#he sold to slavery is another thing i don't get

[simpforsolas]

So I've seen a some discussion of people both criticizing and defending the DATV companions for being nice to each other. And I think the arguments from both sides are being a little bit misconstrued, which is honestly understandable. I think that often when something bothers us in fiction, it's hard to put into words exactly what it is. So as we try our best to express ourselves, it may not end up getting to the point of what the issue actually is (this is also why it can be tough for writers to properly address criticism - the readers providing the criticism might not be accurately diagnosing the root of the problem, so their attempts to fix it are shallow and don't actually address the issue).

Now I obviously don't speak for everyone, but I do think that a good amount of the people saying they want the DATV crew to be meaner don't actually mean they literally just want people to be rude and insulting each other for no reason. I think it boils down to three things that the new crew was missing:

Inability to really feel how the companion's backstories form their unique worldview

Lack of conflict between companions

Limited relationship dynamics between Rook and the companions

Inability to feel how companion's backstories form their worldview

In previous Dragon Age games, the characters frequently discussed and argued topics of philosophy, faith, politics, and beliefs. They came from all different backgrounds. You had Morrigan, a hedge mage raised to believe in self-preservation, teaming up with an Andrastian circle mage and former templar. Their beliefs and worldviews are, at their core, at odds with each other. The game doesn't necessarily try to make you believe one way or another, it simply drops you into the world and allows you to interact with these character, see their interactions with each other, and draw your own conclusions. In Dragon Age Inquistion, you have Cole, a spirit of compassion, teaming up with Vivienne, who believes the circle teachings that spirits are demons and want to possess people, and Sera, who represents the perspective of the common people that are afraid of all things magical or fade-related. You have Solas, a staunch individualist who believes in freedom for all, Cassandra, a faithful Andrastian who follows her own inner compass even when at odds with the institution of the Chantry, and Iron Bull, a Ben-Hassrath agent who believes in the Qun not because he's a philosopher and has decided that's what works best, but because that's how he was raised and so far, the Qun has worked for him. So in previous Dragon Age titles, you have people whose worldviews and beliefs are fundamentally at odds with each other, and whose actions and dialogues are a direct result of those beliefs. Veilguard really downplayed the importance of religion in Thedas, which isn't necessarily a problem in and of itself. In DA2, the only companion with strong religious beliefs is Sebastian. However, you had Anders who believed strongly in mage liberation, Fenris, who believed strongly in the dangers of magic, and Isabela, whose lack of belief and lack of respect for religion/beliefs led to one of the game's biggest conflicts. Discussion of religion and philosophy was always a huge part of the Dragon Age games, so when they almost entirely removed that element and didn't replace it with other types of belief that could lead to meaningful differences of opinion, we were just left with nothing of substance to really talk about. This isn't saying that the companions don't have things they believe in, but it's just not the same as characters from previous games. In general, their backgrounds don't form a unique worldview that results in differences of opinions and interesting conflict. Which brings my to my next point:

Lack of conflict between companions

There's a huge spectrum between "everyone is friends and always gets along" and "everyone hates each other and is happy when their ally is sold into slavery." In fact, fans often get really into fictional relationships that have quite a bit of conflict. Speaking for myself, I love relationships where two people may fight or disagree, but they truly care for one another and would willingly put themselves in harm's way to protect one another. So I think when a lot of people say the companions get along too well, they don't necessarily mean that they want them to all hate each other (maybe some do). They mean that they just want there to be interesting interpersonal conflicts. (I personally would love for a companion pair to argue a lot, but when it comes down to it, they actually really care about each other) Why do we want this? Well first, conflict just makes things more interesting. But I think that it also ties into point 1. In this game, the companions simply don't seem passionate enough about what they believe to argue for it, or, if they are, there's not anyone who challenges their beliefs and forces them to defend their position. I would say that Emmrich is very passionate about his love for spirits and necromancy, two things which are seen as weird and dangerous by most people in Thedas. However, there's almost no chance for him to passionately argue for his worldview because no one challenges it. There is that one scene with Taash finding his passion for working with the dead creepy, but as soon as the issue comes up, it's resolved. Compare that to Solas, where a big part of his characterization is love for spirits and frustration with fear and ignorance leading people to discriminate against what they don't understand. Having to face opposition to his beliefs, both in the world and within the inquisitor's inner circle (and sometimes the inquisitor themself), gives the writers the opportunities to emphasize core parts of his characterization.

On a final note for this section, it's just more interesting when different pairs of companions have unique relationships with each other. Solas and Cole's wholesome, mostly conflict-free friendship is made sweeter because you can compare it to Solas and Sera's relationship. It makes the relationships more meaningful when you can contrast it to how those same people click or don't click with other companions.

Limited relationship dynamics with Rook

The final issue I want to talk about is how all this ties into Rook. In previous games, you could learn a lot about a character's beliefs by seeing what they approved and didn't approve of. Anders approves of supporting mages, Fenris doesn't. Leliana approves of compassion for strangers, Morrigan doesn't because why should she help people who can't help themselves, and also it's a waste of time. Cole greatly approves of helping people, Solas slightly approves of you asking questions, Cassandra approves of expressing belief in the Maker, and so forth and so on. Then depending on the choices you make, your approval actually makes a difference in how these companions view you as their leader. But in Veilguard... well either the companions don't have strong feelings about things, or Rook isn't allowed to make decisions that oppose the beliefs they do have. Because of this, there's basically no conflict between Rook and the team. From my understanding, worst relationship you can get with the team is "distant boss whose employees don't invite them to their work parties," but that's not the same as Cassandra hating you so much she gets drunk or getting specific rival scenes like in DA2 where companions react entirely differently because Hawke consistently acted in opposition to their beliefs.

Final thoughts

So when people criticize the companions not getting along, I think it's less to do with the fact that people want them to hate each other, and more to do with the fact that we want companions who have a strong worldview shaped by their backstory, and for that worldview being challenged to lead to interesting conflict. Whether that challenge comes from other companions, the world, or Rook themself, I don't care - I just want interesting and meaningful conflict that is arises because the companions are strong characters who believe in something.

[niichanism]

wanted to put this fic Somewhere lol it’s uhhhh that “what if ace got sold into slavery in Marie Geoise instead of being executed except long lost brother Sabo is (somehow) in deep cover as a CD there and impulsively pilfers money from the revolution funds to buy and protect his brother” logistically i run into problems w this concept but i do think like. childhood friends fake dating except it’s high stakes fake master/slave is like. 1. potential funny 2. hot 3. compelling in that acesabo are living in their own actual personal hells together shfhdd

tw: mob character/ace attempted SA, non-graphic maiming of dick, ace honorable suicide ideation ig, sabo…… just poor sabo lol, the cd slave brand thing soRRY ACE idk the usual “i don’t like spoilering much so if you’re sensitive don’t read this it’s borderline dead dove”

————-

In the span of a week, Ace had gone from being Blackbeard’s captive to the World Government's prize, and finally, unexpectedly, into the greasy hands of professional slavers. 

That was a twist he hadn't expected. He couldn’t quite get his head around it. 

Ace much preferred the rough touch of pirates or marines to this sickening cushiness, treated with care while strung up like meat. They bathed him in sea water. He was so nauseous he could barely twitch his limbs. His skin only recoiled wherever they washed away dirt or tended to wounds from the fight. He was scrubbed pink, patched, or soothed where every blemish would be. His ribs were still broken. Almost good as new, the lackey had reported to her overseers.

As confusing as it was infuriating. Then, somehow, reading the lusterless eyes of the other captives, he understood. They were gagged like Ace was. They had the faint, forlorn expressions of long-term prisoners. But how neat and tidy they were– their hair, skin, and even what little clothes they had were as well-kept as the circumstances allowed. Again, Ace’s body thrummed with a knock-out combo of adrenaline and disgust. He recalled Sabo saying that nobles don't care about anything but appearances. If it can’t improve their status, it's worthless to them. 

Ace would rather die than be some dolled up or dressed down status symbol for the rich. He'd rather jump and let the ocean take him. He’d rather have fallen in battle to a scumbag like Teach or even met his end on the navy’s chopping block, flipping Garp the bird one last time. 

Then, the silver lining— he’d see Sabo again, at least. There was always the chance that he’d find an opening once they hit landfall. If he could, he’d burn this place to a crisp and take all these poor folks to far greener pastures, one way or another. He just had to keep his wits together. No matter what, he wasn’t going to let anyone buy him. 

Or if they did get that far, he’d make sure they regretted it. For now, the issue was that all the adrenaline and disgust had nowhere to go. He kept his ears open for any hints as to when they’d finally reach this mystery destination, because the boredom was beginning to gnaw at him like rats. Eventually one of the trader lackeys came swaggering up to him. Ace had a really good fucking sense for when someone was looking to pick a fight. The guy had a bit of a beer belly and the seediest possible leer, two beady eyes on pallid sailor skin. 

“So this is really him…” he said, gruff and low. “Not bad at all.”

The man tipped his face up at the chin. Ace tossed it out of his hold, ignoring him otherwise. The man chuckled. The only other slaver in the room glanced over and growled. “Careful with the merchandise–”

“Relax,” said the first man, annoyed. “I’m not gonna do anything to damage him– if he behaves, that is. I’m just gonna feed him something.” Gag. It was worse because he was hungry. Ace set his jaw as best he could around the ball gag. If he thought of all the scumbags he’d dealt with up to now, he felt like he could crush anything between his teeth. 

The man wrenched a hand into his hair and jerked him forward. Manacles and chains trapped Ace’s knees on the floor of a cage. The man stood just outside the bars with a taunting look.  “Y’see, Fire Fist, I work hard, and so I’ve got this little game,” he explained, as if Ace gave a shit. “I get a kick out of testing the goods before we get to Marie Geoise. I get a little spin before even the Celestial Dragons get their hands on ‘em.” First, that the trader was already palming his crotch was disgusting, but secondly– Ace closed in on one particular detail. Marie Geoise? For a moment his mouth went slack, saliva pooling beneath the gag. The trader’s grip tightened in Ace’s bath-damp waves, threatening to rip hair from his scalp. His mind was still spinning: Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. The last puzzle pieces falling into place. If that was what they were doing, then… “Man, I could talk about it for years if Gold Roger’s son sucked my cock,” the slaver chuckled, letting go of Ace’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Fuuuuuck. His bounty had always seemed a bit suspect, shooting up when he’d done nothing of note to earn it. In the back of his mind, he’d sometimes wonder if the marines knew. 

 There was a clinking and rustling as the man popped his fly open and lowered his trousers.

