#he’s said he’ll use the military against us citizens

[the-bibrarian]

No but I feel like Trump is selling oppression and tyranny pretty openly which is why I don’t understand what’s going on???

[nerdiel-has-no-braincells]

The fact that people would rather vote for a racist, r*pist, misogynistic and lying felon over a woman because these men believe all women are emotional is disgusting.

So many countries have women leaders and they’re doing fine.

Trump got rid of women’s rights to healthcare and more women have died than there should have been because it’s left up to the states. He attacked the LGBTQ+ as soon as he was in office and now trans individuals can’t be in the military.

He lowered taxes for the rich so the lower and middle class make up for it even more.

He told a 10 yr old he would date her in 8 years. He attacked democracy. He said Hitler was right and wants German Nazi soldiers.

He wants to use military AGAINST Americans. He called the very country he wants to rule over a garbage can.

And yet people. still. want. him. And it’s disgusting.

Project 2025 names him 300 times, yet he states he’s never heard of it while immediately saying he doesn’t agree with what’s in it.

He lies about immigration. He lied about the cats & dogs. He PROMISED that no one would have to vote again after he wins because it will be fixed.

He claims he’s Christian yet he tear-gassed everyone within the vicinity including the very pastor of the church, who was quoted saying all he did was pose for photos with a bible and left.

He has more and more women coming out against him. E. Jean Carroll was 12 when he forcibly penetrated her. Katie Johnson was 10.

He’s cheated on every wife, who has been confirmed to have been brought to the US while bypassing immigration.

He’s told over 30,000 lies as president.

He’s not for women. He’s not for the country. He’s for himself and believes he’ll be given immunity from his 34 felony charges after admitting to his participation on January 6th (even going as far as to say he will PARDON the ones who attacked this country).

Just a few hours ago he already called fraud at the beginning of the count.

I already had so little hope for people. This just lessened it more.

As a woman, I’m TERRIFIED. As a US citizen, I’m SCARED. As a member of the LGBTQ+, I’m WORRIED. As a sister of a member of LGBTQ+, I’m ANGRY.

[solarbird]

He is the most dangerous person ever. I had suspicions when I talked to you about his mental decline and so forth, but now I realize he’s a total fascist. He is now the most dangerous person to this country… a fascist to the core. — General Mark Milley (retired), Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under President Trump, speaking about former President and convicted felon Donald J. Trump

Trump vows to be a dictator. Only “for one day,” but I remind you that the “one day” part is meaningless, since on the “one day” you grant yourself all power so can pretend you’re not a dictator and are acting within the law the very next day.

He promises a mass ethnic purge of immigrants, including legal ones, and says he’ll expel 15 million people and that they will have to do “terrible things” to people. There are no cases in history where this doesn’t turn into a broader purge – which he’s said he wants.

Now he just says he’s ready to use the military against his greatest – his worst – enemy: domestic political opponents.

Against you and me. Against us.

“Donald Trump has proposed a fascist plan to deploy military forces against U.S. citizens who oppose him on election day.“

We know this.

We all know this.

What’s it take?

Historian Ruth Ben-Ghiat told NBC News that Trump’s threats to curb dissent are “out of the autocratic playbook.” “As autocrats consolidate their power once they’re in office, anything that threatens their power, or exposes their corruption, or releases information that’s harmful to them in any way becomes illegal,” Ben-Ghiat said. “He’s actually rehearsing, in a sense, what he would be doing as head of state, which is what Orban does, Modi is doing, Putin has long done,” she added, naming the dictatorial leaders of Hungary, India and Russia, all of whom Trump has lavishly praised. — Rolling Stone Magazine, “Trump Wants the Military to Target Americans Who Oppose Him,” 13 October 2024. By Peter Wade.

I don’t know anymore.

What does it take?

If you have any Trumpy friends or family, ask them: do they really want to end the Republic? Do they really want to live in a dictatorship? Do they want literally everything in their lives to be about political compliance to the leader, at the barrel of a gun?

Is that what they really want? To destroy the American experiment? To end the United States as a democracy?

Ask them. Make it clear. Make them use small words, make them explain it to you like you’re four, make them try to make you understand. And don’t let them deny, because there is no room for denial. It’s all there, in his words, from his mouth, and yes, it is Trump being Trump, because this is literally who he is, and who is always has been.

Do they hate America that much?

Ask them.

22 days remain.

[mariacallous]

Weeks after Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine entered its third year, Vladimir Putin secured his fifth presidential term. Rumors that the elections would be followed by a new wave of mobilization were only heightened when less than a week after the presidential vote, terrorists launched a deadly attack on a concert venue outside Moscow. Meduza special correspondent Andrey Pertsev spoke to Kremlin insiders and a high-ranking politician to find out what those close to the Russian president expect the next stretch of his reign to actually bring.

Russia’s “political elites” don’t anticipate any “unpredictable, far-reaching, or fundamental” changes in the country during Vladimir Putin’s fifth presidential term, according to two Kremlin insiders, a source in the Russian government, and a high-ranking member of United Russia who spoke to Meduza.

Meduza’s sources agree that the Russian government will intensify repression against dissenters and that Putin’s primary focus will remain the war in Ukraine. “This isn’t something new, though, just an escalation of what already exists,” said a source close to Putin’s administration. “In terms of events and changes, Putin’s new term began in February 2022, not now.”

According to this source, “the onset of the war set a course for increased pressure and escalation [with the West].” “This is a state at war that lives by the words, ‘Everything for victory,’” he explained. “Or rather, that’s how the president would like it. There’s no room for dissenters, gays, and the like. The war takes precedence over everything.”

In this regard, Meduza’s sources say that the terrorist attack at Crocus City Hall is unlikely to bring about significant changes. “At first, I was in shock from the terrorist attack, and then from the potential consequences. For example, a serious escalation, possibly even resorting to using tactical nuclear weapons in Ukraine,” said one Kremlin insider. “Currently, the top leadership isn’t articulating clear decisions, just reassuring citizens. There’s already an established formula: avoid making sudden moves if possible.”

Another source close to Putin’s administration believes that new developments in Russia’s political landscape will only be possible arise after the end of the invasion, or “at the very least, some kind of ceasefire.” “It’s pointless to expect any changes while the war is still ongoing,” he said.

While all of Meduza’s sources are confident that Putin intends to continue the war, their opinions on his objectives vary. One source believes that following Ukraine’s failed counteroffensive, Putin perceives Ukraine as weak and is “ready to go all the way to victory, even to Kyiv, no matter the cost.” “He’ll call for mobilization, if necessary,” the source said. “He’ll shift the economy even further onto a war footing. He’s sticking to his principles.”

In contrast, another source close to the administration believes Putin has “more realistic goals”: namely, capturing Kharkiv and then gradually concluding the “special military operation.” Putin has openly stated that a “buffer zone” needs to be created around Russia’s Belgorod to stop attacks on the region, which directly borders Ukraine’s Kharkiv region.

Sources among Russia’s “elites” told Meduza that high-ranking military officials are confident in their ability to take Kharkiv but feel that it could be “difficult” to advance further into Ukrainian territory. “Taking Kharkiv would also be a symbolic victory,” explained one source. “It’s a city of over a million, with a large Russian-speaking population.”

While they don’t know if a decision to launch a large-scale offensive on Kharkiv has already been made, Meduza’s sources agree that it’s a “very likely scenario” that could theoretically necessitate a new wave of mobilization. (On March 22, the independent outlet Verstka reported on Russian plans for a potential offensive on Kharkiv.) However, according to Meduza’s sources, the recent terrorist attack won’t influence the decision-making process when it comes to mobilization. “Everything [for mobilization] has been in place for a long time,” said one. “It’s just a question of the situation at the front.”

Since the outset of the full-scale invasion, Ukraine’s Kharkiv region has been partially occupied by Russian troops. In the fall of 2022, Ukraine launched a counteroffensive and reclaimed control over most of the cities and villages in the region. The Russian army was never able to capture Kharkiv, but it continues to bombard the city with missiles and drones.

According to Kremlin insiders, amidst these circumstances, all political competition within Russia will be “completely suppressed,” even at the regional level. One source predicts that United Russia will increasingly dominate the electoral landscape, with the remaining votes roughly split among other parties. Reflecting on Putin’s improbably high percentage in the last vote, he remarked that “maybe it’s parliament members’ turn now.”

