost. Now, because he cannot change the fact that Ripley spread knowledge of guns all over the damn place, he has been forced to surrender that goal but is still limiting their spread as much as he can. The riflemen of Whitestone are not using new guns Percy has made for them but rather the confiscated guns from Ripley and even then, they are being used primarily because Percy would be an idiot for surrendering a major advantage in the defense of his city just because he wishes the guns weren’t there.

Meanwhile, Scanlan enjoys learning new things but rarely seems to seek out new information unless it’s to his benefit. Which is to say, he’ll read a book about demons if they’re going to go fight a demon but he wouldn’t sit down and read it just for something to do on a rainy day (see for example the fact that this episode he needed to sing about the Calamity and pointed out that he didn’t know anything about it). He tells stories but most of them are fiction. And there’s nothing wrong with fiction, obviously, we all write it, but I wouldn’t call that spreading knowledge. I would call that spreading art and that is an incredibly worthwhile endeavor that I applaud Scanlan for, but it’s not Ioun’s bag.

And as for secrets? Boy howdy does Scanlan keep them. Let’s not forget that he separated from the group in the first place because he never told them anything about himself and blamed them for not prying about something he was tight lipped about. And let’s also not forget that before he left, Scanlan was starting to concern a number of people with his use of Modify Memory, a spell which actively destroys knowledge in small doses - he was using it to keep secrets for his own benefit.

My point here is not that Scanlan is a bad person, because he’s not. My point is that if the sin Ioun passed Percy over for is secret-keeping, then Scanlan is equally guilty and no more worthy than Percy is. In fact, I’m not even saying Scanlan is a bad fit for Ioun. He’s a perfectly reasonable fit for Ioun. He’s just not the best fit.

Because the thing about this entire scenario is that it feels less like Ioun would actually prefer Scanlan over Percy and more than there’s no other major god who has been important in CR that fits Scanlan, while Percy can fall back on Erathis (a deity that I will remind you all has a major temple in his hometown but which he has never demonstrated the slightest interest in, compared to Ioun whom he was fascinated by as soon as he found out about her).

Sehanine (the trickster goddess) and Avandra (the luck goddess) soooorta fit Scanlan in a very odd and slightly forced way? It’d be weird to watch and all of us would kind of squint over having to see Scanlan champion some goddess we’ve all been barely aware of. So I can see why Matt did this. The other options are bad story beats.

Basically: Ioun was the best choice for Scanlan, but Scanlan wasn’t the best choice for Ioun.

I don’t usually talk about immersion in the context of anything but a video game but in the case, it is actually an issue of immersion. Scanlan was picked as the Champion more due to gameplay reasons than story reasons and it’s impossible for me to forget that or put it aside. And Matt’s not wrong to do it - sometimes that’s shit you gotta do as a DM. Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad. I’m just explaining my displeasure with the story beat.

Also, while I know Percy isn’t angry about it (and good for him because that dude does not need to be even angrier than he is) and I’m sure a lot of that rests on the fact that he probably wasn’t super comfortable being champion of a god anyway, and if/when VM eventually goes after Erathis and Melora, it’s going to be real fuckin’ weird if Percy suddenly takes up with Erathis (again, a goddess he is well aware of but has never cared about) after having now been snubbed by two separate goddesses that he was trying to put his faith in.

(another essay entirely is the tremendous hypocrisy of a goddess who despises secrets planting knowledge in someone’s head that will disappear as soon as it is no longer required because it must be kept secret, but ain’t nobody got time for that)

#critical role #percival de rolo #scanlan shorthalt #my crit role stuff #fuckin ioun discourse #this is stupid long

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puchittothelimit · 7 years ago

Note

I would absolutely love to read anything with some Morrigan or Belloma!!

Author’s Notes

Fandom:SMITE

Fan-fiction:Shape-Shifting Scoundrel

Summary:One of The Morrigan’s favourite pastimesis impersonating other Gods and wreaking havoc on their lives and the peoplearound them. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Characters:The Morrigan (as a variety of Gods), Ah Puch, Anhur, Anubis, Arachne, Athena, Bakasura, Bastet, Cu Chulainn, Erlang Shen, Izanami, Loki, Medusa, Mercury, Ra, Raijin and Susano

Warnings:None

Credit for this entire concept goes to @thana-roast. I had no idea whatto do with The Morrigan and they gave me this amazing idea where she transformsinto other gods and starts screwing with them and the people around them

The Morrigan heaved her travel bag over her shoulder, allready to go. There was just one more thing to do: actually decide where she wasgoing. She grabbed her phone, and opened up the Random God Wheel. As it spun,Cu Chulainn passed her by, knowing full well what she was preparing for. Shedid this most days and every day, he would condemn it. He couldn’t understandhow she could transform into other Gods and willingly put them in troublingsituations, some with quite severe consequences. He despised the fact that shegot pleasure from these activities, something he couldn’t fathom.

“You cannae’ just go ‘round committing fraud Morri’,” Hesaid sternly, in passing.

The Morrigan smirked. She wouldnever let criticism of her go unpunished and dealt with haters in a relativelyunique way. A sharp breath in, taking in Cu Chulainn’s man-scent, musky andvile in her opinion, and she took his form, morphing smoothly. As the formsolidified, she bent over, hands on her hips, and mimicked him, her voicehighly exaggerated, “YOu cAnNae’ jUst gO ‘rOuNd cOmMiTtIng fRaUd MOrRi’.”

The more she shaved, the harder it became for her to bringherself to a stop. The longer she carried on, the worse she looked which was whatshe wanted. Suddenly, she caught herself with the blade, prompting her to putit down sourly. She did a couple of final checks: though she knew the answer,she checked that Anhur – the real Anhur – was fast asleep (lions are lazy); shemade sure that she looked as horrific as possible as a lion with their manebadly shaved could get.