 It was so outrageous, so beyond what anyone would have fucking dared to do to him, that Ace only felt a numb sort of shock first. He didn’t want to look at the filthy thing, already hard and eager. Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. Gold Roger’s son. The man shuffled closer to the bars, then manhandled Ace’s head low so he could smear the tip on his cheek. Ace’s eyes went wide. The rage hit him right after. “Yeah, a pretty thing like you will need the practice,” the trader drawled. “If the dragons don’t tear you to shreds first. Nasty fucks, them.”  Everyone knew the Celestial Dragons were self-righteous, inhumane sacks of crap who treated anyone else like dirt. Everyone knew that their slaves had it worst of all, beaten and broken with a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping. And it seemed that soon, everyone would know that Ace was Gol D. Roger’s last remaining flesh and blood. “You’re shaking, sweetheart,” the slaver jeered. “A big, bad pirate–? Hilarious. Not so scary without your devil fruit power, are ya?”

Off came the ball gag. The first thing Ace did was spit. A thick, leathery thumb pried into his mouth. Ace sputtered, fought, then bit down– fuck, he was hungry. The man’s glove prevented the drawing of blood, though he did make a small grunt of discomfort and tore his hand away.

 “Don’t need my devil fruit to fuck you up,” Ace hissed. He glared at the dick half a foot away from his face. Ace had sucked a lot of cock in his time. Bigger ones, smaller ones. Sometimes drunk, sometimes as a penalty for losing a bet– fair was fair– but this was something else. The man hunched over to indicate the heavy metal collar around Ace’s neck. Ace felt his spine chill. He missed a few hours ago when he was content to wonder things like when do we get there and where did my necklace go, aw. Marie Geoise meant that the game had changed somewhat.“You know about this? I’m sure someone explained it to you,” he said roughly. His hard, flinty eyes sparkled with glee. “Try to take it off, or even touch it a certain way, and it’ll explode. Splatters your fuckin’ brains on the wall. I’ve seen it before– gruesome stuff. Real shite way to go.” Ace ran his tongue over his teeth, glaring daggers. Not much to look at, though, so he checked around with some choice words in his throat. A few other gagged folks were either watching with bated breath or pointedly looking away. The only other free man in the room was halfway out the door, glancing back like this foul display was only worth an exasperated shake of the head. 

“I see,” Ace said, eyes flicking back. “Brains on the wall, huh.”

“There’s just me and you right now, Ace. Could always say it was an unfortunate accident,” the slaver said. “If you get what I’m saying, then open wide.” Ace resisted as best he could with that steel grip in his hair again. The power of the seastone cuffs had long seeped into his veins, making him sleepy. Gritting his teeth was the most force he could exert– eventually he locked his jaw and stopped struggling. “It’d be easy,” the slaver pressed. He touched anywhere he wanted, hair, lips, freckled cheeks.  Ace hadn’t felt clean to begin with, but now… now he wanted to vomit on this guy’s shoes. “Just one press of a button, one tug of that collar, and boom. World keeps spinning. I can’t imagine anyone would miss scum like you.”

A rough squeeze on either side of his jaw finally forced Ace’s mouth open. With one last grimace, he gave up. Let his tongue hang out. The man’s brutish face softened with satisfaction. Ace loathed allowing even that much.  “That’s more like it, baby,” the slaver crooned, grabbing his cock and jerking it. “Yeah. You play my little game nice, and we’ll keep your head on your shoulders. How’s that sound?” Ace scowled, but he was so visibly tired. This gave way to a slow, slow nod, a sigh– and then his stomach vaulting as he opened his mouth. Again, not the first time he’d had a dick in there. Though there was the chance it’d be his last. The trader moved with concentration, hot flesh sliding past Ace’s open lips. There was a groan, and both meaty hands pawed at Ace’s head. Ace didn’t wait a second. He didn’t suck for an instant. He moved his tongue out of the way and then bit down as hard as he possibly could. The scream was delightful. Nobody could look away after that. 

That beer belly wrenched away from his teeth as quickly as possible, whole body toppling back onto the dirty ship floor. The big idiot shrieked, holding his groin and rolling. 

 Ace had to laugh, then grin again with blood on his teeth. He raised his voice enough to be heard over those wails of pain. 

“Hey, go on and do it, you think I give a shit?” he said, then spat out the taste of iron. He tilted his head back, offering his own capital punishment with brazen ease. “I’ve got my pride. I’d rather die a man than a coward.” 

He got a lively string of expletives in response. Didn’t do the guy much good, since he seemed unable to get off the ground just yet. Ace’s head was still very much attached to his shoulders, for better or worse. 

The screaming was pretty entertaining, or at least Ace’s fellow would-be slaves seemed to think so– he searched for eye contact in the dim light and found a few sure smiles. And a few very worried looks. Well, Ace hadn’t really calculated his odds on this one. 

Morbidly curious, he leaned over to check the damage. From what glimpses he could see– yikes. “Damn, that thing’ll never work again!” he hollered in a pitying, cheerful voice. “Go on, waste me for it. Unless you don’t have the– the balls?” That seemed pretty funny to him at the moment, and he burst out laughing. 

“Should’ve bought me dinner first, asshole!” 

“I’ll fucking kill you–”

“Do it,” Ace goaded. It was impossible to stop himself. Self-preservation had never been a strong point for him. At least, he thought, he’d go out with a good laugh, doing something he loved— picking a fight. With all that blood rushing in his ears, he wanted to believe that he was content with that. 

Better to go down as a free man, without troubling anyone, and before facing a whole world that would know exactly how and why to hate him. 

With a howl of rage, the dickless wonder tried to maneuver onto his knees, get closer to the bars of the cage. Fever-brained, Ace imagined that he’d only have to yank at the collar a certain way to spark whatever demonic mechanism ended in explosions. Truly a shite way to go– not because of the gore, but the injustice. It made him angry. Maybe he’d bite this asshole again. Light cascaded into the darkness from the door. Two other slavers arrived, no doubt summoned by the screaming. The man from before walked over, surveying that Ace was still chained down– he very much was– then he tsk’d at the mess. He nudged the fallen with his boot, cross with disgust and sympathy pain. “I told you this would happen someday,” he said. “Why stick your dick in the bitey part of the pirate?” Ace laughed, breathless. His mouth was so dry that it hurt. The blood hadn’t helped.  Predictably, there was another slew of vicious threats, and Ace was beginning to realize that he’d mentally prepared himself for nothing. Nobody was getting any closer to that kill switch on his collar. 

There wasn’t any relief in that. Just dread, doubled when one of the other slavers spoke again. “Moron, we’re on strict orders to deliver that one to the World Nobles. That’s a done deal– you should’ve known you couldn’t touch–”

Eugh. The stomach ache was back. Ace dipped his head, not wanting to look at any of that anymore. There was some struggling. Whether someone approached the kill switch or not, Ace couldn’t bring himself to care. “You can’t lay a hand on him!” He squeezed his eyes shut. He had been untouchable for a hundred different reasons before all this. And after this, probably, not so much. Marie Geoise. He remembered the rage welling up in him the one or two times he’d seen the deadened-red slave brand on a survivor. Sure, he reminded himself, there were survivors. 

Self-preservation had never been a strong point of his. “Fire Fist, no rations ‘til you’re on death’s fucking door,” came a harsh voice. Ace spat again.  The door slammed shut, leaving the ship’s human cargo in the sparse light of one hanging lamp. Ace breathed out. “Whew. Fuck.” A few good-humored huffs later, he noticed something:

In all the commotion, the slave traders failed to gag him again. Little blessings. Ace breathed– slightly– more easy. 

“Sorry for all the noise, everyone,” he said. In other cages, in other chains, they blinked back at him. He was winding down, but he laughed again, near croaking. “Damn, I hope they’re all stupid enough to try that.” 

Maybe he could take out a few World Nobles that way. Justice for Sabo. He’d probably think that was pretty funny. 

—

It was incredible what you could do by shouting increasingly high numbers.

That was the kind of senseless world the Celestial Dragons inhabited. From his despicable place in the audience and with dread heavy in his gut, Sabo watched the guards yank Ace to his feet and drag him away. Sabo didn’t sit down. The auctioneer’s voice rang in his head: We have a winning bid! Gold Roger’s son, Portgas D. Ace, to Saint Robspierre! Hearing that esteemed name was like a ripple in a pond, a jerk of a trigger. It always took that extra split second for Sabo to remember that that was him, and it had never haunted him quite as much as it did just then. Currents of relief and distress canceled each other out. Sabo felt numb, heart pounding in his ears, knees locked up where he stood. On either side of him, World Nobles lifted their heads to survey him with open disdain. “Congratulations, Saint Robspierre,” a beady-eyed woman simpered, accompanied by her nodding, useless husband. “How fun for you.” “Thank you,” Sabo replied with mechanical ease, a glass smile. He couldn’t be in this space a minute longer. “I think I’ll go look at him.” The perfect balance of civility and entitlement. It was a surprise that this quaint, simple rudeness was more the norm here than not, but he’d adjusted. He felt dozens and dozens of eyes on him as he reached the staircase aisles. He ignored them, shoulders rolled back and head held high. Guards fell into line behind him. Another irritating norm.

He didn’t want an entourage if he was going to meet his brother under circumstances like these. Still, he had to go. For a thousand reasons, he needed to see Ace as soon as possible. That wasn’t slave auction protocol, but he could do whatever he wanted here. Anything except the right thing. * Keeping his face neutral when faced with his long-lost brother was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. He always hated this iciness he had to let in. At the moment even his blood was frozen solid. Of course the World Nobles’ auction house had a room for branding people. Sabo knew this was coming, but his vision was blurring anyway. He didn’t think it would be so soon. He thought he’d have more time. 

Ace was still completely naked with his back to the room. Under grease-shiny dark waves of hair, there was the clear buckled leather of the gag pulled tight. Those seastone cuffs strung him up near spread-eagle. It looked torturous. The painful part hadn’t even started yet. 

Like so many times before, all of Sabo’s fury channeled into his fists. Now, it all felt like too much for mortal knuckles and palms, even with gloves dulling the sensation. It was like his bones creaked. He couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, the red in his vision, Whitebeard’s jolly roger splayed and trembling across his brother’s broad back. He could use Dragon Claw and kill everyone else there. He searched the room for the key to Ace’s cuffs. Maybe he could break them? Even in deep cover, it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to use armament haki. Escape the auction hall with Ace, and then– Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. And then what? Get the godforsaken “holy” land shut down, with a thousand marines and admirals on their ass? Ace probably wasn’t in the best shape to be thrown into a mess like that. And it would be a mess. His starting plan was less reckless, sure, but there was an increasing chance that it was going to make him throw up, crack open, crack something. 