A political consultant who works with the president’s administration and regional authorities believes that a one-party system is emerging in Russia: “There isn’t much divergence in the parties’ agendas; the main thing is they all support [Putin].” He said that while the different parties will likely formally remain, they’ll function more as government departments with various responsibilities.

However, he pointed out that Putin’s official 87 percent “election victory” was achieved through voter coercion and fraud, a reality which, in his view, could undermine the legitimacy of the Russian political system:

Now there’s a toolkit at your disposal that allows you to do anything. It’s already clear that [officials and United Russia] don’t give a damn about anything except pleasing the boss. This affects self-perception; there’s a prevailing sense that anything’s permissible.

But there’s another consequence: any form of protest expression within the system becomes impossible. Essentially, it doesn’t fit into the system. Sometimes this ends badly, sometimes not. But nobody is thinking about the risks right now; they’re celebrating victory.

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 16 of the 16th Annual KP Fannies Awards

Chapter 16 – A Change in the Winds

(March 13, 2021, the Caribbean, 12:45pm)

Drew Lipsky stared at the massive, gift-wrapped package on his residential lair's doorstep, his teeth grinding as he observed the telltale red and black ribbon. He finally dropped his gaze to the accompanying postcard in his hand and read the messy scrawls on the back.

"Thought I'd share some of my supply, as I know you don't have the connections to acquire any once the stores run out. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything, neighbor!"

He flipped the card to the front and stared briefly at the custom-printed photo of the late middle-aged man wearing maroon swim trunks and an extremely out of place military helmet, his graying chest hair on full display while his arm was around a much younger woman clad in a hologram-silver crisscross halter bikini that was rather revealing at the lower part of the top. Both of the pair wore sunglasses and smug grins as they lounged on a beach.

"Drew? What's this?"

The former super-villain crumpled the card from Dementor and tossed it to the ground as his wife looked from the package to his face seething in anger. Sheila Lipsky stepped over to the doorstep and tore open the wrapping on the package, and the both of them blinked at what their arch-rival had sent them.

"Toilet paper," Drew said.

"Stop grinding your teeth!" Sheila said in annoyance, rolling her eyes and leaving the package to later be collected by a henchman, taking Drew's hand and dragging him back inside with her.

"Why didn't he stay in Greece!? He's never used his lair out here. He only bought it in the first place to irritate me!"

"Then stop letting it get to you, and maybe he'll leave," she countered as they returned to the living room.

A brief command given to an employee on the intercom saw that the toilet paper would be safely tucked away, and Sheila forced her husband down to the sofa where she soothed him first by running her hands through his hair, her fingernails gently raking his scalp, before she grabbed the TV remote and turned on the news for distraction.

"…And we repeat this urgent broadcast, that the Governor-General has ordered all citizens to stay in their homes unless conducting necessary or emergency affairs. A list of what constitutes 'necessary' and 'emergency' can be found on the government website, in addition to a list of businesses required to close for the next two weeks…"

Sheila looked at Drew, whose brow had risen in surprise. She snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Guess we're not going to work for a while," she said, her tone suggestive.

Drew felt the heat under his collar and leaned his head against hers in response. But when she glanced up at his face, she could tell his mind was elsewhere.

"Cat got your tongue?" she teased, shifting to slide her knee over his so she sat across his lap, facing him. She set her hands on his shoulders. "Do I need to loosen it up for you?"

"Sheila," he interrupted, just before she could kiss him, "this is pretty serious."

She glanced over her shoulder at the TV and then shrugged, smirking as she moved toward his face again.

"If I were to run the numbers…this could be potentially the deadliest plague since the Spanish flu."

"Suddenly you're a microbiologist?" she teased again.

"It could wipe out millions of people!"

Sheila sat back and looked at him as he continued.

"And, haven't you found it strange that this has been worsening for months, and yet the organization we work for, Global Justice, seems to be trying to downplay it as nothing? All we've been called for lately are menial assignments!"

"They are boring, I'll admit," Sheila began, but Drew interrupted her.

"I'm going to call Director," he said decisively, stretching his arm across the sofa to grab the landline. "This is absurd."

Sheila waited as the phone rang, considering the facts. Until this past week, there hadn't seemed to be too much attention on the supposedly deadly virus. As for Global Justice, they had determined where the virus had originated and then seemingly dropped the case. Dementor had been shown to be innocent in terms of the accidental release of the plague, though he had clearly aided VILE in developing it. And the Bavarian lair's new owner, some chump going by Game Controller, had vanished not too long after the initial knowledge of the disease.

"I'm being transferred," Drew said impatiently, and Sheila raised a curious brow. A moment later Drew spoke into the phone. "Hello? Who is this? …Why can't I speak with Dr. Director? What, do you…don't you know who I am? Never-mind."

Drew hung up the phone with a scowl and pulled out his cell.

"What happened?"

"I got transferred to some no-name plebe who said Director is unavailable indefinitely," he said as he pressed the speed-dial to the boss's home number. It rang twice and then was answered. "Hello, Dr. Director? Yes… Oh."

Drew's brow furrowed and he met Sheila's eyes in a way that caused her to sit up straighter in attention. Especially when the pinch of his uni-brow rose upward as his forehead crinkled in worry.

"Yes…I understand…" he said into the phone, fixing wide eyes on Sheila. She gestured to him to put the call on speaker and he grimaced slightly. "Dr. Director— Sorry, can my wife listen in? Thank you."

"Shego," the voice through the phone greeted her with the now rarely-used name. "I was just explaining to your husband that I've contracted TEVID-20."

Sheila's eyes widened. "Oh."

"I feel like a knife is driving deeper into my back with each breath, and like an elephant is sitting on my chest."

Dr. Director's voice broke off into a devastating cough, and with a sinking feeling Sheila realized that her teasing of Drew mere minutes before seemed in poor taste. To her knowledge, their boss was the first person they actually knew to be ill with the disease. But that didn't mean that perhaps millions of people, as he had said, weren't suffering similarly.

"Are you receiving treatment?" she asked after a moment of pause.

"Some drugs that are showing to be effective, depending on who you talk to. But you know the political game is already being played around this."

Sheila rolled her eyes as Drew shook his head. One benefit of having been villains was they never had to bother with taking a side in anything above-board. As Global Justice agents, there was an implied rhetoric they were supposed to vomit out in regards to this sort of thing. It was one of many aspects of the legitimate lifestyle that Sheila disliked.

"Is this why you've not been pursuing that kid and trying to lock down VILE's virus lab?" Drew asked point blank of their boss.

Another series of coughs was the response through the phone, and then, "Drakken… Shego… I can't look into it."

"What are you talking about?" Sheila asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Global Justice can't get too involved. Like I said, the political game is being played…worldwide."

Sheila scoffed and leaned back from where she'd been embracing Drew's neck and crossed her arms. She didn't see the problem in tossing a dozen or more VILE and Henchco goons into prison for what Drew said could be devastating to the entire world. Surely agreement could be found in that. But before she could spew her frustrations, her husband was continuing.

"The medical labs aren't even studying it or working on treatments?"

"They are, but we're law-bound to the World Health Organization. There's only so much we'll be allowed to share, one way or the other."

It was Drew's turn to scowl, his teeth bared in frustration as on the TV beyond them graphs showing the count of cases and deaths reported was rotating for each country, the thick red line climbing almost exponentially for each day that had passed.

"Off the record...I'm as frustrated as you are Dr. Drakken."

"Why are you calling us that? We haven't gone by those names in years," Drew replied quizzically.

There was silence on the other end of the phone line, broken by a few coughs and then a painful inhale of breath.

"I wish I could do more in this pandemic. But in my…position…my hands are tied," Betty replied.

Sheila and Drew exchanged a look.

"I'm sure you have plenty to do in your enforced quarantine," she continued a moment later. "I hope we'll speak again. Goodbye Drew, Sheila."

The line went dead on another cough, and the colorful couple blinked at each other for a long moment, the only sound in the room the grave voice of the newscaster on the TV behind them.

"I know I'm not good on picking up subtleties…" Drew began, "but was she implying what I think she was?"

Sheila swallowed slowly and then set her hands back on her husband's shoulders, her fingers kneading the flesh while her expression became serious.

"Dr. D…."

"Bedroom nicknames on the sofa? Oh, goody!"

Sheila smirked at his teasing but continued. "Have you ever…missed the freedom of villainy?"