Sucking herself up and sucking herself in (while Anhur was alot bigger than she was and it made her feel rather strange), she exited theroom and headed to wherever she could hear voices which proved to be a bit of achore, given the complexities of Egyptian structures.

Finally, she spotted the rest of Anhur’s family and quickly backedup behind a pillar. How should I enter, she pondered: Care-free and confident,pretending not to be aware of his new look, or straight-up announcing that he’dmade a change?

Bastet decided for her.

The Morrigan jumped at a scream. She had no time to recoverbefore one of her paws were grabbed by who she now realised was Bastet. She wasa sneaky little thing, she snarled.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Bastet rattled off quickly, “Lookwhat Anhur did!” She cried as she entered the living space where her pantheonwere sat. They all stood when theynoticed one of their own in distress, though they couldn’t quite decide who itwas.

The Morrigan had gone for a neutral expression, as a lack ofa reaction from ‘Anhur’ might spark a more intense one from his family.

Anubis just held his snout, trying to stifle his laughter,though a few snickers came through. It wasn’t out of humour but shock. Hedidn’t know what to say, so he just laughed. He glanced at Ra, expecting tohave the Sun God glaring at him but he was fixated on Anhur. His expressionforced Anubis to silence himself; Ra looked as if he was seeing Anhur injuredor worse. He approached him slowly, and The Morrigan had to attempt to silenceherself; it was such an over the top reaction for what was essentially a badhair-cut but she thrived off of this.

“Anhur, son, what did you do?” Ra took her by the shoulders,and Bastet appeared at his side. They both looked into her eyes, “Your mane wasyour pride and joy! Why get rid of it? Don’t tell me it’s not a phase becauseit most certainly is! Oh my goodness, what have you done? You’re going toregret it in the future. It’ll never grow to the same length again!” He begantearing up. This was gold, The Morrigan thought.

“Anhur, why did you do it? Is there something wrong?” Bastet asked softly as she comforted Ra.

Now The Morrigan could get creative with her excuses. Alas,she was interrupted once again, this time by a smooth, deep voice, making allof her impromptu hairs stand on end.

“I heard a scream! Is everyone alright?” Anhur called.

Bastet continued to stare at The Morrigan, still in disguiseeven though she knew it was wearing thin, “Your mouth didn’t move when youspoke,” She stammered.

The Morrigan shrugged her shoulders. She had to admit thatthis scenario would probably play out rather predictably with a game of ‘No,I’m the real…’ and she’d been there and done that. There was no more excitementto be had here. A snap of her fingers (albeit, rather muffled because ofAnhur’s hairy paws), and a puff of smoke and feathers, and she was gone,darting away in her raven form.

The real Anhur came into viewwhen the cloud dispelled with his mane intact, though not for much longer ashis family lunged for him and began running their fingers through it, just tomake sure it was still there.

When Mercury was at his top speed, everything became an abstractblur. There was a thrill to be had with not quite knowing where you were orwhat was ahead, even though, secretly, he knew exactly where he was. At thisspeed, it seemed as if he was the only living thing on the planet, everythingelse grinding to a halt to make way for him as he did his rounds. You canimagine he was quite shocked when, out of the corner of his eye, he could actuallymake out a clear shape against the blur, that of a man… Of him.

He didn’t want to stop but a panic was making him slow down asit engulfed his heart, making it sting. He powered through. He didn’t want togive ‘himself’ an opportunity to catch up with him further, not knowing their…his intentions. He was still verystartled. There was so much he wanted to understand about what was happeningbut he’d rather find out in his own time, when he wasn’t preoccupied withrunning faster than every being in existence, apart from the entity running alongsidehim.

He looked down at his feet, as if it would beckon them tomove faster. He lifted his head back up and found his double running directly besidehim. He yelped as he nearly tripped over. It was only for a moment that he hadtaken his eyes off…himself and they were already level. He’d never felt thiskind of terror. The other Mercury was looking him straight in the eye, a smirkthat could’ve meant any number of things causing his cheeks to bundle up into deviouswrinkles.

Mercury finally noticed the one thing him and his doubledidn’t have in common; their eye colours were different.

He finally found some strength in the back of his throat totry and make a sound, “Who…Who are you?” He stammered, very unlike him.

The Morrigan couldn’t help but smile harder. This couldn’thave gone any more perfect. She had the perfect set up for in order to say nextfew words, “I am you but faster.”

Mercury was immediately halted inhis tracks, watching his double speed off into the blue horizon which, afterfeeling his boots becoming rather wet, realised was the ocean. He was stillwondering what on earth just happened as he sank into the Atlantic.

Now, this was something to get excited about, The Morriganthought.

Of course, Bakasura couldn’t just waltz in to a fast foodrestaurant, out in the open, on any normal day. He’d attract more than juststares. But The Morrigan had already carefully considered the date and thelocation; This weekend, Manchester Comic-Con was taking place so there would bepeople in cosplay both in around the venue, including herself, ‘cosplaying’ asSMITE’s very own Bakasura. But she was not here for any contest. She had hereyes set on a very different prize: a feast worthy of a queen.

Though it was true, she wasn’t here for the attention. Infact, it was the last thing she wanted. That said, she didn’t reject anyoneasking for a photo with her. She figured Bakasura would get quite the shockwhen he saw himself at Comic Con.

Eventually, she made it to the food court. The whole areawas her oyster, providing nobody at the counters checked the name on her card(it being her own).

As she approached the first counter, selling Chinesecuisine, a tangy scent filled her nostrils, only making her more excited forwhat was to come. She kept her head down, hopeful that it would deter anyoneelse from disturbing her in her quest. When she lifted her head up, her eyesmet those of the server at the till, wide and brimming with excitement, “Thatis one amazing cosplay, wow!” He shook his head in disbelief, his mouth hangingopen.