The branding irons were lined up on the wall. The fire was stoked. The three or so men in the room stiffened up at the sight of him, and lowered their heads in immediate deference. It made Sabo violently ill this time. “You’re going to brand him?” he asked. One of the men lifted his head in a rush. “Saint Robspierre, thank you for the honor of your business–” “Are you going to brand him?” Sabo asked again. It astounded him how out of control he sounded.  But it was nothing worth worrying about when the men ducked their heads again. “No, Sir– of course– he will be branded, but we understand our esteemed clientele like to participate– we were waiting– but of course we can begin at your leisure—”

Infuriating. Sabo glanced over at Ace just to watch the soft heave of his back, the rise and fall that felt like his last tether to sanity. “Quiet,” Sabo said. He needed to think. It often worked to his advantage that people weren’t used to questioning Celestial Dragons on anything. So far removed from humans, indeed. He walked closer to Ace with a knot in his throat, head pounding. His approaching footsteps made Ace struggle again anew, little grunts of protest slipping past the gag. Sabo paused at his side, looking for injuries, half-afraid to look at his face. One glimpse of freckles was enough. Any more and he wasn’t sure his act would hold up. He could question the need for a slave brand, play it like he wanted his new toy just the way it was. Marking Celestial Dragon property was a law, yet laws could be overturned at a whim. The issue was not the rules but the unspoken, sick, crazed rot of this place.

 Mercy was weakness. Empathy was below them. Any significant deviance from the status quo was unacceptable. Any sign of anything abnormal hit the rumor mill and rattled it for days, down a grapevine so tense and maddening that Sabo understood it’d bite him in the ass within hours. 

If he asked to skip the branding, that would only warrant enough unwanted attention to make everything else harder. It was already going to be a tough ask to lay low with the pirate king’s son on a leash– because that was how they’d advertised it, of course, making the Celestial Dragons froth at the mouth with interest. It’d been even worse when they saw him, too, because he was– the wanted posters didn’t do him justice. No, they wanted as little attention as possible.

Sabo turned around. “I’ll do it,” he said simply, carelessly.

“Of course, Sir– if it’s no trouble to you–” He crossed the room, gliding his gloved hand down the pole of black iron with that hateful symbol at the end. Was he really going to do this? It was no question that Ace could handle the pain, Sabo thought. And if it was up to him, he could at least ensure a light touch, a lack of unchecked sadism. It made sense. Unfortunately, it made sense. He’d make it up to Ace no matter what. Beg if he needed to. Ace would understand. Ace would understand, right? “If it pleases this Celestial Dragon,” one of the auction house men said, “you’ll want to hold it over the coals until it is bright red. Press evenly over the skin– just beneath the shoulder blades is customary, Sir.” Sabo searched for the smallest possible brand and took the iron off the wall. It was much lighter than a pipe, yet it felt a thousand times harder to hold. 

“This is your first purchased slave, is it not, Saint Robspierre?” Sabo looked up to tell one of these low-class bastards to fuck off with the small talk, only to freeze in his tense, neutral expression at the joyful look on Saint Martine’s face. Three Celestial Dragons stood in the doorway. Right, Sabo could do anything he wanted under this cover only because all of these soulless elites could do the same. Ace jostled his chains at every end. Sabo even couldn’t imagine how pissed off he was if Sabo was this pissed just breathing the same air as them. Why was this suddenly a party? It seemed much more likely in that moment that he really would kill someone rather than lay a fucking finger on Ace.

This smug-faced World Noble fancied himself on speaking terms with Sabo because of the time they’d spent together. Time that had turned into deals. Deals that had turned into laundering money back to the Revolutionary Army– how smug Sabo had felt when his targets were providing information and resources toward their own downfall. 

It couldn’t come soon enough. “Yes,” Sabo replied. It was like the muscles of his face had a mind of their own: he even managed to smile again. “I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“I don’t blame you,” one of the nobles chuckled. 

“As long as you share,” sneered another. Her nose wrinkled. “That one deserves every punishment we can think of. I can’t believe they even allowed Roger’s devil spawn to live that long. What was the navy thinking?” 

“Incompetents. Naturally, it falls to us to rid the world of that criminal’s blood.”

“Just sharing air with it is vile, really,” said the old man. The ignorant, cold disgust on their faces made Sabo nearly tremble with rage. “Vermin like that need to pay for every breath it takes until it’s begging for death–” “It would be a waste to rip him to pieces just yet,” Sabo cut in, his voice like steel. He circled haki away from his hands and let his hatred for the Celestial Dragons color his voice. “I’ll be training him first. Trash like this must be made to understand their place.” Sorry, Ace, he thought vehemently. Just a little longer, then you’ll never have to see these fucking people again. In that regard, at least, Ace was the lucky one. The trio laughed. “Of course, Robspierre. With your tastes… I’m surprised you didn’t indulge sooner. But there are finer specimen with… less abhorrent blood.”

Sabo’s blood boiled. He turned. The sight of Ace suffering was tantamount to setting his eyes on fire, but he just focused on that rise and fall. That was what mattered. These rotten bastards could yap all they want, the coddled little dogs that they were, but they weren’t going to so much as touch his brother. 

“But I indulge plenty,” Sabo replied, offering one last tight-lipped smile. He was fairly certain he understood what he was being lobbied for. “When I get bored of him, I’ll keep you all in mind, of course. It’s hardly fair of me to have all of the fun.”   Their mouths curled up. Good. They’d scurry back to their equally rotten friends and maintain Sabo’s reputation. Stay out of his hair for a while until he could figure out how to best ship Ace out of his place.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to …” With a heavy exhale, Sabo wandered towards the fire, dull branding iron in hand. “Ooh!” shrilled the woman. “I want to do it.” “He’s mine,” Sabo said icily, stabbing the brand into the coals with a little too much strength. He watched scorching light engulf the metal and wildly lick at the sides of the pit. He imagined the whole of Marie Geoise inside that fire. “Now, now. Sometimes watching is just as rewarding as doing the work,” Saint Martine conversationally told his friends. “And it is Robspierre’s very first time, no?” At this point, it was better to ignore them. He didn’t want this moment to have an audience. He didn’t want it to happen at all. But according to his plan, this was the single big obstacle before he could shelter Ace deep in his assigned estate. Better to get it over with, even with those invasive, beady eyes on him. He was going to throw up if this went on any longer than it had to. He checked that Ace’s gag was still on, that he’d have something to bite into. He quickly surveyed the toned canvas of Ace’s back, taken up so wholly by that skull and bones. Sabo had a lot of curiosity about that– about his brothers in general. Just learning about them would be the privilege of his life if Ace ever opened up to him again. 

  Sabo hadn’t been so nauseated and dizzy in years. The brand was about the size of his fist. Deciding the placement for Ace’s sake was difficult. The chest would hurt. Limbs were too far removed from tradition; it’d be pointless. The jolly roger must’ve been important to Ace, so he had to leave it untarnished. On the shoulders, it’d be painful and harder to hide. 

The chains jangled. He was panting, horribly tense. Sabo winced. That was going to make it hurt worse. 

Get it over with. Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. Ace, I’m sorry. 

It lasted two seconds and felt like an eternity. He had a steady touch. The sound and smell of sizzling flesh repulsed him. His chest throbbed. Knowing that this was a brand meant to imprison the body and soul beyond help, that this was Ace being so crudely violated– it felt like the worst thing Sabo had ever done in his life. 

Ace didn’t scream. At most, there was a deep, clipped groan, almost like a throaty sigh. Sabo quickly removed the iron, frantic eyes scanning over his work. He’d at least succeeded in leaving a lighter touch– the geometric dragon’s claw was a marred light pink on the firm flesh just above his ass and below the small of his back. With any hope, it’d be barely noticeable once it healed.

 Sabo sighed, too. “You can’t be done already,” one of the World Nobles gasped behind him, dripping with sincere disbelief. Celestial Dragons were not just heartless; they were also so petty, having nothing but sick tradition to cling to. “You have to make him scream, Robspierre.” “While we’re at it, melt that filthy pirate insignia off his back–” “Delightful idea– we could also carve it up!” “Why, that mark’s far too light–” “As I said,” Sabo bit out, eyes blazing, “it would be a waste to maim his body before using it. And why darken the mark? Everyone ought to already know he’s a slave. He’s never leaving this place.” 

His throat was near painfully dry. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, shocked by the tension. He’d let his haki slip half on accident. It cramped the room, intimidating every other inhabitant who only had the barest subconscious awareness of it. “When I’m done with him, do as you please,” Sabo said. “But I’ll appreciate complete privacy to better inspect my—“ His voice went too tight; he started again. “You wouldn’t want to miss the rest of the auction, would you?” 

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 984

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo true mates

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART V

Dean angrily stomped down the hallway and burst into the exam room, yelling, “Do you have any idea how fucking backasswards this state is, Dad!”

John blinked in surprise. Dean rarely spoke like this towards him as a Subordinate Alpha, which meant something was very off. Sam's ignored inquiry was another red flag. “Dean, what happened?”

“Do you know what they mandate done to prove ownership of O’s?” John was about to respond when the doctor reappeared, clearly unnerved by the angry scent rolling off Dean. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Winchester.” John doesn’t answer them back. “Dean, you got all the paperwork squared away?”

Dean acknowledged it was complicated, shifted his focus to the doctor, staring oddly at Sam, and barked, “You’re not his type, Doc!”  John ignored Dean's outburst and ordered them to wait outside the O’s room. They walked to another exam room, shutting the door. The doctor handed him a file. “This is the reason I asked to speak privately. It concerns your sons and the O.”

John read the first page. “The O’s file is flagged in the database? It was part of a lot taken during the bust of an illegal Pack distributor, and federal law requires spaying before resale?” The doctor interrupted, “Since I just examined it, I can attest this O is still fully intact. Heaven knows how Helms got hold of it.”

Anger crossed John’s handsome features, and snarled, “That son of a bitch! Her original purchaser accused Helms of selling them misrepresented goods. No wonder that Alpha sold her so cheaply.” He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

The next thing John was aware of was that he was seated on the floor. He knew most people would find this situation impossible, but he had had too much personal experience with the unbelievable to doubt it. “Mary’s obstetrician never said anything about us having twins!”

The doctor rolled a stool over and sat down before the big Alpha. “Was her physician at a government clinic?” John affirms the question, which makes the doctor sigh. “I bet she had an amniocentesis performed.” At John's expression, they said, “Some of their OBs order testing even if the ultrasound or blood work doesn’t show anything concerning.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Money. They use it to determine the sub-gender and designation because there are those among the elite wanting specific types of newborns. And twins with designations of Pack Omega and Breeder Alpha? It would’ve created a bidding war.”