Drew's impish grin faded into thoughtfulness as he regarded her.

"It would be horribly ironic to shirk our good names only to save the world…again."

Sheila glanced at the TV behind them, and then looked back into his eyes. "It's gonna be that serious?"

He nodded gravely, and this time she didn't tease him.

"And you really think you can do it? Find a cure?" she continued.

He was silent a long moment, and then he sighed. "I couldn't live with myself thinking it was possible, and I didn't try."

Sheila nestled against him again, smiling when this time his arms encircled her. She tilted her head to the side and kissed his jaw. And then familiar, dark look flitted through Drew's eyes.

"No one and nothing takes over this world but me."

Sheila's smile grew and her heart thudded within her chest.

"It might drive Dementor out of retirement in jealousy."

Drew gave a brief chuckle and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Sheila inhaled and spoke bravely.

"So what do you say...Dr. Drakken?"

He kissed her soundly before giving her a devilish grin.

"I think it's time we give our 'employees' their henchmen uniforms back, Shego."

A/N: Note for future chapters: the name of character 'Glame Dover' has been changed to 'Graeme Dover.' Past chapters have been adjusted accordingly.

[paellaplease]

revali x reader 16 (i think?) verklempt please ❤️

16. verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

19. temerate - to break a bond or promise

pairing: revali x reader summary:  falling in love is difficult when neither of you know the end is near.

   Night had fallen by the time you mustered the courage to walk up to him. He watched the shining caps of your barely worn boots approach the other side of the campfire, sensing your nervousness as you awkwardly stood for a few beats, weaving and unweaving your fingers. 

Either his reputation as the strongest Champion preceded him, or he was completely unapproachable. Throughout the day you would chance a look at him from across the camp, quickly averting your eyes the moment he noticed. You were part of the Princess’ research effort and therefore had some questions— that much he was certain of. Yet you’ve been dancing around him for hours, gathering the will to speak only to have it snuffed out the moment he acknowledged your presence. 

Embers lifted from the flames and flickered into the night sky as you finally faced him. Revali held his tongue and gathered his patience, trying to hide the glitter in his eyes at the chance of ‘wowing’ another admirer (nevermind that you were the first). 

“Champion, uh sir,” you fumbled with the titles. The question fell from your lips so quickly that his disappointment didn’t register until a second later. “What kind of flower do you favour the most?” 

“...”

If the following silence wasn’t damning enough, the Rito was honestly at a loss for how to respond to such an inane question. Seriously? He was better than this. Others have made more important inquiries and had to wait weeks, if not months, for him to clear time in his busy schedule and reply. 

Something like this didn’t deserve attention, let alone an answer. 

“Swift violets.” He said, before rising from his seat by the fire, dead leaves crunching under the weight of him as he made a beeline straight for his tent. 

Parting the canvas, he pretends to miss the earnest wave of goodbye you send his way, ignoring the static in his chest the moment his head hits the pillow. Sleep comes quickly. 

*

A month later you meet again. 

The universe seemed to adore playing tricks on him. Crossing the threshold of his home, he catches you investigating the decorative shells hanging by his kitchen window. Amusingly, you were balancing on the tips of your toes, its placement just a tad too high.  

There’s something different this time around. You seemed more at ease with your surroundings, no longer jumping at every sound like a stranger in their own skin. The tips of your boots were scuffed with use, and the minute cuts and imperfections in your clothes spoke of days spent in hard work and travel. 

Though some things still remain the same. He holds back his smirk when you stumble forward in surprise at the sound of your name, getting straight to business once you were safe from the risk of falling over. “I believe you’re the researcher sent to assess my progress with Vah Medoh?” 

“Yes, I am.” You’re quick to snap back into stiff professionalism, he’ll give you that. The bow is low and formal, your back so still that someone could confidently rest a cup and saucer on it. An introduction spills out, followed by an apology when you realise he already knows who you are from the briefing he was given days earlier in Hyrule Castle. 

The task was simple really. King Rhoam Bosphoramus wanted a full report on the breadth of Hyrule’s offensive capabilities against Calamity Ganon. From Guardians to Divine Beasts, much had been done in the past year in preparation for their greatest adversary. Now as the whirlwind began to settle, all must be accounted for, down to the last soldier. 

Your report was just a drop in what will be an immense ocean of information currently being collated. But it was nevertheless quite vital. He wonders how someone like you was selected for such a task. 

“Let’s do our best.” You blurt. Revali could see the millions of thoughts racing behind your eyes when you decide to break away from your military-stiff posture, raising a hand in the traditional Hyrulean greeting between strangers.

The lines of your palm stretch before him like deeply-woven thread. He glances at the wrinkles and grooves in your flesh, remembering that some mystics believe such lines could predict something as unknown as the future. He can’t help but wonder what yours might foretell. 

Pressing his wing to your outstretched hand, he declared his agreement. “Of course. You’ll soon see that my ability to pilot Medoh is nothing short of perfect.” 

He can’t help it. “And no questions of the botanical sort, understood?”

The sudden playful grin you give him makes all his witty quips screech to a halt, his focus trained solely on the way your face instantly lights up when it isn't held down by strict politeness or pure nervous energy. “I’ll be sure to steer clear from them this time, Champion. You have my word.” 

*

Both of you eventually fall into a comfortable routine. Meals are made together and the chores are done quickly through combined effort. You catch on well, cottoning on to the needs of the day based on the tasks you both decide on the night before. 

After breakfast he finds his gear and yours already neatly arranged by the doorway, allowing him additional time with Vah Medoh and you the chance to closely observe. The idea of training with an audience never bothered him, but knowing you followed close behind, notebook at the ready, gave him the extra push to perform just a level better than his previous.

One more arrow, one more extravagant somersault in the air. He even maneuvers Medoh to do a complete 180, reveling in the way your mouth pops open in awe as you walk across what was once the ceiling. 

“... .... --- .-- / --- ..-. ..-.” The ancient machine complains, unhappy to be on their back. The Rito pilot pats the metal wall apologetically, watching as you excitedly flit from one end to the other, feeling quite pleased with himself. 

*

Revali dreams of a cliff’s edge.

The precipice looms before him, nothing but fog and the unknown past the point where the ground stops and plummets. Revali looks at you and feels the smooth rock of the sea stone underneath his talons; hears the sound of crashing waves in the distance. Tantalising was the mystery of the void beyond. 

The meaning escapes him the moment he wakes up. His pillow was warmed by the glow of the sun, making him realise that he had slept in. Morning was just beginning, and both of you had a full schedule of tasks to get through. 

Diverting all his mental energy to the work ahead, he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes away the odd thrill in his feathers. I’m better than this, he thinks. 

His tea is still warm when he arrives at the table. 

*

Word of the researcher shadowing him gets around quickly, it’s a small village after all. Some of the Elders glance at you in suspicion, old wounds from disagreements fought with the capital in the past lingering like dye in the water. You don’t seem to mind it, too caught up in the new sights and smells of this vibrant community built in the clouds. 

The Rito children are much more enthusiastic about your presence, sharing in your curiosity by matching your questions with their own. Getting comfortable on the wooden slats of the departure deck, you happily play encyclopedia for them. 

“Were you this cute back then?” You ask, watching a fledgling hop from one talon to another in imitation of a lizalfos, chasing after their friends who were the heroes in the story, at least for this round of the game.

“I was a model citizen.”

“Not true!” One of them pipes, poking him in the side with the tiniest of wings. “Mama said you were a hennish scallion.”

“You mean a hellish rapscallion,” the eldest of the bunch laughs, screaming when the ‘lizalfos’ tackles them into the ground. 

Crossing your arms, you fix him with your best look of authority, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “I apologise but the council has spoken.” He raises a brow at your antics, feeling a little light headed at the adorable way your eyes water whenever you hold back your laughter. “Do you plead guilty for perjury, Mr Champion?”

Champion. The word echoes and reverberates, wrapping tightly around his brain like the blue scarf fitted snugly on his neck. He likes the way you say it, making him wonder about something else. 

The words leave his mouth before he can think it through. “Revali will do just fine.”

Mirth drains from your face, replaced instead by surprise. “W-what?”

“I have a name.” He ignores the feeling of his feathers standing at the back of his neck, unclenching his jaw. Relax, he tells himself. “Better for you to call me that than to continuously mess up the titles.” 