This was the bit she hated: talking. She always ended upover-thinking it, and could never get used to the fact that she didn’t have toalter her to sound like who she was portraying. Their voice was exactly thesame. “Thanks!” She spoke quickly.

“Honestly, it’s amazing! So, what can I get for you? Iimagine you’re pretty hungry, huh Baka’?”

The Morrigan made sure her laugh sounded as fake aspossible. She wanted him to know how basic his joke was. “I’ll take one ofeverything, please.” The server laughed, a far more genuine display than TheMorrigan’s. She frowned, not intending to make a joke. She was deadly serious,“I’m not joking,” She said plainly.

“Oh! Um…So, you’re ordering for the group?” The server triedto make small talk as he began pushing various buttons on the tablet in frontof him.

“No,” The Morrigan smirked, keeping a close eye on hisreaction. He paused for a moment.

“You want these in like, snack-sized portions?”

“No, full-sized items please,” She widened her grin, “Oh,and a diet coke please!”

“Uh…sure!” She could’ve swornthe server was beginning to sweat. His turmoil was of little concern to her.Nothing could ruin this moment. Nothing had ever, and would never, come closeto this. She was about to eat some amazing food and, the best part, she wouldnever feel full; she could just carry on, and have even more amazing food! Itwas every girl’s dream. She eyed up the other food stands, yet to feel thewrath of her taste buds, and licked her lips.

She took absolute care whilst sliding the balcony door shut,though there was little chance Susano would be stirred. She grimaced at hisdisgusting face, contorted as it was pressed against his pillow. He snoredsuddenly, and The Morrigan quickened her pace for she couldn’t stand the sound,no matter who it came from. She openedhis bedroom door with haste, and quickly exited, closing it behind her. Shegritted her teeth when she heard the sound again, despite being out of theroom. Damn, these thin walls, she frowned whilst she morphed.

The feeling of stubble on her face was something that shewas grateful not to experience on a daily basis. Her face stung as she rotatedher jaw, trying to dispel the feeling. She wondered why some men did not shave.

She heard more noise, and found herself in a brightly litroom.

“Susan’, are you ill? You’re actually up before noon!” Sheheard a booming voice say. Raijin tapped her on the shoulder, just as forceful.

She coughed, “No, just wanted to wake up early, youknow? Have some breakfast,” Taking adeep breath in, she hesitated for once; though she was used to disrespectingpeople on other’s behalves, she wondered if this was taking it too far. Shebarely knew Izanami, but knew of her ferocious tendencies. She gave her aglance and her form’s mother gave her a sweet smile. She went in for the kill,“Hey Mom, can I get some pancakes?” She sat herself down next the table.

There was a silence, not dangerous, but there was an elementof confusion. The Morrigan caught Raijin stretching his palms to question heractions.

“Susano, I shouldn’t have to tell you what the magic word isnow, should I?” Her tone was gentle, but her lack of eye contact as she placeda juice carton on the table was a little unsettling.

“Mom, I’m not five,” The Morrigan blurted out, overcomingher anxiety by acting straight off the bat.

Izanami’s head immediately turned to face her son, hangingat a grotesque angle. The Morrigan had to admit, she was rightfullyintimidated. “Then you should know your manners by now.” Keeping his head down,Raijin carefully took the carton and poured himself a drink. As he sighed, helet out a quiet whistle, his only comment on Susano’s abnormal behaviour.

Izanami gracefully slipped away back to the stove where shewas preparing breakfast. The Morrigan didn’t dare look at her again, for shewould undoubtedly crumble, and she had done know where near enough damage yet.

Raijin offered her the carton, and she took it, then immediatelyrealised what he was snickering about. There was no more juice left in it.There was something so appropriate she could do in this moment. It took everyounce of her being, knowing she would not have to experience the consequences,to do what she did next, “This bitch empty! Yeet!” She proclaimed as she swung her arm with as much forceas she could muster, throwing the carton straight into the back of Izanami’shead.

At the sound of a loud ‘pop’ as the carton hit Izanami,Raijin stumbled out of the kitchen.

At the sound of an ungodlyscreech, Susano woke up with a jolt.

“Oh!” The Morrigan had made a break through. She had beenfiddling with the mask for what felt like an eternity, trying to get it off.Finally, something had clicked; She had managed to shift one of the spikes onthe appendage at the back of her head. She slid her hand down and pushed allthree of the spikes down until they stopped. With another click, the maskbecame lose around her face. This was it, she thought. She would finally get tosee what Ah Puch looked like, who he really was (something she may be able touse to her advantage later on).

She patted her face, trying to find another weak point. Shepinched the chin of the mask and it shifted slightly. Holding her breath, sheclosed her eyes and pulled it off of her head, then tossed it to one side.

She opened her eyes but, for a second, thought she hadn’t.

Everything looked milky, for lack of a better word. Shecould see only faint outlines of objects. The lack of focus even began toirritate her as she tried to adjust. She looked to where she knew there was amirror, there so she could see herself (or, rather, himself).

Nothing but white.

“Are you kidding me? He’s blind?” She groaned, as disgusting raspy noise escaping through hermany, many teeth.

She then fumbled around for her phone so she could take apicture of herself to look at later, but to no avail.

She then tried to recover the mask so she could see again,to no avail.

She gave it up as a bad job andmoved onto her next venture. In truth, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted toknow who she had just transformed into.

Medusa wrapped her tail around the leg of the chair,squeezing that instead of the phone in her hand as she struggled to comprehendwhat she was seeing.

“Arachne, look away for a moment,” She said.

Arachne swallowed her cocktail and turned to her friend, “Ibeg your pardon?”

“Look away! I need to look at this with my own eyes,” Medusaprepared to slip her mask off.

The weaver shuffled round, away from Medusa. She eyed theother deities in Mama Nyx’s, “Don’t you want to tell them to look away too?”