John felt his lips moving, unable to vocalize the questions spinning in his mind. He did not want to believe the information when the doctor gestured to the results in his hands.

“I’m not lying about Sam and the Omega being twins.” John shook his head. “But I saw the ultrasounds. I would have known if I had a daughter!”

“With the older equipment, they could have already loaded someone else’s tape in the machine to fool you. And were you present during delivery?” John responded negatively.

“They drugged your mate, so she won’t remember the birth to smuggle the newborns out of the hospital directly. Something must have gone wrong since they only got your daughter, but it doesn’t explain how she ended up with that illegal distributor.”

John flashes back to seeing Mary and remembers how out of it she seemed after having Sam. Later, a shorter man appeared out of nowhere when he took Dean to the nursery, holding him up to see his new brother through its large window. He doesn’t remember their conversation, but Dean’s comment about not letting the man with the spooky eyes get Sammy stuck with him.

John's voice is hoarse. “How can she be a Pack Omega? And Sam a Breeder? They don’t exist anymore!”

“We might have evolved into civilized beings but still carry our ancestors' genetic makeup.” The doctor tapped a finger against their lips, “There was a theory that the reintroduction of Wild Pack DNA could reactivate Breeder genes within certain bloodlines, which would explain why the twin turned out a Pack Omega. She is your son's true mate.”

The doctor's words, certain bloodlines-true mate, pounded like a drumbeat, repeating in his keen mind and boarding on deafening when it hit him.

All this has something to do with Mary's death too.

“As that character in Jurassic Park said, life finds a way.” The doctor looked pained. “I must report all these results to the federal authorities by law. They will request a local retainer immediately and take them into custody. But since you have a court date,” the doctor calculated by wall clock, “In roughly thirty hours. I won’t send the results until then.”

John grew suspicious. “Why delay it?”

“I may participate in this system, but I’m not heartless. I have pups myself, and I’ve just dropped a metaphorical bomb on you. If these weren’t extenuating circumstances, you’d have legal recourse against Helms.”

John nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Are you obligated to tell all my pups about these findings?” The doctor replied yes but gave a pointed look, “Your party has left before I could notify them.” They paused to ponder a moment.

“Perhaps this is an unexpected blessing. The judge must accept these test results, negating your son’s conviction because now they’ve been brought together, their wolves won’t allow them to be separated easily.”

John left the office but slipped out of the clinic's rear entrance instead of returning to the exam room. He walked out of the security cameras' range and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he swore never to use again. It rang twice before answering.

“I told you to lose this number, you son of a bitch!”

“It’s about my pups.” There was silence, then, “I’m listening.” John released his held breath, “Bobby, I need your help, or I’m gonna lose them all.”

Part VI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

[pinnithin]

enver gortash fascinates me from the perspective of his relationship with the dark urge because like, as far as i know his alliance with them is one of the very few he didn’t actively despise. the guy was sold into slavery by his own parents (who tried to justify it by saying their child was a hateful monster and anyone would have done the same) and spent his formative years employed by a devil who gets off on gratuitous levels of suffering and manipulation. and then once he's escaped that and built himself up so he can never be used and enslaved again he meets this bhaalspawn who also had to adapt and survive a violent and manipulative environment for years by becoming the monsters who raised them.

gortash sees how the dark urge has risen to command armies and slaughter hundreds in the same way he outfoxed raphael and ruthlessly controls the people in his employ, and after earning and owning his reputation as a tyrant heres another person who might actually have like, a shared lived experience. not exactly a friend, because people like them can't afford to have friends, but someone who at least understands. and he willingly works with them on this plan to enslave the sword coast and agrees to share power with them.

and then orin lobotomizes them, puts a tadpole in their head, and leaves them for dead at moonrise.

like, can you imagine. youre working with the first person you see eye to eye with and prooooobably arent plotting to actively sabotage (or, at least would hesitate to do so) and the rug just gets yanked out from under them by their own sister, and now you're stuck with her because the plan still has to move along. and as the days go by a group of adventurers start to screw up your plot right when baldur's gate is within your grasp, and you learn that among them is your old almost-friend who you actually liked and respected - and they have no memory of you whatsoever. oh, and on top of that they're rolling with people you've actively fucked over and want to kick your ass.

did it hurt for him to learn this? did he ever think about how things could have been different? did he think, you were supposed to be my ally, my friend, someone who actually understands that becoming a monster is the only way to keep yourself safe and in control. we were going to rule together. and now you're ride or die with this squad of people you've only known for a few weeks at best, and you want me dead. you don't even remember me. you don't even remember yourself.

[whumpy-writings]

Sold

Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

Takes place between Recollections and The Blood Market

CW: Vampires, slavery, verbal abuse, dehumanization, restraints, scars, non-sexual nudity, anxiety, panic attack, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, carewhumper

Master's man, Jerel, bound 023's wrists in front of him with coarse rope. 023's breath caught in his throat and every inch of him trembled. He was being sold. After everything Master had put him through, after the years of torture and abuse, after his final, desperate, escape attempt, Master was throwing him out. Like a toy that he had grown bored of.

"Cut that shit out," Jerel snapped. 023 tried to steady his breathing, he tried to stop the tears that were flowing down his face. Jerel grabbed 023's arm and hauled him up the stairs.

He led him through the house right to the door, opening it to reveal a calm, warm summer night. A carriage was waiting. Jerel settled himself on the seat and forced 023 onto his knees on the floor.

023 had a sudden flashback of the last time he was in a carriage. When he was first delivered into this hell. He couldn't suppress a strangled whimper of fright.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a bloodbag," Jerel said. He rapped on the ceiling and the carriage started to roll. "Radford knows that he won't come anywhere close to making a profit on you. He won't even break even. But he dosen't want to look at you anymore." He grabbed 023's chin. "You've really fucked up, 023. Radford can overlook many flaws, but he can't overlook disobedience."

"I-I'm sorry," 023 whispered.

Jerel rolled his eyes. "It's a little too late for that. Blood merchants are in town, so we're getting rid of you. Though I don't know if they'll even buy such an ugly fucker."

He leaned over and smiled at 023. "But if they do buy you, there's so many places you can be sent. I personally hope that you're sent to a university. The scientists there are always looking for fresh humans to experiment on. After all, test subjects don't last long."

"Or you might end up with another private owner. I'm sure you would like that. Another owner to disrespect. Most owners aren't as patient as Radford. I know if I was your owner, the first thing I'd do is cut out your tongue so I wouldn't have to listen to your pathetic pleas." 023 closed his eyes and swallowed the cry in his throat. "Wherever you end up, I hope that it hurts. That's what you deserve."

The carriage rolled to a stop. Jerel opened the door and gestured for 023 to follow. 023 struggled to his feet, his legs shaking so hard they could barely support his weight. Jerel grabbed 023's arm and led him toward a table.

"I have a human for you," he said. The vampire at the table had a bored expression.

"Strip it," he said.

023 didn't have a shirt, so Jerel grabbed his trousers and pulled them down. 023 felt a twinge of shame, but he was too scared to feel more than that.

The vampire behind the table stepped in front of 023. He grabbed his chin, turning his head left and right to examine his neck.

"What's with these wounds?" He asked, tapping on the long, twin scabs that ran from 023's ear to clavicle.

"He tried to escape, so his owner taught him a lesson," Jerel said.

The vampire's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? Have you learned your lesson, bloodbag?"

"Y-yes sir," 023 said shakily. "I won't try to run away again."

"Good. Open your mouth."

023 did as instructed. He barely stopped himself from flinching when the vampire reached his fingers into his mouth. He prodded at his gums.

"His teeth are good," the vampire murmured. He withdrew his fingers. "Unbind his wrists, I want to see them."

023 looked at the ground as his wrists were untied. The vampire grabbed his arm and looked at it. "Lots of feeding scars. That'll affect his value. And what's this brand?"

"Just his identification number, 023. He was surplus army property."

The vampire nodded. He walked around 023 in a slow circle.

"Any illness or major injuries?"

"He's had a few broken bones. All have healed well."

"How's the temperament?"

"He's not aggressive, but quite skittish. He's inclined to anxiousness. He's obedient though, for the most part."

The vampire sighed.

"I'll offer you 500 for him."

"500!" Jerel sputtered. "That's ridiculous. He's worth at least 2,000."

"There's no profit at that price. Best case scenario, I get 1,500 when I sell him to a dealer. Worse case, I get 300 at a blood butcher. All the scars show how much he's used up. Nobody wants to pay that much money for used goods."

023 eyes burned with tears of humiliation.

"I can't let him go for 500. He's still in his twenties, there're plenty of years left in him. 1,400?"

"I'll take him off your hands for 1,000. As a favor. Take it or leave it."

"Fine. It's a deal." They shook hands.

"Get dressed," the vampire said. 023 pulled up his trousers and wrapped his arms around himself. The vampires discussed the details of the sale, but he wasn't really listening. Master didn't want him, the merchant didn't expect to make any money on him. He really was a worthless, pathetic bloodbag.

"Come with me," the vampire ordered. 023 followed him to a wooden building. He opened the doors and walked in. 023 followed, and immediately his eyes watered from the stench of unwashed bodies. In the dimness, he could just make the huddled shapes of about a dozen humans. The vampire led him to a wall. "Kneel." 023 knelt and the vampire pulled on a metal chain attached to the wall. 023 let the vampire clamp the shackles around his wrists. Without another word, he left.

...

The ride to Tervis was bumpy and uneventful. Now, 023 sat in a room with all the other humans waiting to be sold. This was an invitation-only sale where those involved in the blood industry came to buy humans. There were vampires who made human food, like bakers, in attendance, as well as those who ran blood cafes, or had their own private human selling businesses. 023 hadn't known there were so many vampires involved in the human business, but he guessed it made sense.

"I heard that the blood butchers are the worst," one of the humans whispered. 023 hadn't bothered to learn names. There wasn't any point. "You're kept drugged on venom and bled every single day. Most humans don't last more than a month. The blood butchers come around at the end of the sale and buy up whoever is left for a discount."

023's chest tightened. He didn't want to go to a blood butcher. Or the university. He didn't want to be hurt anymore. He had overheard one of the humans talking about how some humans were purchased by vampire business owners to help out with various tasks, in addition as acting at bloodbags. That sounded nice. If he was expected to work, his new master probably wouldn't beat him too badly.

The dealer, Denis, approached with a well-dressed vampire and a human. The human looked ... good. They were clean, with well-maintained clothes. A leather collar encircled their neck.

"As you can see ma'am, we have a wide variety of humans for you to select from. Any of them would be an excellent addition to your bakery." 023 sat up a little straighter. The vampire baker looked kind. He would gladly work for her.