“Still working on it,” you shrug. Then, you’re gesturing for him to step into your space, leaning forward just the same like you’re about to tell him a secret. You’re close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath against his beak. He freezes, becoming hyper aware of his heart thundering against his ribcage, not daring to move even a muscle in fear of giving his thoughts away. 

“Revali then,” you murmur, almost too soft for him to hear. 

It was only when one of the children tugged at your sleeve, dragging you away to explain the appearance of another monster you’ve encountered in your travels, that he allows himself to breathe.

*

His presence had been requested at the Chief’s office, the old, war-weary Rito regretfully informing him that an urgent message had arrived. Multiple reports had noted an increase in the signs of Calamity Ganon’s resurgence. It came as no surprise, with every Blood Moon summoning more monsters from the void, an omen that something big was coming. 

Letters from the Princess implied the worst: that she had exhausted nearly all avenues in awakening her sealing power. The Spring of Wisdom would be her last chance, and after that, who knows? The Champions were to meet again in three weeks at the foot of the mountain, to celebrate or to re-strategise depending on the outcome. 

He was never the religious sort but by the Grace of Hylia, please let it be the former. 

A headache was beginning to form as he made his way home, the idea of knocking out on his hammock for an hour or so sounding extremely appealing. The day was coming to a close, a cold breeze chilling his back as the orange heat of the evening crept its way to night. 

You’re the first one to the hut this time, brown scuffed boots positioned neatly at the doorway. Revali stares at them for a second too long, wondering if you knew your time in the village was coming to an end earlier than expected. The information you had diligently collected was finally required, a little last minute if he had to comment but such were the nature of these things. 

The mental image of you puffing out your cheeks in frustration, complaining that you would have to organise the data on the way back, was enough to make his mood perk up— just a tiny bit. Picturing you disgruntled and annoyed, just like when the markets ran out of your favourite produce, was easier to stomach than the thought of saying goodbye. 

Leaning against the hardwood of the kitchen counter, you don’t notice him enter the room, too engrossed in the list you’re making.

It's a sight he'd seen before. If he forgot about the sobering news he'd just received, then the day would feel like any other. 

The open window frames your form, making you appear like a painting come to life. Rays of light streamed from the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the slope of your nose and curve of your mouth. 

Instinctively, you tilted your head to the source of warmth, instantly reminding him of the swift violets that would bloom by the Hebra cliffsides, forever seeking the sun. 

Oh. 

The ground had finally run out, earth and sky crashing together. There was no denying it now. Inwardly, he cursed himself, following the thought past the precipice, plunging himself deeper into the truth he'd avoided acknowledging for months. The universe truly was cruel. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. The answer was clear as day, right from the beginning of its inception. 

It's the golden hour before sunset when Revali realises he’s in love with you. 

*

Wind plays with the jade clasps of his braids as he appraises Medoh’s central control unit. He’d done this maneuver many times before, enough that he could perform it with his eyes closed. 

It was your final day on assignment so shouldn’t he attempt an action that was more daring? He tried to ask. But you had rejected the proposal outright, reasoning that it suggested this would be the last time you both would meet at the top of the Divine Beast. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you smile. “I’ll visit once the fight is over.”

“Guess there’s no harm in going back to the basics,” he mused, inputting the commands before taking a step back.

Leaning against one of the columns, you watch with rapt attention as he points the Divine Beast south. The view abruptly shifts from the towering mountains of Hebra, to the grassy Tabantha Frontier, greenery spanning for miles and disappearing into the white, snowy wall of Mystathi’s Shelf. 

You tilt your head up, eyes trained on the heavens. There’s a solemn intensity in the way you look at the sky, as if trying to ascertain a greater meaning to your existence in this world between the cover of clouds and the endless sea of blue. It never gives you the acknowledgement that you desperately want, no matter how long you spend asking it, but that doesn’t stop you from searching anyway. 

He understands because he’s tried asking well, too many times to count. Eventually the young Rito stopped looking, opting to make an answer for himself instead. 

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

Revali’s silent for a moment, mulling over his answer, before he pushes away from the control unit and starts walking towards you. “There’s no spectacle grander, and I can’t recall a time I’ve been without it. As a Rito, it was your first companion, and so long as you looked above, you were never alone.” He shook his head. “Though I guess to love something so vast and beyond our comprehension would be rather imbecilic.” 

He’s running his mouth at this point, the hum of Vah Medoh loud in his ears. “... .. .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. -..” the beast warns, but he continues anyway. 

“It’s far too foolish to pine for something that will never be in your grasp. So it would be best for me to realise that there’s no point in fighting it anymore. I mean, I should feel relieved by the concession that at least I’ll be remembered by someone other than myself.”

Your attentions were no longer directed at the sky, the intensity of your eyes piercing into him, seeing right through his poorly hidden deflections. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

The urge to plunge himself over the edge and fly away by the sheer fuel of his embarrassment was beginning to feel very enticing. Trust his description of the sky to sound like a confession. “No,” he admits. 

“Then…”

Revali thinks about telling you— considers allowing himself to become vulnerable just this once.

You’re still here, feet planted firmly on the ground, within his reach at this very moment. There was nothing he wanted more than to take that last step forward, to close the gap that perpetually rests in between you both. He imagines what it would feel like to wrap his wings around you, and believes that it would be nothing less than holding infinity. 

Yet, despite this— despite everything, he sighs. “Another time.”

Almost like reading his mind, you simply nod in response, smiling as you reach out to him. He lets you take one of his wings in both your hands, the firm surety of your touch grounding him into the present. There’s no hesitation in your next words, only a promise of a thousand tomorrows lingering on the corner of your lips.

“Tell me when we meet again?”

“I swear it on my life.”

.

.

.

-

As usual, what was supposed to be a short and sweet answer became a creature of its own, demanding my full attention until it was finished. Writing in Revali’s POV is so fun, but there’s always that small bit of doubt that I can never do his character justice. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this one.

By the way! Hello to all the new visitors to my blog. Welcome yall. This is the prompt list. I may not answer straight away, but I shall do my best :) 

[deniigi]

Jack and the other folks at the gym; how they met, what their relationships are like, how they are with Matt etc.

For you, anon. I have an old fic that answers all of these questions.

It’s written from the perspective of Jack’s best friend and sparring partner Rudy DeLuca.

Title: Tape

Summary: There were two generations of devils at Fogwell’s Gym

Warnings: child abuse, physical abuse, references to drug use and suicide/suicide attempts, and foster care

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

There was a famed baby at the gym at the moment and Rudy was scheming how to get it into his arms when the old man caught him leaning on the front desk and told him that he had two whole grandbabies waitin’ for him at home.

Matty took that moment to fly in from the back room where he’d been harrassing the shit out of the new ‘clerk’ (as Fogwell called him) to ask if Tina had finally popped.

Rudy was caught off guard by the image of Tina beating the shit out of Matt for that and then by the wave of nostalgia that the kid’s sudden enthusiasm bought.

“Well, look who’s here?” he drawled instead, slowly turning around towards the beast. “Where you been, neighbor?”

Matt beamed at him.

He looked good.

Happy.

Far, far too happy.  

Rudy squinted.

Matt waited a beat, then scrambled back into staff entrance and knocked shit over on the desk back there in his haste to go hide behind Fogwell.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

That’s right, troublemaker, go hide behind Grandpa. He’ll protect you, you little shit.

The new gym baby was a full two months old. He was fat and grumpy and his papa’s pride and joy already. Rudy managed to snag an opportunity to get the thing into his arms when Bert and Kenny came in, signaling for the youths that the senior citizen shift had begun.

Fogwell was the most distinguished of the senior citizens, but, of course, he would wait his turn until the rest of them had finished lavishing attention upon his fiftieth great-grandbaby.

Baby’s papa was proud as a peacock.

“His name’s Henry,” he told Rudy, while Henry wrinkled his nose and eyes up at him.

Henry.

Ehn.

Terrible name.

“He looks like a John,” Rudy said.

Papa, who Rudy had forgotten the name of at least six times since he’d joined the gym, laughed.

“I thought about callin’ him Jack,” he said. “But my girl drew the line there.”

Ah.

Right.

This was that kid.

Kenny had gathered everyone into a group huddle in the changing room the other week to explain seriously how they all needed to avoid the fuck out of this guy. He’d said in a whisper that the guy was one of them people into vintage shit.

A hipster, he meant.

A fuckin’ hipster in their midst.

God, there were more and more of them in the gym every day.