“I don’t really care about them,” Medusa mutteredabsentmindedly as she perused the messages on her phone. She wondered whethershe was dreaming, as it tended to bring out the worst in her. But this wasn’ther; this was someone else’s depravity.

“Can I turn around yet?” Arachne called.

Medusa gasped and put her mask back down, “Sure. I don’tthink you’re ready for this though.”

“Ready for what?” Medusa flipped her phone round, and awhite, bright light offended Arachne’s eyesight, “Ew,” She said instinctively.She squinted as she focused on the screen, the lines and the curves becomingall too clear.

She went to speak but found no words. She didn’t know whatto ask first: Who or why? To be fair, she knew why someone might think thatMedusa would want pictures like these, but she couldn’t help but feel offendedon her behalf that someone would even comprehend that Medusa was capable ofsuch evil. Herself, yes, absolutely, but not Medusa.

“Yep,” Medusa nodded, looking at her phone once more.

“Who…Who sent you those?” Arachne said quickly, beforetaking a deep breath. This wasn’t a situation she’d ever thought she’d be in,harbouring crude photos that she wasn’t necessarily meant to see (though theyweren’t on her phone at least).

“The Morrigan,” Medusa paused, noting her friend’sconfusion, “Dear, it’s The Morrigan as Athena. There’s no way she’d take nudesof herself, let alone, put them online. She’s nowhere near that stupid.”

“The Morrigan sent you nudes of herself as Athena? That’ssomething you couldn’t write,” Arachne grabbed her cocktail and glanced around,casually checking for anyone listening to their conversation, “What did shesay?”

“Just to do what we wanted with them, and she added a kiss.She’s sent them to you as well,” Arachne spluttered, darting for her phone.Medusa rolled her eyes when she saw her smirk at the pictures.

“I must admit, I’m a little offended that she thinks that wewould stoop so low as to post revenge porn.”

But you would, Medusa wanted to say but it wasn’t worth it. “I’msurprised she stooped that low, if I’m honest.” She scrolled through thepictures once more, not quite sure what to do with them, whether to delete themor to send them to Kali in case she didn’t receive them (as she too loved agood bitch about Athena). There was always the risk that it would escalate,Kali also being a goddess who thrived on creating chaos.

“I’m surprised she didn’t gagthroughout the whole affair. I’ve never wanted a female less in my life. Noangle of Athena looks pretty,” Arachne locked her phone with scorn and went backto her cocktail, but kept an eye on Medusa to see what she was doing with thisnew-found material.

“For the last time, I know it’s you Morri’,” Loki grew tiredof her persistence. He was fully aware that the being standing in front of himwas The Morrigan. Also a being that could shapeshift, he knew where the flawsin her disguise were. One being her eyes, still her own, and the other beingthe fact that she could not stop laughing.

“I won’t have you changing the subject decoy!” Shespluttered, her voice quivering under the pressure not to laugh, “I am the realLoki. I am your commander and you will disapparate! I am through with you!” Sheheld firm, but only for a moment. She couldn’t be serious. Even Loki wasbeginning to smile which made her crumble. She had to put her hand on hisshoulder while she regained her composure.

“How about you disapparate?” Without even looking, hepinched her funny bone, a sure fire way to reveal a shape-shifter’s trued form.She let out an enormous yelp, a horrifying sound that undulated in tone as shetransitioned from one form to another. The sound she made tickled her evenmore. Loki had to hold her to stop her from collapsing. He rolled her eyes ather over exaggerated display, though he knew shape-shifting made you a littleloopy (too many changes all going on at once).

“Oh, you could’ve played along,” She tapped him playfully tolet him know she was alright, though she was still giggling as she straightenedup. “Do you not ever just shape-shift for fun?”

“Not any-.”

“You should do. I have had the best day. Like, so much hasgone on but the best thing – oh my god, you’re going to love this – was Itransformed into Erlang Shen, and untrained his dog and told him it was okay to shit on the carpet!” She erupted into afresh set of giggles. Loki tilted his head, somewhat impressed.

“That sounds horrifying.”

She suddenly stopped, looking him dead in the eye, “Do youreally think so? Because I am such a big fan of your work and it means so muchto hear you say that.” That was something Loki hadn’t received in a very longtime: a genuine compliment. Before he had a chance to thank her, she interruptedhim again, “Do you want to…maybe…come out with me sometime and we can go screwup some other god’s lives?” She gave him a huge smile. He almost felt bad thathe was about to deny her but alas it was for the greater good.

“Like I said before, I don’t do that anymore.”

“But why?” She looked upon him with sad eyes, “I thought youloved causing mischief?”

“Oh, of course I do! Don’t youknow me at all?” He put his hand on his chest and another on her shoulder toreassure her that he wasn’t criticising her, “I love causing trouble as much asyou do but the last I shape-shifted, Igot in trouble; I got pregnant, and when you have children of your own, you’llunderstand. So no, never again.”

Author’s Notes

This was so much funto write and there were so many more concepts involving other gods that didn’t make the final cut. Thank you @thana-roast for the amazing initial concept! I hope youlove what became of it. Enjoy!

Please give this story a like and reblog if you enjoyed it! It really helps me out! Thanks for reading!

66 notes · View notes

calebyap · 7 years ago

Text

Gospel Reflections on Stranger Things (Season 2)

Full disclosure: I’m not actually done with Season 2 of the new Netflix sensation -- but what I have seen so far has gripped my attention and I want to just take MC and stay home and watch the show. But I’m not going to do that, so I just have to trudge slowly through the 5th episode on Thursday -- and maybe finish the season off.