"What do you think, sweet?" She asked her human. "Do you see anybody you'd like to work with?"

Her human bit their lip. Their eyes swept over the humans, until they landed on 023. His heart skipped a beat. He locked eyes with them, silently pleading. Please. But they gave a tiny shake of their head and moved on to the rest of the line. 023 muffled a sob. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. The baker's human picked someone else, and 023 didn't have the heart to watch as they walked away.

023's stomach was twisted with fear. The night would be over soon, and he still hadn't been sold. He didn't want to be bought by a blood butcher, he didn't want to be bled to death.

Every muscle in his body tensed as Denis approached with another vampire. Was this the blood butcher?

"As you can see, Rackham," Denis said, "we have plenty of humans to choose from. This one right here has never been bitten."

Rackham nodded. "My clients like fresh humans. Do you have any others?"

023 deflated. This vampire was probably some sort of human dealer or cafe owner. Of course he wouldn't go for a scarred human.

"That's it?" Rackham asked. "I was hoping to get a couple more. If you don't have any other fresh ones, bitten is fine. As long as the temperament is good." 023 felt a spark of hope.

Denis nodded and pointed out a two other humans. "And then we have this one," Denis gestured at 023. "He's obedient but has fits of anxiety. I'll give you a discount on him."

Rackham looked at 023. 023's palms sweated and it took all his strength to stop his body from trembling. Rackham walked over to him and crouched down. His looked over 023 from head to toe.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" he said softly.

023's throat was dry but he forced himself to nod. He couldn't contain his shaking anymore. Fuck. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Rackham was saying something, but he couldn't hear him. He was dying. He couldn't breathe and he was dying and he was going to be hurt-

A hand landed on his shoulder. He snapped his eyes up to Rackham. "Ple-please sir," he gasped. "Please don't hurt me."

"You're okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Rackham said.

"I'm sorry," Denis said. "I have a couple other options for you-"

"No, I'll take this one," Rackham interrupted. "Thank you."

023 stared at Rackham with wide eyes. His heart pounded and tears coursed down his cheeks. The panic attack had him fully in his clutches.

"Are you sure?" Denis asked.

"Yes," Rackham said decisively, standing up. "He seems like a sweet human. I'm sure that once he's settled in with an owner his anxiety will calm down."

023 could barely comprehend what was happening. But as his panic dulled from a roar to a whisper, he realized that Rackham and Denis were shaking hands.

Rackham had bought four other humans in addition to 023. Denis secured each humans wrists before leading them to Rackham's waiting cart. 023 stumbled as he followed the others.

"Woah there," Rackham said, grabbing him around the waist before he fell to the ground. 023 suddenly found he didn't have the strength to stand. He went limp in Rackham's arms, struggling to stay conscious.

"Poor thing. Let's get you to your new home."

Taglist: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik

@neverthelass @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly

@aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12

@itsleelove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia

@sunflower1000 @whump-blog @melancholy-in-the-morning

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-ghost-writer

@inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @darlingwhump

@whumpshaped @dragonqueenslayer6

Ask to be added or removed!

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hello! I hope you're well, if you don't mind, could I get some brotherly headcanons for Arcade, Hancock, Fawkes and Gob with an 18 yr old female or gender neutral reader (your choice really for gender)? Perhaps they could help the reader through the early stages of adulthood?

Thank you so much, have a good day/night/evening!

Brother!Arcade, Hancock, Fawkes, and Gob With a Teen!Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic

Arcade gets more and more stressed with every passing day. You're getting older, and he's dreading the day you ask to travel on your own. He's got to let go at some point, sure, but he doesn't think he'll ever get over the fear that you'll be injured, or worse, sold into slavery. The first thing he's going to do is drill medical advice into your head, that way you'll be prepared for just about every occasion. God, it's hot out here. Is he sweating? He just can't seem to get over you becoming independent. As long as you're careful. He wants to go with you but doesn't want to come off as overbearing. You have to do your own thing at some point, autonomy is important and he needs to learn to let go. At the end of his mini freak out, he'll hug you, hand you a bag full of stimpaks, and make you promise to not get involved with anyone who could be considered even slightly dangerous or untrusting.

Hancock is the least responsible compared to the others. He's reckless, violent, and an addict, but that doesn't mean he's hopeless. He gives you tons of freedom for self-discovery. Wanna try jet? Sure, here you are. Wanna learn to shoot a gun? Let him grab Kleo. He'll never be one to prevent you from trying something out. That being said, he'd rather you leave anything more... 'hands-on' to him. You haven't seen the Commonwealth like he has, and he'd prefer to keep it that way. You don't need to see the darker parts of the world. Another benefit of being as close as you are with Hancock is that everyone in Goodneighbor treats you like the little sibling they've never had. Of course, some are resentful (Bobbi), but most will gladly break a few bones if they ever need to. When facing adulthood, Hancock just tells you to stay as free as you can. Pave your own paths and whatnot. Growing up is different for everyone, but you shouldn't let that deter you. Just live as you want, do a bit of community service here and there, and you should be fine.

Fawkes thinks it's admirable that someone so young is surviving out in the waste, however, he'll quickly put an end to you traveling on your own. You're far too young to be facing everything on your own and he is much too willing to fill in for the missing guardian role. He'd be so ready to die for you, shielding you from anything hostile that comes your way. It's rare for someone your age to still be alive and he'd never take that for granted. Anytime he can, he'll ensure you're safe and relatively unharmed. Adulthood's a weird transition, and he'll gladly be there to hold your hand every step of the way so you feel ready and prepared for when you have to face it on your own. You shouldn't be afraid of the unknowns in your life, although, he isn't all too worried you'll have any problems at all. You're strong and quick to adapt, just look at how well you handled leaving the Vault for the first time. If you still feel a bit uncertain, he's always glad to help you through everything.

The first thing Gob would try to teach you is to never get caught up in debt and never to go near Moritarity's. He's so scared that his boss will find a way to trap you into his business like he did to Gob and he'd rather you didn't lose so many years of your life doing something so mundane. Every time Nova tells him she spotted you enter Megaton, he'll quickly leave his post behind the bar and gently tell you to return to the Underworld where it's safe. Carol and Greta will care for you, so go back there, won't you? He feels bad. He wants to travel with you and try to help you navigate your life in the wasteland, but he can't afford to be beaten again, so he opts to try and finish his debt quickly. That way he can be out there with you and make sure you're doing alright. He might be a nervous wreck at the best of times, but he cares for you just as much as he does anyone in his makeshift family.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello!! I'm kinda new to the fandom (i've been consuming Anne's work since i was 16 but when the show aired, I didn't really pay it any mind), so please don’t read this in any condescending way or something. I’d like to ask you something since it's been a bit hard to not find someone who doesn't just despise a character I find really interesting. What do you think about how they’re handling Armand’s backstory in the show? Especially regarding his relationship with Marius :/

I have seen only a few people addressing this, but how do you feel with the show (and some fans) relating “grooming” to Marius’s relationship with Amadeo? As in relation to a thousands-year-old vampire and his pupil, a boy who took over his wing? Even though there are some ugly things in TVA, and some Amadeo finds himself terrified and bruised (though not for long), he still overall loves him, even after being away from him for centuries and later meeting him. In the show they added Marius even "donating" his body to his collaborators.

So I was wondering what you thought about this portrayal they're doing of Marius, though ofc I'm not denying Armand is a victim of CSA (he was sold into sexual slavery). But wasn't Marius the one to save him?

Sorry for the long ask!!

All good!

Marius was the one who bought him... and took him in.

I... it's difficult. The show always dips its proverbial fingers into wounds, and this is/won't be any different, so them pulling up the text and hold the insinuations up was to be expected.

There are hints in the books, and as said in another ask Anne's own stance on these things bleeds a bit through.

Armand loves Marius still, regardless, but ... it's complicated. I do think all the hints for the show to dig into are there in the books. Things that get glossed over.

Armand is shaped by the events though, and given how they emphasize the cycle of abuse it might be worth considering how he behaves, too.

And I think it fits with what they established there. We'll see. But... I don't think it's too out of left field, no.

That said, we know that Armand rewrote Louis' mind, made up a little fanfic version of him and Lestat, and we know Louis didn't quite buy the whole of the conclusions of Armand's story either.

So who knows what Armand might have told himself there to cope, too (NOT saying he is intentionally lying).

The tag line for this show is "memory is a monster" and "memory isn't the only monster".... and that is what they do :)

[horse-girl-anthy]

Between the Soap Opera and the Fairy Tale: Sex, Death, and Ikuhara

essay below the cut.

I've never actually played Silent Hill, but one way or another, many years ago, I came across a clip from one of the people who worked on it (I've since tried to locate this interview but have not been successful). I remember him saying something like "when you look into what troubles people, you find that they are preoccupied with sex and death. and so in order to affect them, we play on these themes of sex and death."

this isn't exactly rocket science. your average soap opera writer has it down. what differentiates soap operas from Silent Hill is how they incorporate sex and death into their narratives.

in Ikuhara works, sex and death are often used as short-hands; because people react to them on a visceral level, they can be used to get the viewers' attention--and because they hold so much symbolic weight, they can be used to communicate any number of things to the audience. I don't think art has to play on eros and thanatos to be compelling; however, it can certainly help to do so. Ikuhara is particularly interested in eros.

consider this exange from the Ikuhara/Saito episode 38 commentary:

Saito: He'd say, "Make sure you design it so you can tell where the breast is positioned." He'd also say, "Make sure you design it so you can see the outline of the butt." And "Design it so the armpits are visible." He made a lot of various, very typically boyish requests, but I learned a lot from it. He repeatedly bothered me about where the buttons should be. He instructed me that "The buttons have to be positioned exactly at the top of the breasts!" (laughter) Ikuhara: Makes sense. Learned a lot, right? Saito: Yes, I did. Mori: Are you always trying to work in this type of erotic undertone? Ikuhara: Yes, well... if it doesn't have that kind of stuff... it's not very interesting! Either I'm doing it to make it interesting or maybe I just wanted to see that.

Ikuhara doesn't deny that he may "just want to see" eroticism. titillation may be done for its own sake, used for humor or aesthetic purposes. however, a surface-level glance at his works reveals certain patterns in how sex is employed narratively.

this was originally going to be an essay on sexual predators in Ikuhara. he has a lot of them. I started writing it, but it came out a bit too thin for my tastes. I compared the various characters and their motivations for committing sexual harm and came to the conclusion that Ikuhara works avoid the myth that lust is the primary motivator of such behavior. Mitsuko is an example of a sexually motivated predator, but she's pretty much alone in that; the other characters are driven by a variety of factors, with lust low on their list of priorities.

rather than go through and describe each characters' motives, I thought it would be more interesting to explain how their predation is used metaphorically. in YKA particularly, it's difficult to claim that the bears are committing sexual assault; they are attacking and eating prey. while sexuality is caught up in that metaphor, so are other things. however, I think even in RGU and Penguindrum, sexual predation can be seen to allegorize other aspects of human behavior.