Rudy lifted an eyebrow at baby Henry.

He didn’t deserve to be called Henry. He really did look more like a John. But, for the sake of the dead, Rudy decided that he’d squint for as hard and long as it took for him to become a Henry.

 ---

 Fogwell’s had been legendary back in the day for producing pro boxers out of good-for-nothin’, trouble-makin’ guys with no other prospects.

Fogwell was that general from Mulan who made men out of boys (and the occasional girl. And the most recent kid who said that they weren’t a guy or a gal and if anyone wanted to throw down about it, they were posting their number on the cork board by the front desk).

Back in Rudy’s youth, that had been appealing as hell. And so he’d had a swagger on into the place, thinking that maybe he would pop his guns a bit in Fogwell’s direction and get the polishing he needed to make enough money to buy his girl a ring.

On the upside, Fogwell had, in fact, noticed him. But the downside was that Rudy had had no fucking clue what that actually meant, and so three years later, he’d found himself smoking only twice a week instead of every day, drinking goddamn protein shakes, and doing a daily fuckin’ jog like a military brat.

Fogwell had no time for dumb shit. He didn’t care if you wanted to kill yourself slowly with whatever vice you picked from the basket, but if you walked into the ring with his name on your back, then you would disgrace that name on pain of divine retribution.

It was way easier just to get one step ahead of the guy’s nit-picking than to suffer his judgemental silence.

That had been Fogwell back in the day, and that was still Fogwell in the now.

But as with any force of nature, even if the old man had planted his feet and announced his intention to rest there in that place for the next two millenia, the world around him still carried on spinning around.

Fogwell’s wasn’t just a facility for churning out pros these days. It wasn’t just legendary, now.

It was a fuckin’ institution.

God help them.

They were a tourist destination. Ghost hunters, folks on buses, sports fans, teen girls with a mighty need for a vintage-lookin’ selfie. You name it. They pressed their noses up against the yellowed glass to watch the people inside break their bodies down to build them up into something money-making.

It wasn’t an unwarranted curiosity, to be fair.

Fogwell had produced twenty pro boxers in the last several decades who’d really made it. Like, really, really made it.

Bert was one of them—to literally every one of the senior citizens’ surprise.

Bert had been a empty-headed wise-guy with a porn-stache at best way back when. And like, don’t get Rudy wrong, he was still an empty-headed wise-guy. He was just an empty-headed wise guy with a head like a helmet and a whole lot of money now.

Not that you’d have known it from lookin’ at him.

Bless him.

He was paying college tuition for all his kids and he was helping the older ones vet kindergartens with tuition or what the fuck ever, doing all that he could so that those babies didn’t have to live life out of Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese boxes like him.

Bert had made it. That was the dream.

The dream was just that, though. A shot in the dark. A drop in a bucket. Kenny had done alright, just like Rudy had done alright. They’d had their ten minutes of time in the spotlight. Had made enough to get by. Had made enough to be comfortable in Hell’s Kitchen. To retire and become personal trainers or sports commentators or whatever the fuck opportunity jumped up in their faces.

A lot of fellas hadn’t made it, though. And then there were the Almosts.

Jackie had been an Almost, god rest his soul.

This new hipster kid at the gym with his baby had latched onto Jack’s image, found in old magazines and grainy footage, and had decided that that whole vibe fit the image that he wanted to live in.

It made Rudy sick. It made Kenny angry—hence the group huddle.

There were about seven of them left who’d both known Jackie and who still used the gym on the regular. Eight if you included Fogwell.

Nine if you included Matty.

Jesus fuckin’ help them.

This dumbass hipster kid didn’t even know who Matty was. Most of the newcomers didn’t. He was just some bright, perky blind guy to them. He was Center-Left-Second-Back bag. That was his bag.

And he was good.

He was a curiosity to the newcomers and the people pressed against glass—one of a handful of middle-weights in a sea of heavyweights. He didn’t look like everyone else. He wasn’t packing muscle like everyone else. He was lithe and coiled and looked, honestly, a little out of place to folks who didn’t know the gym as Home #2.

He was interesting to the newcomers mostly because he was 100% Fogwell’s favorite. Fogwell doted on him by ribbing him and bullying him viciously, by bumping into him and throwing him off mark left and right, and all the while, Matty just beamed.  

The newbies thought he got preferential treatment because he was blind. But that wasn’t it. Matty got treated that way because that was how his grandpa told him he loved him.

 ---

 Before Jake and Carlos and Omar and Matty, Jack had been Fogwell’s favorite up-and-coming rookie.

It had been no secret. Well. To most people.

Jack had been horrified when he’d found out.

No one wanted to be Fogwell’s favorite. That’s how you went pro whether you liked it or fucking not.

Jack had pleaded with Kenny for hours to take his place, but there was nothing that could be done. Jackie was the youngest and Jackie had come from a shit home life and Jackie would do anything and everything Fogwell told him to do because he was just that kind of sweet and respectful.

Fogwell could smell Jack’s lack of a father-figure on him like Chanelle No. 5.

He could smell it miles away.

Jack had actually been at the gym before Rudy had joined up. He’d been around since he was about seventeen. He’d come in on the heels of his big brother who wanted to go pro.

It quickly became apparent to Fogwell that Tom Murdock didn’t have what it took to be a boxer. He was just a bully. But that little brother of his, Tom’s punching bag, now he had some talent. He had the diligence and respect that the game, in Fogwell’s opinion, was severely lacking.

So Fogwell did what he did best and drove a wedge slowly between Tom and baby Jackie, separating the two of them so that he could get his mitts on Jackie and do something with him before Tom and his junkie sister took Jackie down with them.

Rudy had met Jack soon after Jack’s eldest brother had been arrested for murdering his wife and stepdaughter.

The kid was a wreck. He’d just turned 18.

He didn’t talk. He just fought and fought and fought until he cried and cried and cried. All on his own, from 5pm to 1am, at Center-Left-Second-Back.

Fogwell let him.

Fogwell came over to put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed when he finally dropped from exhaustion.

It was hard to watch.

The older guard at the time had bared their teeth and clenched their jaws as Jackie had pummeled his heart out against that bag.

No one could help him.

Everyone but Rudy, at that time, had seen the man he’d walked into the gym with. They’d seen this coming a mile away. And over a few days of that, it become clear to Rudy that Jack didn’t have a home to go back to that didn’t scream at him from morning until night. At that time, the gym for him was Home #1.

 ---

 It took about a year, but Rudy eventually got to know this weeping, heartbroken boy from the worst side of the Kitchen.

Rudy learned from the others about the Murdocks.

They were sinners and drunkards and addicts, word had it. The police were always in and out of their rooms, taking one of the five kids or one of the parents to jail for some damn reason or another. Neighbors wasted their hard-earned money on phone calls to the police for domestic disputes and violence and so on and so on. Everyone on the streets said to be careful of the Murdocks, especially them boys.

They got the devil in ‘em.

But not Jackie, Rudy learned.

He was shy, bless him. He wasn’t suited to those others’ kind of life.

Rudy actually had felt, for the second time in his life, strong brotherly feelings around this kid. He and his own sister didn’t get on until someone threatened the other. Then it was no-holds-barred, bear-like feelings. Just them against the world.

But Jack was different. He had puppy eyes with a constant black one and perpetually chapped lips. It had never occurred to him that he could spend a buck buying chapstick. It had never occurred to him that he could have friends that he didn’t have to smile at until his face hurt.

He didn’t really get what it meant to have relationships with other people and for the first six months of their acquaintance, Jack refused to meet Rudy’s eye, much less say more than five words to him.

He was more than respectful.

He was skittish.

The other guys, who were happy to haze Rudy, warned him that he if so much as looked at that kid, Fogwell would break his bones and his career would be over before it even started.

It had definitely turned into a kind of spite thing.

Rudy had absolutely been that kind of shithead back then.

He’d started by offering to hold Jack’s bag while he worked out his aggression. That had been a mistake.

He’d caught Fogwell snickering at him about ten minutes into it, after trying and failing that whole time to find a way to plant his feet that would let him actually hold onto the bag.

Jack had noticed.

Jack had gotten flustered and freaked out bad enough that Rudy had been forced to leave him be or else he’d hyperventilate or go hide in the backroom in a cupboard or something in self-flagellation.

It took some practice and some muscle, but they got there in the end.