But I thought it was important to think about what some lessons we can learn from Stranger Things might be, even as we seek to watch the show to the glory of God. Hopefully these simple points will help spark your thoughts and turn your enjoyment of culture into worship of God. So here we go:

A world beyond this world, or a parallel universe, will always draw us out of this world into the mystery and curiousity of Life Beyond. This is the magic of stories that whisper to us that anything is possible and draw us in. It is this same impulse that helps us believe and understand tha t a spiritual realm exists, as in the beginning of Job, or in the case of Elisha’s servant in 2 Kings 6, the legions of angels that he could not see, or the transfiguration of Jesus in His true glorified state. A world beyond our own beckons us out out of this one.

Extraordinary things can happen in ordinary-looking places and small towns in the middle of every day life that turns things upside down. Maybe that’s why the nostalgic 1980s feel of the show is so fascinating to us, because we all remember what it was like in an era that prized adventure magic, science fiction, time travel, and the imagination of horror, and we all wanted to escape our world back then before we grew up. The Scriptures tell this kind of story too, transforming fishermen into apostles, orphants into heirs of the King, and from the ends of the earth, those who carry the greatest news and the most wonderful mission of all time. All of us want to be part of something fantastical and great.

As children we all conspire to escape the mundane and routine through imagination into the world of adventure and mystery. The purity, imagination and heroism of children make the them the best explorers and heroes. In this we must heed the words of Jesus -- let the little children come to me, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. Like Tolkien who celebrated hobbits and the littlest of things in Middle Earth, and Lewis, who also prized little children as his heroes, we must learn not despise the day of small things (Zech 4:10).

When you’re trapped, in need of rescue and you can’t save yourself, we always need someone who loves us enough to go searching for us, and finding us, will do whatever it takes to set us free. We need Saviors to rescue us. As we watch the series, perhaps we should consider, who gets to play the Jesus role in the show -- are the portraits of salvation diffused into various characters, and how does the grace of salvation show itself here?

When you’re on a quest, what you really need is a community whom you can count on, has your back, keeps your secrets and is loyal to a fault. In the phrase of the party, “friends don’t lie” we feel the intense loyalty of friends who commit to one another, keep promises, and never betray their companions. Amen. There are indeed, so many things we can learn from the party about how to be the church and how to stay on mission. Truly, we need community on our quest.

#stranger things #theology #film #television

0 notes

puchittothelimit · 8 years ago

Note

Can I request a Smite fan fic about Amaterasu and Izanami getting drunk in a bar one night and the two of them end up arguing and cursing at each other, and then when Susanoo and Raijin arrive to take them home, the two of the, are holding each other and crying at the bar counter?

Author’s Notes

Fandom:SMITE

Fan-fiction: The Last Straw

Summary: Izanami takes Amaterasu to one of her favourite bars to celebrate her birthday. After a little something to drink, both begin to feel a little confrontational. Amaterasu doesn’t appreciate her mother’s concern for her love-life but Izanami simply doesn’t want her daughter to be left with a broken heart.

Characters:Amaterasu, Izanami, Nox, Raijin & Susano

Warnings:Strong Language

Humanity, now 7 billion strong, seemed to occupy everycorner of the globe. Where the Gods were once were able to live away frommortal gaze had been overrun. But there were parts of the world that managed toremain untouched by man, until they found a way to bend reality, of course. TheGods needn’t be concerned about that for now. Mama Nyx’s Bar remained a safehaven, tucked away behind a tiny break in the fabric of the timeline. Only theimmortals knew where the crack was and should any decide to spill its location,Nox would simply darken the opening and make it as uninviting as possible andcreate another entrance elsewhere. She would not allow it to be comprised. Itwas a place where the Gods could unwind and forget about their cosmic dutiesand not have to answer to humanity.

Here, we find Amaterasu and her mother, Izanami, who had broughther daughter here so they could celebrate her birthday together. Izanami hadbeen coming here for many years, mainly out of spite as once she’d escaped herPantheon’s Underworld, she hoped she might see her ex-husband. The pleasantcompany she’d found with other Gods from all over the world had humbled her andchanged her intentions. She came here with friends to have a good time, and shehoped Amaterasu would also enjoy her time here.

A being of light, Amaterasu found the dim setting of MamaNyx’s a little overwhelming when she first entered. Once her eyes had adjusted,she could admire the charming, warehouse décor of the cave. It was huge and nota single space was left untouched or without a purpose. There were spiralledmetal staircases that led to the upper levels of the complex with a small candleon every step. Candles were the main source of light in the cave, though Noxwas happy to settle for fairy lights near the wooden tables and chairs, andlarge, rustic lamps above the bar. Though she could not see any medium forthis, Amaterasu swore she could hear music. There were no musicians and shecould not see any kind of speaker system. She wondered if Nox was eveninterested in modern day human culture but, then again, what was currentlyplaying was a mash-up of two recently released songs.

Izanami went on ahead towards the bar while Amaterasuadmired her surroundings. She was surprised to see many familiar faces thoughshe was wondering why she was never told about this place sooner, unless theythought that she already knew about it. Then again, the Gods that were herecurrently weren’t ones she usually associated herself with. There was Thoth ina corner, curled up with a book and a small drink. In another section, therewas Chronos and Thanatos, both looking very content in each other’s company. Itmade Amaterasu long for Bellona’s company and she would’ve invited her but hermother insisted it be just them. Susano wasn’t even invited but he’d beenbarred from drinking for a very long time by Izanami after she heard about hisatrocious behaviour at the Mayan gathering. It wasn’t just Susano that hadcompromised his dignity however. Many Gods had disgraced themselves that nightand were still trying to make amends: Anubis had just returned to a table wherehe and Ah Muzen Cab were sitting with a bottle of honey whiskey (with only oneglass) to replace the one he’d drank that belonged to the God of Bees; Hadesand Persephone seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation and Amaterasucould only imagine what it was about, although she didn’t expect them to bediscussing Hades’ one-night stand with Ah Puch so out in the open, unless hebrought her here so she wouldn’t go completely insane knowing everyone would bewatching.