I've been thinking about this for a while, sparked by this passage from Enokido's privacy files:

We did not go into depicting what Touga’s parents obtained by going as far as selling their son. We would like you to think of it as a kind of metaphor. 

I'm not trying to deny that textually, Touga is sold into sexual slavery by his parents. it's worthwhile to depict such extreme examples of abuse, because they do happen. but why are they so common in fiction? there's the soap-opera instinct towards melodrama, but I think these things can strike a chord with a wide audience because of their metaphoric power. a son, exploited by his parents. humans can exploit each other in all kinds of ways, blatant and subtle.

in this way, Ikuhara works are more fairy tale than soap opera. fairy tales sublimate the darkness of childhood into narrative. returning to the matter of death, it may be employed in a soap opera manner--Himari's illness has shades of this--but generally, death is used to strike at the heart of the audience, in an existential rather than melodramatic way. the death of Utena's parents, first mentioned in the light-hearted opening narration, is reframed in episode 9 as a life-changing crisis. death may be metaphorical--social death, spiritual death--but it is also very real. perhaps the most central question of human existence is how we are to live in the face of death, and Ikuhara works are all the more powerful for facing that question head on.

[understandableparadox]

Bottom of the barrel isekai reviews:

Todays title: Welcome to demon school iruma

hi, im back, tell a friend.

Anyways we will be looking over something populer, and only a few images this time. I want this to be a nice slide back into the mix while I get ready to boil myself alive by reading shitty isekais.

"b-b-b-b-but dox!" you say, your form emaciated and ghoulish from months of little to no attention "how is it an isekai?"

Normally an isekai requires some form of passage into another world through death, but again, we are going to consider any and all portal fantasies to be on-par with isekais. as death and jumping through a funky portal are really kinda the same thing if you think about it.

so! plot synopsis, we open on the titular character iruma! they are being sold to a demon, don't worry this action will be the literal best thing that has ever happened to them. Also, added treat, slavery is not a running theme in this manga! HURRAY! WE HAVE FOUND OVERCOME THE BARE FUCKING MINIMUM! HUZZAH FOR MEDIOCRITY! MY DESIRE TO RUN MY HEAD THROUGH A ARC OF GONGS UNTIL THE SOUND WAVES LIQUIDATE MY BRAIN MATTER HAS LESSENED!

anyways we get to know some important plot points between the buyer and the product! (our mc)

iruma is a 14 year old yes man. They say yes to everything, even yes to the idea of breaking child labor laws! as their parents are frivolous unimportant freaks that spend way too much money then bolt, leaving him to work off the debt. Anyways, that's how this happened. they wanted dosh, and our buyer, we will call him grandpa!

Why is he so interested in buying a child? simple! He is rich and wants to have a grandson, unfortunately, he does not have a dick due to war injuries... ok thats a lie, he just wants a grand kid.

Anyways this is a very interesting title in the fact that it is still in a way, a power fantasy, but the power in that fantasy is separated towards other things.

It is a story in which you have the power to be helped. The adults in this manga are actual competent adults, they are there for the protection of the children, they are there to guide, nurture, train and help them grow. Despite differences or annoyances some may have, those are secondary to the ferocity they show when it comes to ensuring the protection of their students.

Iruma does have a lot of “i am the chosen one” but it is not something that automatically aids him in most situations, in fact it is the triad of facts of “I am a human”, “I want to help”, “I am determined” that allow him to rise both in power and social standing. The might makes right idealism of the underworld forced to reckon with people that stop to drag someone across the finish line. 

As for the plot, it goes along a few separate arcs; there is a very clear progression of time as Iruma gets older. Mostly split into two parts. Irumas social life, in which we get to see him become better and better friends with the students and faculty at this school. Showing both the give and take as they both show how far they are willing to go for each other. 

The second half is the mystery and political intrigue of the demonic society at large. The idea of a demon king has gone missing, disciples of which are eager to try and resurrect him as they see no one who is more suitable for the role, opposing forces trying to groom the top students at various schools into the role of king in a contest of disciples. 

I think you should give it a read, its cute, the designs are fun and the power system while simple is still enough to give the action that is there a lot of meat. It's also satisfying thing to read if you just got done with a shounen and you are wondering “where the fuck are the adults? Why are these children doing everything?”

Draw backs. Not a lot but some of the students are essentially drawn as adults and there are parts where you will feel slightly skived out by.

[scopebite]

Manny...

the hardest part is that the more I think about Boone the more he both makes me miserable and pisses me off wait hold on don't whine in Boone's defense to me because I'm already irritable plus whatever it is... consider the possibility that I've already considered it !! inside and out !! over and over and over and over !! at every angle and overly in Boone's defense too many times so reel it back on track here and wait I also know it's the writing and how it's limited for game space so whatever let me be mad at Boone('s writing 🙄) thanks anyway

and right now I'm thinking about how especially in relation to Manny... he's a shit friend to Manny and they're stuck like that in game since there's no interacting with eachother and even then like fucking step outside of Boone's perspective for a minute here with me

Manny would be so sorry horrified even if he knew any of the truth because what happened was a rotten terrible sick thing nobody wishes slavery or death on the family of their best friend regardless of anything at all

and then he'd probably feel so weird about Boone considering the weight of everything like that's so much to process and it all loops back into other parts

you didn't know your best friend killed his wife and might have almost blamed or at least suspected you for what happened just because you seemed happy she was gone while you had no idea what actually happened to her and you just thought she got sick of being with him in a town she's miserable in and left even others were sure she just left nobody else (yeah except No Bark) saw any signs of kidnapping so of course you didn't like her you thought she ditched your best friend and was hard to get along with because your ordeals* clashed with hers** whatever but you wouldn't betray your best friend you wouldn't sell a pregnant woman to to fucking legionaries and yet your closest best only friend thinks you could have done that !! your only friend !! and even after he finds out who really did it he still avoids you doesn't even tell you he's leaving with a total rando and by the way that tribe you joined as a kid with your cousins? yeah your best closest only friend killed a bunch of them even the children the sick the elderly civilians amongst them that's what nobody would talk to you about but reeling back around that friend your best closest only friend thought you could have something to do with his pregnant wife being sold into slavery to legionaries your best friend thought you'd traffick his wife your closest friend thinks of you that way your only friend sees you as a potential slaver and because why what you were according to ncr propaganda a mindless heartless raider and even to your only friend subconsciously is that it? it couldn't be that right? either way you're alone in that dinosaur alone in the world

and maybe that's why they shouldn't talk or maybe that's even moreso why they need to

Boone is both grieving and should be sorry. All Manny did "wrong" was make the mistake of reacting according to how he perceived a situation without knowing everything. Boone knew more and jumped to worse conclusions with it.

* ** I don't feel like pulling up the references but both autistic Carla and classist anti-khan Carla (booooooooo tomatoes) can be true at once and consider the classic ordeal of one person’s autism (or other neurodivergences) clashing with another's that shit happens all the time it could happen with Manny and Carla too that's right Manny too now

[acherons-blade]

i've been thinking of a way to word this post/my thoughts about how aventurine's ptsd is written for a very long time, but to be honest, the only thing i can say is that as someone who has ptsd-like symptoms, how hoyo represented aventurine's ptsd means a lot to me.

(more elaboration on how well i think aventurine's ptsd is written under the cut)

before we start off, i'm going to be talking about various ptsd symptoms as stated by the dsm-5 (source). i'm not diagnosing aventurine, but by how the dsm-5 categorizes ptsd and various things aventurine experiences, i hope to show how people can see themselves in aventurine.

first off, it's abundantly clear aventurine has gone through a lot. quite literally the first thing the dsm-5 looks into before diagnosing ptsd is:

aventurine has gone through literally all of these. from being hunted down in the desert, watching his mom and sister die, being sold into slavery, and it being implied he gets into life or death situations by the ipc (from aventurine's future saying: "When you were strapped to that electric chair by Iymanikan warlords, who was it that gave you the idea?")--to say he's been through the wringer would be an understatement.

now, here's where we get into the symptoms. it's a short scene, but upon seeing his slave chains in the maze, aventurine does experience a flashback to him first being branded upon seeing it. it's a short one, but flashbacks don't have to be very long (source). he also has it, seemingly out of nowhere, which is something a lot of flashbacks tend to feel like.

and after he gets the flashback and aventurine's future taunts him about it, he tries to change the topic and gets irritated at future aventurine trying to rub salt in the wound.

which is also something the dsm-5 notes as relating to ptsd:

and it's clear that aventurine does not have a good self-image of himself. here's just a few examples:

(source)

and negative self-image is also another symptom of ptsd that is listed on the dsm-5

and considering aventurine is also described as "reckless" by other characters (and literally tries to kill himself in penacony) as well as experiences nightmares, i think it's safe to say he has self-destructive tendencies

now considering how many of the symptoms he has that's associated with ptsd, it's really clear how people with ptsd can see themselves in aventurine, even if it isn't "confirmed" that aventurine has ptsd

however, and i want to note, something about aventurine is that he's a character who's clearly more than his trauma, even if he still is effected by it after it happened. although his self-image is that he's nothing without his luck, the fact hoyo took so many steps to humanize him makes the audience to realize that aventurine is wrong about his worth, and he is worth more than his luck.

from including the detail that he always kept his dad's shirt, despite everything's he's been through, stole his mothers necklace back because it's one of the last things she left behind, giving a gift to the trailblazer in case he never made it back, and even something as small as giving him cat cakes and a messy room in promotional material, makes him relatable and shows rather than tells the audience that aventurine has a life, his own preferences, and his own morals and wishes.

and the fact that he's so much more than just "traumatized", means a lot to me, as someone who has ptsd symptoms. i'm not going into detail for obvious reasons, but constantly being effected by everyday things really does make you feel like you can never "grow from" your trauma--especially since it's something you're constantly reminded of.

but aventurine being a character who's clearly much more than what he's gone through makes me feel really hopeful, you know? it's like a reminder to zoom out and realize there are more aspects to you than your trauma. it doesn't go away, but you can learn to live to a life beyond it, and i think that's a reminder that means a lot to me. and i love the way aventurine is portrayed because of that :)

[theodysseyofhomer]

this is not to single anyone out, but i have a lot of new followers, and i would just love for you all to know... the search function on my blog is operational. if you search for epic the musical, you will find that i have dabbled in it. it is slightly annoying to be asked over and over whether i've heard of it, even by lovely, enthusiastic, friendly people.