Jack was a great sparring partner because he did not fucking go down. It was like trying to fight a pine tree sometimes. He would, could, and did take hit after hit without batting an eye.

And when it was his turn for offense?

Rudy was well aware that he’d signed up to be a human punching bag, but this? This was a lot.

Fogwell critiqued the fuck out of Jack’s everything.

His form.

His posture.

His aim.

His drive.

His commitment.

His tape.

His fucking hair.

Jack thought he was like that with everyone.

Rudy loved that kid like a brother, but he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Not by far.

That had become more clear when Kenny joined their mottley crew and, aggravatingly sharp, had taken to teasing Jack. That was more frustrating for Kenny than anyone else because Jackie didn’t get a single joke or jibe.

No, Jack didn’t know Seinfield. Or Friends. Or Charlie’s Angels. No, he didn’t know anything about cars. No, he didn’t know about physics or chemistry or math. What the fuck was English lit? Wait, what’s the difference between books and literature?

God.

Bless.

That.

Kid.

He wasn’t unintelligent, he just wasn’t academic.

He was sweet about it, though. The youngest of five, he had no choice but to be sweet because all his siblings called him hopeless and useless and stupid, so he had to be something and so pretty it was.

Rudy had never met someone who performed so well under pressure and around two years into their friendship and, suddenly privy to the full extent of Jack’s honestly horrific, borderline surreal upbringing, he finally got it.

But then along came Grace.

The Lord’s agent herself.

Jack was a good Catholic boy who saw a nun and dropped his eyes, but for some reason, this novice caught his gaze and he was gone.

He got dopey and dreamy the night after she and some friends had snuck out in their novice habits to see a load of guys in desperate need of the Lord hitting on each other.

It was tooth-decaying the way Jack swooned for that girl.

Her name was Margaret, she told him saucily at the church one street over from the one he’d grown up attending, but he could call her ‘Grace.’

Jack banged his melon on a locker a week later at the gym and the jolt make him realize that he was in love with her.

He cracked his head a second time with everyone watching him in a mix of pity, exhaustion, and indulgence and then scurried off to the bathroom to hyperventilate over a urinal.

“Someone go keep Baby M from drowning in a sink,” Horace Whalin, a professional beast at the start of his career, had sighed.

Everyone had looked right at Rudy.

 ---

 Grace was the worst thing that could ever have happened to Jack.

Everyone at the gym knew it. Fogwell hated that girl with a cold passion.

She made Jack stupider than usual. Bolder than ever.

She made him think and made him question things and like, that was probably a good thing in terms of Jack’s life experience and mental health, but in terms of boxing?

Not good.

Fogwell was openly dreaming up schemes to break them up the day Jack came tearing into the gym and announced that he was getting married.

It took everything in Rudy not to start cackling right then and there. The entire gym’s necklines bulged with the effort not to fucking laugh. Fogwell went silent and blank.

He’d waved Jack in close and and when he came—because he would always come to Fogwell, no matter what—the old man set a hand on Jack’s shoulder and told him that if he brought that woman into the gym he’d kill him.

Jack stared up at him and said that they were getting married in a church, Coach. Why would he bring her to the gym?

At that point, it would have taken a saint not to laugh and the gym was full of only sinners.

 ---

 Grace was the worst thing that had ever happened to Jack, but Matty was by far, the best thing.

Fogwell, after being vindicated upon Jack and Grace’s abrupt and tragic separation, found that Matt could be used as a motivator for his up-and-comer.

Matty, of course, played the part beautifully.

He was unfairly cute with those delicate, whispy red locks and them big hazel eyes. He was bubbly and chatty. An unrelenting troublemaker. Just a barrel of laughs.

Fogwell took to letting Jack put Matty’s carrier on a bench next to the ring or on one of the metal bleachers around the mats in the weights and sparring room. He found that if Matty started whining or crying, that Jack got twice as motivated to finish whatever task was at hand with maximum efficiency.

Matt was the best thing to ever happen to Jack’s boxing career, truly.

He also immediately became the gym’s darling because all the veterans there at that point were dads. Rudy himself had had his first girl Tina the year before, but unlike Jack, the rest of them had childcare arrangements and the money to maintain them.

 ---

 It was just natural for people to gravitate towards the baby. Out of paternal instincts, yeah, but also because Matty was a source of constant entertainment.

He called everyone uncle until he was seven and he needed to be negotiated with to leave Fogwell be until he was nine. Fogwell didn’t mind him. Fogwell had unwittingly adopted him.

Matty didn’t meet his own uncles and grandpa. Jack couldn’t bear that. He took Matty to meet Bill, Jack’s eldest brother—the one who’d killed his wife—in jail and afterwards had been heart-broken and anxious for days.

Grace did not approve, it turned out.

Grace, who went by Maggie at that point, and who had given up her rights to be the mother of Jack’s child, remained one of Jack’s closest and dearest friends.

They still loved each other, and in Fogwell’s very correct opinion, that was nothing but trouble. He snatched Matty at every opportunity and informed him softly but firmly that he was not going to fall in love with a nun when he was big or there would be consequences.

Matt seemed to have come to understand this rule over time, but he never seemed to put together pieces as to why Fogwell was so insistent about it.

 ---

 When Jack turned up murdered, everyone at the gym decided that it was their fault.

It was surreal.

Unbelieveable.

He’d been right there, just fine, laughing and smiling the day before. Rudy had held his bag and Jack had told him to tell the girls and Mel that he missed them.

And, in a moment of crushing realization back then, Rudy had understood the implications of those words and then remembered how good Jack had always been about smiling at people.

He knew how to make himself seem okay and unimportant. He knew how to fade into the background.

Fogwell took it hard.

He blamed himself for not recognizing how bad things had gotten at home for Jack and Matty. He blamed himself for not booking him for more jobs, for pushing him harder and harder on his form lately.

Matty was taken away by social services and his absence from the table at the gym the next day finally brought out the tears that Rudy hadn’t been able to let fall.

He tried.

He tried, he did.

Over the years, Matty had become a brother to Tina, Angie, and Penelope. He fit right in that two-year gap between Tina and Angie. Rudy had him over when Jack worked and Jack had the girls when Mel needed a break from the screaming and crying. And really, by then, everyone’s kids were everyone’s at the gym.

It wasn’t a matter of who belonged to who, it was more of a matter of when someone belonged to someone.

Rudy tried to get custody or at least foster rights. Mel gave herself an ulcer over it, trying to think of how to arrange things to make their home safe for Matt. Trying to think of how to make space for him. He could share a room with Tina. They were still young. They probably wouldn’t mind after some growing pains. But social services said that that wasn’t possible. Matt was too high-risk for them. They didn’t have enough experience with ‘his type of child.’

Which was bullshit.

Matt wasn’t high-risk, Matty was traumatized and scared and with people he didn’t know, who didn’t know him.

That was what made him high-risk.

He knew Rudy and Mel’s house. He knew their girls. He knew their neighborhood.

Still, nothing.

Fogwell himself tried. Shocked the shit out of everyone at the gym, but Social services sadly shook their heads.

By then, Matt had been placed out already.

 ---

 Matt disappeared for five years. Just vanished completely. There was no sight of him until one day, Tina came home and said that ‘oh yeah, I saw Matty today’ while playing with her food at the dinner table.

Rudy and Mel had set down their forks.

Tina sighed and said that he was taller now, but he didn’t look good.

He looked sick, she said. With dark rings around his eyes and broken sunglasses. He’d been sleeping, leaning against the side of some stairs out in his school uniform at the Catholic highschool a few blocks away.

She’d poked at her chicken and then set down her fork and excused herself.

Rudy stroked her hair that night as she cried into her pillow for her lost brother.

 ---

 Matt was, by fifteen, a troubled kid.

Rudy heard shouting one day from Clinton Church and stepped out to see what was happening. He was shocked to see that familiar ginger mop struggling in the arms of two cops, swearing that if these people took him back to wherever he’d come from, that he’d kill himself. He’d do it. Don’t try him.

The priest was called.

Matt was forced down to the ground and handcuffed, still fighting.

It was--it was a whole lot to see. Kenny swore softly behind him and Bert left them to go back inside. He went to the bathroom and didn’t join them out on the mats for a while.

 ---

 Fogwell decided around then that enough was enough.

He went to the church and asked if he could borrow Matt for a while. He needed some help getting his accounts together and he knew Matt was a bright kid. Giving him a little work experience in a familiar and disciplined setting would be good for him.