Amaterasu took a seat next to her mother at the bar. She washesitant while placing her arms on the countertop, expecting it to be stickybut the surface was spotless. She was guilty about expecting anything less thanperfection from Nox.

“What are you having to drink, Ama’?” Izanami folded her fanand placed it on the bar.

Amaterasu smiled at her mother. She was grateful that shecalled her by her nickname as she found people saying her full name tedious andtiring, much like the writer typing this story. “What would you recommendMother? You’ve clearly been here a lot,” She meant nothing by her comment. Itwas just an assumption.

“More times than I care to admit, but it’s a nice place,with nice drinks and nice company,” Izanami turned to face Thanatos and gavehim a wave and a wink. He remained unmoved, but Chronos found it very amusing.

Nox suddenly rose from behind the bar, “Flattery isn’t goingto pay for your drinks Iza’ and I don’t see a man willing to pay for youeither.”

“Actually, your son has offered to buy me and my daughter apitcher for her birthday,” Izanami proclaimed loudly. Everyone at the bar gaveher a small round of applause for her motherly teasing.

Nox was also amused and played along, “Did he now?” Shenodded at him from across the room. Thanatos shrugged his shoulders, not amusedby the fact that he now had two mothers teasing him, “Don’t worry dear, I’lllend you some money. And happy birthday Ama’,” She smiled at her sweetly.

“Thank you Nox,” Amaterasu also bowed her head to showthanks.

“I’m going to make you wonderful birthday cocktail. You’lllove it. It’s-,” Nox paused, raising a brow (though no one could see it). She’dnoticed that the song that was playing had suddenly been paused. A new songbegan to play and the genre told Nox exactly who the culprit was, “Nemesis?”She turned to see her daughter at the end of the bar, fiddling with a devicethat was presumably connected to whatever sound system that played the music.Nemesis ignored her mother. Nox spoke again with the same tone of voice,“Nemesis, put my playlist back on.”

“Mom, nobody wants to listen to whatever mash-ups you’vefound recently. I’m putting some decent music on,” She replied, just as plainlyas her mother.

“Excuse me, young lady,” Izanami backed-up a fellow parent,“I’ve been coming here for a long time and I’ve never had a problem with yourmother’s taste in music.”

“Thank you Iza’, Nox nodded at Izanami, then turned to faceNemesis again, who still didn’t give her mother any eye contact (though neitherof them could), “It’s funny you should say that Nemesis because I’m pretty sureno one wants to listen to your I’m-going-through-what-I-call-and-emo-phase-but-I’m-really-a-scene-kidmusic.”

Nemesis groaned as she hauled herself away from the device,swinging her head back as if she’d rolled her eyes far too enthusiastically.She sat herself next to Thanatos and the two began talking about how much theirmother’s light-hearted banter irritated them. Chronos seemed somewhatdisenchanted that he was now the third-wheel.

When Nox had finally finished preparing Amaterasu’scocktail, she poured it into an enchanted chalice; in between the base and thebowl of the glass was a small, lit candle which acted as the stem, the heatkeeping the bowl suspended. She placed the glass in front of Amaterasu. How shemarvelled at just the glass alone greatly satisfied Nox.

Amaterasu was eager to try her drink, its orange glowalready putting the fruity taste in her mouth. However, she had no idea how topick up the glass. The wax had already begun to melt and she didn’t want to getburned, “Um, Nox?” She inquired nervously, not wanting to embarrass herself orseem rude. Nox handed Izanami her drink. A quick glance at Amaterasu and sheknew exactly what the problem was. She conjured up a straw and placed it in herglass, “Thank you,” She giggled. She took the straw between her lips and took asip. The liquid felt thicker than it was due to the intensity of the flavours.It was not bitter like most other alcoholic mixes that Amaterasu had tried,which was why she hated them. It also left a pleasant, fruity after taste. Shetook a larger sip, “Mm, it’s dazzling.”

Izanami put down her own drink, “Oh, can I try some?”

“No,” Nox scolded her, “You can have one when it’s yourbirthday.”

“I wish it could be my birthdayeveryday if it meant I could drink this. What’s in it?” Amaterasu had drunkalmost half of the cocktail.

“That’s on a need-to-knowbasis but there’s nothing in there I wouldn’t drink.”

“So there’s a drop ofeverything in there?” Izanami teased.

“I have actually made adrink with a little of everything, all that I had in the bar anyway. That wasthe first alcoholic drink I gave to Thanatos and Nemesis when they were oldenough.” Nox excused herself to go and serve Osiris and Isis who’d arrived atthe bar.

Amaterasu drank the lastfew sips of her cocktail but still continued to pry the glass with her straw inthe hopes of finding a bit more beneath the ice cubes. Izanami cooed at her adorablebehaviour, finding it all the more endearing because she was her daughter. Sheoften found herself in awe at her beauty. She considered it a compliment toherself that she’d created such a beautiful being (ignoring her husband’s rolein the process). It saddened her when she remembered how long Amaterasu hadspent hidden from the world and although it wasn’t because of insecurity, Izanamiwas still concerned for her child. She knew she wouldn’t be able to ask herabout her overall emotions directly as Amaterasu despised talking about herselfand her well-being, not wanting to burden people if she wasn’t feeling herself.Her mother knew she’d have to intricately set up a conversation like that, “Youshouldn’t wish your life away Ama’.”

Amaterasu frowned at her mother’s dreary sentiment, findingit even more irritating that she’d seemingly pulled it out of thin air. She didnot let it show. She had the utmost respect for her mother and would never sassher, “What do you mean?”

“You know? What you said before: about how you wish it wasyour birthday every day. I know we’re immortal but still…”

“It was just a joke Mother,” She spoke with a soft,reassuring tone and was trying as hard as she could not to roll her eyes.

“No, I know that but I just think it’s in bad tastes. You’vebeen stuck in that cave for so long, you need to make up for lost time and notwaste any more.”