i have another reason for not answering those questions, which is that when someone is being enthusiastic and friendly to me, i don't want to be mean to them. but if i'm going to speak from my heart as an odyssey lover, i don't think epic the musical is that good. it doesn't especially interest me as a standalone piece, but i also don't find it provides much insight on, or compelling points of comparison with, homer's odyssey. i'm glad you're all having a good time! please stop asking me about it.

bullet point review below the cut, for those who are more curious about my opinions.

things i like about epic:

astyanax's murder doesn't get brought up a lot in stories that are sympathetic to odysseus. it's optional when adapting the odyssey or the iliad, but i am definitely of the opinion that odysseus did it, and even if he didn't, he convinced the other greek leaders that it needed to be done.

the athena/odysseus duets.

i found the reframing of polyphemus' blinding compelling, where he's doing the same thing he does in the odyssey for a different reason. i also liked that the audience doesn't learn his name until he reveals it to polyphemus. that's a neat touch.

earwormy as hell.

the fanart! i saw odysseus fanart maybe 3 times a year before the troy saga dropped. i'll take that trade (for my sanity when i try to navigate the tags).

jorge seems to be invested in odysseus/penelope, which is like the bare minimum to hold my attention, but still.

anyhow jorge seems charming; all his videos and interactions with fans seem nothing but excited about what everyone can contribute. commissioning wolfy to animate a trailer? widely regarded as a great move.

things i don't like about epic:

as gutsy as i think it is to start with astyanax's murder, the main thing to me is not whether his hands physically threw the baby, but whether he is in some way responsible for it. more than that, astyanax's death isn't divinely mandated: it's a ruthlessly pragmatic preemptive strike against vengeance that the greek leaders are afraid of. it's 100% human. so framing it around zeus, known troy stan, forcing odysseus to do it and he feels so so bad about it ????????

baffling to me to start with a moral conflict about infanticide, and after committing it, odysseus is still like... maybe kindness is brave? maybe i'm not a ruthless person? please be serious. you murdered that baby.

(been talking to @littlesparklight about this but you could have started out with some version of sophocles' ajax, a death caused by the gods that odysseus actually is complicit in when he didn't necessarily want it to happen. i digress.)

don't like the way the fandom talks about astyanax, specifically, as if odysseus raising a kidnapped trojan boy whose people were destroyed and whose mother was sold into slavery in another land is ever going to be a fluffy au and meanwhile odysseus did very much murder that baby, so!

the songs are not... good. like i said, they're earwormy, but that's also because they're repetitive and predictable. the lyrics are distractingly bad at times, not only from a character perspective, but in the sense of using words wrongly or awkwardly to try to fit them into a rhyme scheme.

i like the reframing of the polyphemus episode. not so much the aeolus one. at that point, you have odysseus doing the opposite of what he did in the odyssey for opposite reasons, which makes him a character bearing no resemblance to odysseus at all.

and this happens while other characters (mostly gods) try to drag him kicking and screaming into his actual homeric characterization.

like, odysseus is haunted by the war in the odyssey, but not because he regrets what he's done as a moral injury. he chose violence on purpose. the gods did not force him to be this person. it's a narrative throughline that serves only as a bid to make odysseus more sympathetic.

... and in doing so, strips away his agency — in sacking a city, in lying and obscuring the truth with his crew (his lies are more than a quirk that endears him to athena, they have consequences!) — some might say his personality. i do have sympathy for odysseus, even at his worst moments morally, because i find his character as a whole compelling. you don't need to try to absolve him of these things! they tell you about what kind of person he is! they are evocative (and provocative) already! take them away and he is boring, because he is not choosing to do anything.

the new wave of odysseus fans seem unable to handle homeric odysseus' complicated aspects and character traits, and to a degree i blame this on the musical characterization. it's allowed to be its own thing, certainly, but now i regularly get people arguing about whether he's a good person when all they know is something epic made up and that was never the fucking point, anyway.

are we really going to pretend he didn't have sex with circe and calypso at all

[slotumn]

Frankly it would have been a lot more fun if Church/Rhea actually did keep slaves and have strong theocratic/political control over Fódlan like they get accused of, and I think an AU that actually utilized that idea would be pretty interesting

Like idk upon deciding Fódlani nobles and Fódlanis period are no longer trustworthy after [some canon-divergent incident], Rhea decides to bulk up on a military force that would be loyal to the archbishop and nobody else— and the best way to do that is importing them from foreign lands, mostly Almyra. The slave soldiers have no connections in the land aside from their employer, so they do provide absolute loyalty and protection.

At first.

But with the combination of favoritism + elite military training, the slave soldiers start growing their own political ambitions, and eventually they pull a Mamluk/Ghaznavid(+dash of janissaries) on Fódlan. They become the de-facto rulers of the continent, with the church and archbishop mostly reduced to figureheads who give stamp of approval to the rule.

And of course the Fódlani nobles are fucking seething at this, because how dare these filthy foreigners hold power in their land! (They want to say infidels too but unfortunately for them the slave soldiers converted to Seiros faith so they can't do that.) No they're not going to reflect on whether their stupidity and corruption and stagnation had any part in creating the situation, why would they do that,

The slave soldier dynasty rule itself has both ups and downs. They're (perhaps ironically) much better at fending off foreign invasions than the Fódlani ruling class was, and despite their foreign roots they act as patrons of Fódlani art, religion, and culture.

But also they kill and coup each other a lot. Like, a lot. You are lucky if you manage to rule for 10 consecutive years and there's no guarantee that you'll get to pass the title onto your offspring. (Look at the ruling years on the list of Mamluk sultans)

Really the main thing stopping me from doing this is that I'd want at least equal focus between examining the inner workings/political introgue of the slave soldier class and the Fódlanis, but there are too few canon Almyran characters and too many Fódlani characters so it would be difficult to give due attention to former without bringing OCs and I'm lazy + have other projects I should write lmao

As for the canon Almyran characters in this AU though, Cyril would be one of the central characters, but he genuinely wouldn't be interested in politics. If he was involved, he'd probably be a behind the scenes guy rather than a ruler. Claude could have been kidnapped + sold into slavery as a result of Almyran succession struggle shenanigans; he'd work well as a foil to Cyril, since he has political ambitions of his own. If I stretch I can probably put Nader in here too, as a previous generation/mentor among the slave soldiers. Shahid... definitely needs to stay in Almyra though, as wanting the Almyran crown is his whole thing.

Rest of cast's backstories would have to change in big and small ways too; Houses Bergliez and Goneril and Gautier might not be as prestigious when there's another group that's better at fighting invasions, Insurrection of Seven/Tragedy of Duscur/all those related incidents might have gone down differently, etc.

But tl;dr if people actually bothered to take the slightest glance at real history and take inspiration then maybe we could get interesting shit but clearly they don't and just project 21st century (mostly Americentric) shit into this pseudo-medieval fantasy Europe with East Asian style isolationist characteristics (<- I will eventually write a separate post for East Asian historical inspirations/context behind 3H)

[defira85]

For the Past Life Durgetash asks: 5 & 6!

Ask meme here! Thank you lovely!

5. Their favourite 'strictly business associates' bonding activity on a Saturday night? Please don't leave out any of the bloody gory details.

Oh I can go two ways with this. Domestic and unhinged. A domestic night for them usually came later on in the piece, in the last few years before Orin absconded with her, and they were both working frantically to make sure their plans came to pass. They'd usually both be on opposite ends of one of the couches, legs entwined while they both poured over their respective books and notebooks - Enver reading Gondian treatises on the volatility of black powder and any necromantic essays on neurology and electrophysiology he could get his hands on, Kass reading absolutely everything and anything under the sun in her voracious thirst for knowledge. Druidic alchemical guides, dry political theses on various class movements, insanely complex discussions on spelljammer technology. She doesn't get the peace to study or read quietly at home, so they sometimes fell asleep like that.

Unhinged, they played incredibly deranged sexual games with a lot of their prey, especially when they were younger. There was at least one occasion when Gortash invited several rival leaders of various smuggling and merc groups to dinner, only for them all to be paralysed by a poison in the food, at which point Kass trotted out dressed in a terribly slutty french maid outfit pretending to serve drinks, while she actually slit all of their throats one by one while Gortash pretended to berate her for being clumsy in front of his guests. They all had to sit there paralysed and waiting for their turn to die while she teetered around the table in stiletto heels pretending she was trying to clean up the blood with napkins. And then Kass and Enver fucked on the table while the last one sat frozen and forced to watch

6. Describe their dynamic in one sentence. Without using toxic.

I'm going to love you on purpose.

It's a challenge. It's a taunt. It's a mocking reminder that they can't control one another no matter how hard they both try to twist each other. It's a desperate life buoy for a little boy sold into demonic slavery and for a little girl who was dumped on top of a pedestal and told she was untouchable. It's a moment of defiance. It's a love confession whispered late at night. It's the one thing that finally broke both of them.

[valandhirwriter]

hello! I was sent your way by doandroidsdream because I was told you are a fellow Arnaghad Stan. I have even talked to one of the writers who helped write him (he even confirmed my theory that he is sorta like Lambert intensified). Is there any particular headcannons you happen to have for him and the Bears?

Hello there,

okay, my headcanon about Arnaghad is rather long, and not really Lambert-esque. But lets get started, all I write after this is my head-canon, even if I end up stating it like a fact. You are talking to my story brain atm. ;)

Arnaghad is Gemerrean. He was born in the red mountains of Gemerra, to one of the fierce warrior tribes of the region. Unfortunately his people's time was running short, when Emperor Hereward of Nilfgaard send two punitive expeditions into Gemerra, to curb their raiding. Most of Arnaghad's people were slaughtered, he lost most of his family this day. Captured as a child, he was sold into slavery, ending up in the grand arena of the golden city. From there he was sold to a mage, who looked for strong specimens for Cosimo's work.

Early in Witcher training Arnaghad had problems communicating, because he did not speak northern common. His friendship with Erland began, because Erland had picked up a little southern language, from his time on the ships. Arnaghad liked and was frightened of Erland, because he realised that Erland wasn't accepting that he too had been sold to the mages, and was fighting back every opportunity he got. Arnaghad also loved Erland for that.

Arnaghad in my head was one of the first six succesful transformations. (I know, in canon it's five, I have six, because I have a story about one that didn't work as planned).

Arnaghad and Erland became lovers as adults, and even after going their seperate ways, both never quite got over the other.

Arnaghad at heart is a survivor, strong, fierce and enduring. When it comes down to it, he throws all he has in surviving whatever shit he ended up in. Arnaghad has a fierce temper and a bigger heart than he dares to admit.