But Matt wasn’t there.

 ---

 The hospital didn’t allow anyone to visit Matt. He apparently hadn’t earned the privilege of visitors from anyone who wasn’t on his care team.

Rudy felt numb at the front desk.

Jack’s boy had tried to kill himself. He’d warned them all that he would do it.

He’d apparently screamed himself hoarse that he wanted to be with his dad in the ground.

He was still screaming.

This wasn’t the first time he’d done any of this, Rudy came to learn through a few whispered conversations with some nuns from St. Agnes.

Grace had found him after the three attempts the nuns knew of. This last one was just bad enough that she couldn’t bring him back from the edge.

Grace’s eldest younger sister had committed suicide. Grace had found her and then left home immediately become a novice. To find her own son as she’d once found her sister was cosmic and divine cruelty—enough that even Fogwell shook his head and said it just wasn’t right.

 ---

 The first time Rudy saw Matty after the whole situation, he looked exactly as Tina said he did. Tired. With dark circles. Thin. His clothes threatened to fall off of him. They were threadbare and had holes in them here and there.

Matty didn’t talk.

He moved his head around a lot and jerked when anyone spoke to him or brushed against him, and he scrambled back and tripped sometimes if he was touched directly.

It was like looking at a smaller, thinner version of Jack all those years ago—this time with tightly bound wrists and a hospital bracelet that looked like it had been stretched and torn and chewed on.

Fogwell asked Matt if he thought he could do something with the accounts.

Matt said nothing.

Fogwell gave him a box of receipts and bits and bobs of payment cards and IOUs and Matt had frowned and put his hand into the box to touch its feathery contents. He’d lifted his face up in Fogwell’s direction and sneered.

“You can’t seriously live like this,” he’d said in a voice that almost brought tears to Rudy’s eyes. He’d heard Kenny clear his throat behind him.

 ---

 Matty was the smartest person Rudy had ever met.

He set Fogwell’s accounts into order in an afternoon and then he fucked off for a few days, only to come back and digitize the whole thing after making the Big Man himself sit with him and read everything out individually to him as punishment for his nasty, twentieth-century ways.

Matt was disgusted with Grandpa’s living conditions.

He banged into every object in the backroom and swore like a sailor, loud enough that the folks hitting shit in the front room could hear him.

It was hard not to laugh.

“WHY?” Matt finally raged at Grandpa. “WHY. WHY. WHY?”

Grandpa shrugged.

Matt flailed at him in agitation at the lack of verbal answer and told him to get into the fartherest corner of the room and to get a pen, they were going to organize.

Matt was the reason that Fogwell’s Gym had survived for long enough to become a tourist trap.

Matt put every document in that place in order, ready for an audit. He made computer systems for payments and receipts and direct debits. He singlehandedly bullied Fogwell into the new century and made him get a card machine.

He bitched and moaned and belly-ached until Fogwell had interviewed a handful of tax people with actual, non-criminal reputations and picked one and once he was done with all that, Matt harrassed him to invest in a deep clean for the place and to make it accessible by ADA guidelines—the whole nine yards.

Matt, at fifteen, breathed new life into Fogwell’s Gym and it was kind of amazing how the place went from barely hanging on to a decent business once more.

 ---

 After that, Matt seemed to be doing a lot better.

He didn’t have any more foster home placements. He didn’t try to hurt himself again. He decided, instead, that he was going to graduate highschool. He’d failed a fuckload of classes, though. Rudy found him despairing in the backroom over these and settled in across from him and asked to see the reports.

They weren’t good.

Matty’s teachers wrote constantly that Matt was extremely bright, but failed to participate in class or turn pretty much anything in for a grade. He slept in class. He seemed dazed. He didn’t ask for help or give any indication that he needed it.

His assigned para said that she found him challenging to work with. He was resistant to questions and seemed to be angry or, at best, uninterested in her speaking to him.

He was way behind.

Rudy had tapped the reports against the table back there and had taken a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he told Matt. “We’ve got two years. We can make this work.”

And Matty’s head had jerked up from the table.

“We?” he’d asked in a small voice.

 ---

 Matt really, really struggled with high school. Not because he wasn’t smart enough, but because his experience was so wildly different from other kids. He didn’t go home like they did. He went to St. Agnes’s. He didn’t play video games, he read books. He didn’t smoke cigarettes or joints. He didn’t drink. He was under constant surveillance.

He was bullied. Relentlessly.

Fogwell was quietly furious when Matt came in a few times a week to type away at the desk, inputting receipts for the new secretary to deal with later. Matt was always hurt. Always fighting.

He got his classwork done out of spite, seemingly, but then went home to the orphanage and got harrassed the whole way.

He fought his peers like the devil himself.

It was…

There was…

Something not quite right with him.

 ---

 Bert pointed out when Matt was seventeen that he didn’t always use his stick like other blind folks. He forgot it sometimes and wandered around the gym like anyone else.

He didn’t trip over anything or keep fingers touching the wall like he usually did in other places.

They all chocked it up to him having grown up in the place.

Matt asked Fogwell to let him train.

Center-left-second-back.

That was Jack’s bag.

That was his son’s bag.

The veteran boxers all cycled through teaching Matt how to box. He knew—they all knew Matt already knew how, but there was always shit to learn.

Except that sometimes there wasn’t?

Matt seemed to already know everything that they taught him, including the nit-picky, little things. He listened to their descriptions, let them manipulate his hands and arms and hips, and then did what they asked immediately and with perfect form.

It was eerie.

It just wasn’t right. There was just something about it that wasn’t right. Rudy couldn’t put his finger on it.

 ---

 Matt graduated highschool the year after Tina and it was only when Rudy saw the draft of the commencement program slip out of his bag on one of the benches that Rudy realized that Matty hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

He picked up the program while Matt was attacking his bag and considered it, then did what was done in the gym and handed the program off to Fogwell who, in a booming voice, told Baby M to get the fuck over there, front and center.

Matt clung to his bag in terror at the sound. He, unlike his daddy, had the good sense to be reluctant to follow Fogwell’s orders. Eventually, with his tail between his legs, he skulked over and had his nose shoved in the program.

He pawed at it when Fogwell made him acknowledge it and mumbled something about not going.

Which was absurd.

“It’s not a big deal,” Matt said. “I’m not valedictorian or anything. It’s just highschool. And no one’s got time to go anyways, so what’s the point if it’s just me?”

God, this kid.

 ---

 Matt’s graduation was very Catholic. Far more Catholic than Tina’s had been, but when Rudy looked over his shoulder, he was pretty sure that even a school this Catholic hadn’t been prepared for the influx of nuns hurrying down from Clinton’s church, all bustling and excited about young Matthew actually getting his diploma.

Between those four (aw, Grace. Look at you trying to play it smooth) and the seven boxing families who’d shown up, Matt was embarrassed to the point of tears. He’d hidden behind his mortarboard for the thirty minutes it took for people started calling folks up on stage.

He didn’t want to come out to take any pictures afterwards, but Tina wasn’t letting that happen. Her sisters leapt on board with the program and Rudy had managed at least one picture of the four of them smiling. Even better, he had one of Matt trying desperately to keep a smile while Fogwell stood stiffly next to him in stone-faced approval.

 ---

 Matty was the first in the gym’s kid’s generation to graduate college, and then he was the only one to go on to law school.

It was only at that big graduation that Rudy finally saw Matt beaming like a loon—like he had up at Jack as a baby, but this time at the long-haired, chubby guy next to him.

This, legend had it, was the Roommate.

The one Matt refused to speak about to anyone at the gym.

Period.

At all.

There was no discussion.

That is, until he was forced by Fogwell standing menacingly over him in silent demand for a hug, to introduce them all to Foggy.

Foggy Nelson.

And then, just like that. It was exactly Jack all over again.

Veins bulging as everyone tried desperately not to laugh at Fogwell’s face at the realization that Matty had gone out and found a better, nicer Fog-person to be friends with.

 ---

 Foggy Nelson—Edward Nelson from the hardware store’s son—was not fucking good enough for Matty, Fogwell decided. He’d begun a stoic campaign to introduce Matt to every available boxer’s son and daughter in the city in the hopes that a little nudge would get Matty away from all them conniving lawyer-folk. That was all fine and well with Matt because Matt, they’d all learned after a few years in his company again, was a horrendous flirt.

God, this boy.

Incorrigible.