Amaterasu couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. This hadtaken a drastic turn. She respected her mother but she didn’t feel comfortabletalking about her time in solitude in a place like this, knowing how other Godsmay feel about her absence, concerned with how she abandoned her people inpursuit of self-pity. That is why she no longer spoke of her feelings toanyone, nor let them show; she just carried on as normal, “Mother, can we not talk about thisnow please?” She politely requested.

“I’m just saying,” Izanami carried on briskly as she knewthat would be her daughter’s response, “You need to start doing the things thatyou’ve always wanted to do. It’s important for me to know that you’re happy.”

“I am happyMother. I’m back to serving my people and providing for them. My brother and Iare talking again. You’re back with us. Our pantheon isn’t collapsing underpetty feuds which I am truly grateful for, “She spoke with a hushed tone,knowing there were both Greek and Egyptian Gods in the room who might takeoffence (even if the shoe fit), “And, I’ve found love,” As she spoke, thefeeling manifested itself inside her and warmed her heart, “There’s still moreI want to do, of course. I’d love to travel to more places and talk with otherpantheons…”

Izanami saw her chance and cut in as soon as there was aslight pause in Amaterasu’s spiel, “If there’s so much you still want to do, isnow really the right time for a relationship?”

Amaterasu’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to have tojustify her relationship with Bellona to her mother. She couldn’t withouttalking about how much they loved one another and she had a feeling thatwouldn’t satisfy her, not after how cold Izanagi had been towards her; Izanamino longer seemed to care for intense feelings of affection, finding it all aruse. In truth, without that, Amaterasu and Bellona’s relationship seemedhighly inappropriate. They were from different pantheons which wouldn’t comewithout disdain from somewhere. Also, because of that, they barely saw eachother, in person that is. They spoke very often however, taking it uponthemselves to sample mankind’s technology.

Of course, Izanami could simply not like her girlfriendbecause of her personality, and Amaterasu freely admitted that Bellona was ahard person to get along with. Her mother may not simply want her to be in arelationship at all, feeling she was too young. Amaterasu didn’t want to appearas if she was making assumptions about her mother’s true feelings, knowing thatwould anger her, “Is this about Bellona?” She asked, as naturally as she could.Her mother said nothing. Instead, she turned away from her daughter and tookanother sip of her drink, “Do you not like her?” Izanami just shrugged.Amaterasu couldn’t gather anything by her subtleties, becoming increasinglyfrustrated. She blurted out the first thing that came to her, though shecouldn’t quite understand why she thought of it, “Is it because she’s a girl?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Ama’, of course it isn’t,” Izanami wasquick to object, and took another sip of her drink.

She bit her lip. She knew that couldn’t have been it; hermother had never been openly homophobic. At least now she had something to followup on, “I’m being ridiculous? Who turned a jokey statement into a discussionabout whether or not I am truly happy with my life?” Her voice was onlyslightly raised but it still shook her, the way she’d spoken to her Mother.They both seemed shocked, as did nearby bar-goers.

Izanami slammed her glass down onto the bar, attracting evenmore attention, “Well, I’m sorry but I care about your well-being,” She saidsharply, glaring at her daughter, who was aware that other people werelistening in to their conversation.

“I know you do and I appreciate it, I really do,” She wastrying her best not to sound patronising with her hushed voice, also trying toensure that no one else could hear their conversation. She held her Mother’sshoulders and leaned towards her for good measure, “You needn’t worry is what Imean. Me and Bellona are perfectly happy together. We love each other. Eventhough we’re long-distance, we talk every day through messages,” She got herphone out as if she was going to show her mother the messages and prove herpoint. She offered her a glimpse before taking it back and then subtly textingher brother before her mother noticed, as she wasn’t fond of her children beingpermanently glued to their devices (even though that was an exaggeration). Shecontinued to speak to distract her mother from her twiddling thumbs, “We caneven call each other and see each other, so it doesn’t really feel thatlong-distance,” She blatantly lied; she did miss Bellona greatly and wishedthey saw each other in-person more often. Her mother didn’t pick up on this, “Iknow it might not seem like it’s the same thing, but it still works for us. Long-distancedoesn’t affect us greatly.” She locked her phone and looked up. The scowl onIzanami’s face told Amaterasu that she wasn’t quite pacified.

“I can tell you from experience that long-distancecomplicates things massively,” She took another sip of her drink, keeping hereyes locked onto her daughter’s.

Amaterasu scowled back. Her mother clearly hadn’t listenedwhen she’d told her that they were okay with long distance. She knew exactlywhat she was comparing their relationship to in trying to push her daughter toend hers. “Mom, you were dead. And besides, Dad came looking for you, remember?”Amaterasu hit back with the cold, dead truth, dissolving the relation betweenthe two.

“And then left as soon as he saw me,” Izanami still had herstance and persisted, “That’s what they do Ama’. When you’re not pretty enoughto fuck anymore, they move on.” She picked up her glass, only to find it lightwith emptiness. It pushed her over the edge. She dropped the glass as tearsbroke through.

After the way she’d acted, Amaterasu felt little remorse anddid nothing to comfort her mother, “Bellona isn’t like that,” She neverthought that she’d have to defend her girlfriend from the accusation that shehad such a shallow mind-set.

“How do you know? We may be immortal but you’ll stillchange. For fuck’s sake, you’ll still grow old Ama’! What will she think of youthen?” Izanami pried on her daughter’s naivety.

“Bellona isn’t like that,” Shespoke in short, sharp bursts. There was nothing more Amaterasu detested thanpeople not listening to her or acknowledging what she’d said. Her brother hadn’treplied to her message either which was also bringing her to breaking point.She only hoped she’d get a notification soon or he’d appear by the bar.

“Come on Susano, chop chop!” Raijin thundered, tapping hisfoot impatiently.