Arnaghad taught the bears to be strong, independent and survive no matter what. The whole "heartless bears, don't feel a thing" perception is a misconception in my brain. Bears are able to survive immense pain, push past any horror or trepidation and keep going. It doesn't mean they don't feel. They also are not disloyal to one another, but they also expect everyone in their school to be able to make it alone. Contrary to the wolves who have pack/group mentality, they fight alone. (The Lion fights alone, and so do I, to add a quote here.)

Arnaghad led his people to abandon their school when he learned a pogrom was under way. They did not leave because they did not care, but because it was the way to survive: why fight an angry mob, when you can evade them? Arnaghad told his people to split up, spread out, and let the world think the school of the bear was broken, while he secretly kept in contact with them, and eventually found a secret hideout for his people.

Arnaghad was saved from Ivar's betrayal by Erland, who gave Ivar the beating of his life for trying to murder Arnaghad. (Erland has a fierce dislike for the vipers because of that, and they are the only witchers he might not consider brothers, in my head)

Arnaghad is seven foot tall, with very wide shoulders, huge muscular arms, he's built like a damn brickhouse. He has a mane of brown hair, interwoven with braids. The braids symbolise his lost family, his people and all the battles he fought. Aside of him, only Erland remembers the names of Arnaghad's lost family, and is able to name them by the pattern in Arnaghad's family braid. Arnaghad has seven battle braids.

Arnaghad is a lot smarter than most people thing, though it took him a few decades to get into reading, and liking books. He is rubbish at alchemy, and surprisingly good with signs. Many people who fight him are surprised when he hits them with very strong and precise signs. (Side effect of too much time with Erland when they were young.)

Arnaghad is still alive during the events of the Witcher books, and thinks that the whole mess with Cirilla is an idiocy of massive proportions. He doesn't have much of a good opinion on the chain of events, and would give Vesemir a talking to, for letting his young wolves be so stupid. (If it were Erland, doing the same thing, he'd grumble that Erland thinks he's a fucking knight, and then follow him to make sure he survives this. So take his opinion with a grain of salt.)

Arnaghad has no love lost for Nilfgaard. "Torres and Fergus... they were never were the true heirs of Hereward's bloody legacy, Emhyr var Emreis is." Still Arnaghad would work for Emhyr if contracted, though he would make the Empire pay a very high price indeed.

Arnaghad likes the Griffins (secretly). On the outside he will grumble and growl about their code, their stupid ideas and what not, but when it comes down to it, he likes them quite well, and rescued more than a few from certain death at the hands of Leo Bonhart. Griffins are people where Arnaghad feels he can trust them (and was never disappointed).

Arnaghad did indeed killed his fellow Witcher Rhys, but it wasn't murder. He assisted Rhys suicide, when Rhys couldn't bear his existence any longer. Arnaghad does not expect anyone to understand that.

Arnaghad is afraid of chains, metaphirical chains, of being slave to someone. It is what made his relationship with Erland so complicated, as Arnaghad became afraid of the way he felt for Erland, feeling he could never say no to Erland, and unable to accept the emotional chains he felt tied him to Erland. Something he only worked out in his later years.

Arnaghad loves being outdoors, he was born in a tent and his happiest memories of his childhood is traversing the red mountains.

The bears: School of the Bear has no code. Because all rules get broken eventually, it's better to leave them out right away. Bears do what they do not because a code says they have, they do what they do because they decide to, because they can. Bears are much in the "because I can" department, when asked why they take the risks they do. Most bears would not be able to function without the thrill of a threat breathing down they necks, and they are entirely unable to exist in polite society.

Contrary to other schools bears rarely feel short-changed about their lives or feel unhappy as Witchers. Which is mostly because most of the schools candidates started off worse, than they had it in their school, and have little wish to live a more normal life. Their solitary path makes them happy, and the brothers they have are enough.

A bear might well save someone's skin and when there is no coin involved all he might want from the person he rescued is to be fucking left alone.

There is more, many small details that are hidden in my stories, that I cannot quite think of now. Are there details or ideas you are looking for? Aspects you wanted to ask about?

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hi,

Can I ask your opinion? There is one YouTuber who is lives Spain and USA and he sounds quite basic. Thing that makes me think is that he says that ottoman and Arab slavers weren't as bad as Atlantic slave trade. Reason for that was because slaves can earn their freedom and their children weren't slaves and after they get free they lived part of society etc. He says that best way to find information treatment of slaves is people who own them. What is your opinion of this? Like I know how Balkans they tattooed girls to keep the safe and captured young boys were convert to islam and rise soldiers.

"that best way to find information treatment of slaves is people who own them." oh, really? Let's go read old WASP's accounts of their Black slaves. I'm sure they will be very reflective of the truth, right? 😂😂 It's all "please look at the perspective of the slaves!" until the slaves are European, apparently.

I think this whole discussion of "Arab slavery wasn't that bad" is a way to minimize an extremely wide and despicable slave trade that lasted for more than A THOUSAND YEARS (and still hasn't ended). In comparison, slavery in America lasted from the 17th to the 19th century. (400 years if we are generous)

Also, I'm sure they would change their tune once they learned that "Brown" and "Black" people too were taken as slaves in this slave-trade. Especially "Black" people were taken a lot and in rural areas they were forced to work in the hardest of conditions, often not living more than 5 years.

I will link videos below that mention all the countries where slaves were taken from, reviewed by Black African women. But I will focus here on Europe because that's what USians have in mind when they say "it wasn't that bad".

Whole villages were taken. Villages. For centuries on end. The sheer amount of people who were taken is scary. We are talking about large populations that changed the genetic makeup of certain areas. And we have veeery few accounts of these people earning their freedom. Just because they legally could, it doesn't mean their "masters" let them.

Families were separated. They were killed when they were trying to escape. They could be beaten and lashed at any moment, for any minor inconvenience they created for their "lord". Yes, there were house slaves, too, like in transatlantic slavery, but they were also made to work under extreme conditions (e.g. extreme heat). They were working in plantations and in mining, things that the free people wouldn't do themselves.

They were castrated. They were raped and often carried the child of their rapists. Through these rapes, many children were born and mothers tried to hush this fact and hide it from future generations. Being seen as an "exotic commodity" isn't the flex these people think it is. Being a "white breeding mare" the pirates went all the way to Norway to capture, isn't a flex.

A White woman cost higher than a Black woman (racial discrimination against Black people that spread in other areas too) but that meant that European women were hunted down intensely and they had almost no chance of escaping captivity through ransom. It was more profitable to be sold, than to be returned with a ransom paid by their families or foreign countries. Arabs "preferred" non-Black slaves, and so many non-Black slaves were taken for many centuries. A double-edged sword, because you don't exactly want a slaver to "prefer" your "race" for any reason.

And if you think that highly sought enslaved women in the "entertainment" industry weren't frequently abused or raped, you can look at the abuse numbers of free women in the entertainment industry today...

People born from rape during slavery were much more than we think. Having to "ruin yourself" with tattoos (according to your tradition) and raise your child as another gender, speaks volumes of the lengths people went to avoid a very frequent phenomenon. The Greek revolution against the Ottomans clearly stated "we don't want to be taken as slaves anymore! We prefer one hour of freedom over 40 years of slavery!" In many cases, the slaves were outright called "chattel"!

Taking the male population as children is also looked by the outsiders as "good" because "they lived in good conditions and they were educated" but please go tell that to the mothers who never saw their children again. These children were also stripped of their culture and religion and language, and were often employed to oppress and kill their own people. Many Balkan countries have songs about this phenomenon.

This slave-trade was totally legal and acceptable within the Ottoman and Arab empires but it was also pirating activity that supplied the slave traders. It was mostly the Beber nations but many Africans, and West Asians and Arabs in the Arab peninsula benefited from it. They often took part in the "stealing people" operations. For example, the most exposure to Black people Greeks had was when they saw them as pirates in Arab ships. That's why the slur for a Black person in Greece historically is basically "Arab".

Europeans were building WALLS toward the sea to prevent these attacks. (Ironically, some were built by the same government that took their subjects as slaves) Thessaloniki had these walls, for example. Like, I'm not sure if the USians who often compare the slave trades ever thought of having a wall towards the sea as a normal thing. Some European nations still have sayings like "there are no Moors at the coast" as another way to say "all is safe". That's how much the trauma has stuck.

In the video linked below, there's also mentioned a revolt towards an Ottoman leader because "why won't you let us have slaves from Europe??" Does this conflict ring a bell, fellow US-ian friends? 😂

European nations and the US had created TREATIES with African states (which didn't stop the attacks in many cases) as an effort to basically say "ok, stop taking our people! we will pay you!" The amounts paid were extravagant but they were still small in comparison to how many people (and profit lol) would be lost otherwise.

There were a few cases where a slave could free themselves in the Arab slave trade but this was the case in the American slave trade too! Legally slaves in the Americas could be freed if their master wanted it, if they paid off their master, or if they were illegally enslaved. They could also have court cases to win their freedom, or serve in the military in exchange for freedom. Some were allowed to have side businesses and earn their own money (and eventually pay for their freedom).

We know there were such cases but, as I mentioned above, just because it is the law, it doesn't mean that it happened a lot.

An American would tell you "noo! Despite some legal protections it was still horrible!" and I'm asking, why don't you say this for the millions and millions of slaves in the Arab slave trade when it comes to laws VS actual treatment?

"their children (the children of slaves) weren't slaves". The recorded history shows that they usually were slaves, though. A minority, if lucky enough, could gain freedom while being born a slave. But slaves were often lumped together in certain areas so they had children with other slaves. And even children by free men often were considered slaves, unless the free male master decided to recognize them.

Just because it isn't Louisiana weather and just because the slaves (usually) didn't die on the way to their destination, it doesn't make it less atrocious. There was a reason our traditions speak of people killing themselves before they could get captured into slavery.

Like a gay Greek man said the other day "we are not supposed to be thankful just because you're not dragging us on the streets and stoning us". The laws saying "Provide shelter, and healthcare and don't mistreat your slaves" doesn't mean this was followed. "Shelter" could be a dirty shed. "Medical attention" could be splashing some water on the wounds from the lashing. "Don't overwork them" could be "I work them too much but not to death, so it doesn't count."

The video speaks more about the white slave-trade of US people but it's good to note how this looks "mild" (for lack of a better word) to what was happening in Europe. I'm not saying this as "these slaves had it better compared to the European ones". No. I'm simply saying that the danger and frequency were much larger for European people, mainly those who lived in coastal nations.

This video focuses on other areas, mainly in Africa, where slaves were frequently taken from.