“Hang-on, I can’t tell if my Heartward Amulet is active ornot,” Susano adjusted the charm around his neck.

“I can help you test that out. I’ll fire an attack and if itdoesn’t hurt as much…”

Susano was suddenly perkier, “Hey. Hey! I said hang-on.”

Raijin sighed and lowered his drumsticks, “I’m pretty sureyou also said that you were really squishy and needed to work on your magicaldefence and I kindly agreed to help you.”

He ignored Raijin because he didn’t have a comeback. The gemat the centre of the amulet began to pulsate with a green glow. He wasconfident that it was working, “I’m never going to have a magic snake hit me inthe private’s ever again,” He cringed when he recalled how much pain he was inwhen Kukulkan had whipped him with his tail. He stopped his train of thoughtbefore he remembered everything else that happened that night, wanting to focuson the task at hand rather than how much he’d embarrassed himself. He turned toface Raijin, “Okay, hit me.” He spread his arms and beckoned him to attack bywiggling his fingers.

“Okay. I hope you’re not wearing anything wet,” Raijinprepared to attack.

Susano felt his side tingle. He leapt into the air,startled, assuming it was Raijin’s attack.

The God of Thunder held up his hands and dropped hisdrumsticks, “It wasn’t me.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Susano felt his hip and pulled his phonefrom a pocket in his shorts.

Raijin groaned, “You still had your phone on you, knowingyou were going to be dealing with electricity.”

“I guess I just forgot,” Susano just shrugged his shoulders.He unlocked his phone and began to read the message from his sister. Dismissinghis reckless behaviour was another one of Susano’s shortcomings which Raijinwas happy to help him correct.

“Unless you’d have had a tiny Heartward Amulet for yourmobile too, I don’t think it would’ve survived even my weakest attack!”

“And that would’ve been my fault, okay? I’d have admittedthat,” Susano held one hand up to signal Raijin to stop talking, and was typingwith the other.

Raijin ignored him, too angered by his disrespect, “You’retexting? You’re really texting when we’re supposed to be practising?”

“Yes, Raijin, I’m texting. I’m texting my sister because shewants us to come and get her.”

Raijin raised an eyebrow, “From Nyx’s? What’s the problem?”He ditched his drums and came closer to Susano, wanting to get a glimpse at themessage. He read them aloud, “Mom’s probing me, come and save me.”

“You know it’s bad because she didn’t use any punctuation,”Susano carried on texting his sister. He said his message as he typed, “On myway so sit tight.” He slipped his phone behind the sash around his waist, “Ama’snever felt so uncomfortable that she’s felt like she wanted to leave somewhere either.Mom must really be laying into her.”

“About the cave incident?”

“Damn, I hope not,” Susano groaned. Now that he and hissister were on good terms, he’d rather just forget about the whole affair, forAmaterasu’s sake, as she despised talking about her inner thoughts, and for hisown, in case their mother thought that he needed some kind of intervention. “Well,we don’t know until we get there. Big-Red, do the honours.” He held out hishands for Raijin’s to hold, that his teleportation ability might transfer tothe both of them and get them there as fast as possible.

Raijin frowned, “I’m pretty sure she just wanted you there,you are her brother after all.”

“You know she thinks of you as just the same. Besides,safety in numbers, especially with my mom involved.”

“And who says I want to get involved?”

“Oh come on! Do it for Ama’.”

There was a flash of blue light and then suddenly,everything was a little bit darker. When Susano had recovered, he’s noticedthey were in Nox’s bar, and everyone else had also noticed their arrival.

“Very subtle Raijin, I must say.”

“Don’t call me ‘Big-Red’ then,” The two noticed they werestill holding hands and simultaneously yanked them away.

They had expected to find Amaterasu and Izanami withrelative ease, trying to spot a blazing argument within an environment that wasusually pretty mellow. They did see them, and immediately went towards them.Their urgency disappeared when they’d finally comprehended what the two of themwere doing. Their demeanour was far from aggressive.

Amaterasu had one arm wrapped around her mother, who wasleaning against her chest, still awkwardly perched on her bar stool. Her eyeswere filled with pools of tears, but she was not sobbing. She was smiling infact. Amaterasu was scrolling through her phone with her free hand, showing hermother her messages to and from Bellona.

“Oh, she calls you drop-dead gorgeous, that’s so cute,” Izanamicooed, sluggishly pointing at the screen and scrolling at her own pace.Amaterasu helped to steady her finger, but she could also flip past anythingshe didn’t want her mother to see. She noticed a picture that was appropriate,for both her mother’s eyes and the occasion.

“She sent me a picture of all of the birthday presents she’sbought for me, all wrapped and ready,” She couldn’t help but shed a tear,overwhelmed by her generosity. So was Izanami.

“She bought you more than one and wrapped them in advance? She’s a keeper.”

Susano was relieved that they weren’t arguing and they wereshedding happy tears. Raijin couldn’t even pretend to be frustrated. They werein a bar; he was hardly inconvenienced by coming out here. He could still have adrink, and would thoroughly tease Susano because he knew he couldn’t. That didn’tseem to be keeping him at bay, even with his Mom right by him. He was stillsauntering towards the bar.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Raijin followed him, “I’mpretty sure you can’t drink.”

“My Mom’s so out of it that I can convince her it’s just anormal cola,” He gave Raijin a wink before settling his elbows on the counter.Nox glided over towards him, a sly smile on her face, “Ah, the ever non-radiantNox. Can I have a double vodka and cola please?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re barred,” Nox would never undermine afellow parent’s punishment. “Besides, you need to stay sober and keep an eye onyour mother and sister. They’ve had a rough night.”

Author’s Notes

Hope you enjoy! @heartlesskitty247

Please give this story a like and reblog if you enjoyed it! It really helps me out! Thanks for reading!

#smite #fanfiction #request #amaterasu #izanami #nox #raijin #susano #bellama #puch it fics

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