He flirted with Tina and Angie and Penelope and got slapped every time.

He flirted with Bert’s daughter Becka.

He flirted with Becka’s husband.

He flirted with Kenny’s son’s best friend at the son’s wedding.

He flirted with the new secretary’s sister-in-law.

He was completely unstoppable.

Kenny approved.

But Kenny also asked Matt pointedly if he and his roommate had worked things out yet and that sent Matt scowling and shuffling off to go hide behind Fogwell, wherever he was, for emotional support.

 ---

 Matt was Daredevil.

He had to be.

Everyone in the gym suspected this.

He was too good at fighting. To flexible. Too sturdy and relentless and angry to be anyone else. They all recogized his shoulders in those little blips of videos people posted online. They recognized how close he got to people from the way he get up in his bag’s imagined face.

He had some kind of superpower—some kind of 360 degree awareness was the best Rudy could describe it.

He felt like he remembered Jack freaking out about something like this a million years ago. Nattering on about super-senses in the aftermath of the accident.

Fogwell was the one who’d brought it up again after he’d noticed that Matt liked to come in at night and spar on his own.

One time, just once, he’d left one of the security cameras on, concerned that Matty might get mugged in the night on his own there.

But Matty wasn’t getting mugged anytime soon.

No, for real.

Matt was…maybe something a little beyond them.

The video Fogwell had shown the older guys before deleting it and telling everyone to mind their own fucking business had shown Matt throwing his weight at the bag—throwing legs and fists—in complicated, almost choreographed movements that spoke of lethal intent.

He moved like a weasel. Like a predator.

Like a devil.

God knew where he’d learned those moves. The boy had lived a lot of life in those few years he’d fallen off of the gym’s radar. There was no telling who he’d met or how he’d learned to be as he was, but things made a lot more sense after that.

Jackie had had a devil in him. It only made sense that his dramatic-ass kid had one, too.

Matty had made something more of himself than his daddy. In so many other things, but in this, too.

Fogwell’s Gym was protected. It was home to a devil in disguise.

 ---

 The hipster Jack-fan appeared with baby Henry a few more times before Bert asked him if he knew that his hero’s kid, who’d lived the life baby Henry was currently living, was actually a regular at the gym.

Hipster-kid gaped and fell over himself trying to ask Bert if he could meet the guy.

Bert smirked. And then waved across the place over to where Matt had just slithered in with absurd orange sneakers that he was very proud of. He was clearly on the hunt to go show Fogwell so that he could be disgusted.

He froze when Bert called his name.

The hipster’s jaw dropped.

“Matty, come tell this man about your daddy,” Bert said.

Matt stared.

Then made a sad, aborted gesture with his free hand that said that he had very important annoyances to make of himself, so could this maybe wait?

“You’re—you’re--?” the hipster stammered.

“Matt Murdock,” Matt said hurriedly. “Great to meet you? You’re the one with the kid, right? Congrats. Have either of you seen Fogwell?”

The hipster blinked.

“Uh?” he said. “Not today?”

Matt scowled.

“He’s not escaping these,” he said, tapping his way angrily back to the door. “I got him a matching set. No one is escaping them.”

The gym at large watched him stalk back out the door, tapping away furiously, no doubt on the way down the block to Fogwell’s house.

“That’s Matt Murdock?” the hipster asked.

“Man, I thought he’d be taller,” another newbie said.

“Kid, that is the least of your problems when it comes to Matt Murdock,” Bert laughed. “Now, all of you, back to work. This ain’t a dog and pony show. Go on.”

 ---

[useless-catalanfacts]

Why is Pablo Hasel justifying and praising terrosist groups??

I’m not sure if you’re asking why Pablo Hasél is accused of praising terrorist groups or why he said what he said. So I’ll answer both things lol.

He got sentenced to jail because of different verses from his rap songs and some tweets. To be precise, the judges have considered that he published 64 tweets that were either against the Spanish monarchy (yes, “offense against the Crown” is a crime in Spain) or praising the armed organisations GRAPO and ETA. These are the tweets that caused more scandal:

“Los parásitos de los Borbones siguen de trapis con los decapitadores de los homosexuales”: “the Bourbon parasites are still doing business with the ones who decapitate homosexuals”

This is a reference to the fact that the Bourbon family (the dynasty of the Spanish monarchy) are, in fact, doing business and being friends with the monarchy of Saudi Arabia, where human rights are not respected at all.

It is a fact that Saudi Arabia condemns homosexuality as a crime: gay people caught for the first time are flogged or jailed and if the “offense” is repeated they are sentenced to death penalty (source). It’s also a fact that King Juan Carlos I has had a long friendship and business relation with the Al Saud dynasty. In 1979, the Saudi monarchy gave Juan Carlos I a yacht as a gift (which he accepted and used for his holidays for years), when the king Fahd of Saudi Arabia died in 2005 the president of Spain José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero (from the PSOE party) declared a national day of mourning for the Saudi king as was suggested to him by the Spanish monarchy, in 2008 king Juan Carlos I received 100 million euros from Saudi Arabia, in 2007 Juan Carlos gave Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud (brother of the current king of Saudi Arabia) the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece (the highest chivalry honour that the King of Spain can give), in 2011 Juan Carlos intervened to the king of Saudi Arabia to get the contract of the high velocity train to Mecca (which is valued in 7,000 million dollars) assigned to a Spanish business, in 2019 the Panama papers revealed an offshore foundation that the Saudi monarchy had used to give the Spanish monarchy 100 million euros... Just a few examples that prove this relation. (Source). And now Juan Carlos I is living in the United Arab Emirates, another country with harsh punishments for homosexuality (among other human rights violations).

So Pablo Hasél was just stating the facts in that sentence.

“El mafioso de mierda del Rey dando lecciones desde un palacio”: “the fucking mafioso King giving lessons from a palace”

Given the many cases of corruption that the king has been involved in, as well as his intervention in the economy (such as profiting from big businesses that had profited from Franco’s dictatorship) and pressure in politics, it’s not so crazy to call him (and his family clan) a mafioso. In fact, the French TV news literally called Juan Carlos I a “gangster” once.

As for the “giving lessons from a palace”, that’s what he does in his Christmas speech or any other time he addresses the citizens, as if we all had it so easy as living and owning multiple palaces with hundreds of maids and not having to work while getting all kinds of luxuries payed for with public money. Not just Juan Carlos, Felipe VI is the same (remember when he went to Cuba to give them lessons on democracy, but then pretended everything was perfect in the visit to Saudi Arabia?).

Once again, Pablo Hasél was not being far from the truth.

“Guardia Civil torturando o disparando a emigrantes”: “the Civil Guard [Spanish military police force] torturing or shooting migrants”

The Civil Guard literally shoots rubber bullets at migrants who are trying to get on Spanish soil in Ceuta (source). By shooting them rubber bullets, the migrant people fall back on the water, and many drown. The Civil Guard murders and tortures migrants. And everything that takes place inside CIEs (migrant detention centers) can also be called torture with no doubt.

Again, these are facts.

Those were posts on social media, he has also been sentenced because of the lyrics of his songs. Here are some sentences from his song “Juan Carlos el Bobón” (the title is a pun with the words "Borbón”-Bourbon- and “bobo”-stupid-).

“Me cago en la marca España explotadora y casposa”: “the exploiter and braggart brand Spain can go fuck itself”

That’s self-explanatory. A personal opinion you can agree or disagree with, but given the things we’ve mentioned in this post and so many more, it’s perfectly understandable that he would feel like this. And he should be free to say it.

“Si Froilán se disparó en el pie siendo menor de edad igual ahora que es mayor de edad va a disparar a toda la Familia Real”: “if Froilán shot himself in the foot when he was underage, maybe now that he’s an adult he’ll shoot the whole Royal Family”

For those who don’t know, Froilán is the son of Infanta Elena, and so the nephew of the current king Philip VI. This line is a reference to 2012, when he was shooting in one of his parents’ possessions and he accidentally shot himself in the foot. It was illegal for him to be shooting in the first place, because Spanish law prohibits kids under 14 years of age to hold firearms, but of course nothing happened to his parents for doing illegal things because they’re the royal family.

Unsurprisingly, this line is considered “offense to the Crown”. It’s not a threat from Hasél, it’s just wishful thinking that I’m sure many people share.

And lines from other songs by Pablo Hasél:

“Siempre hay algún indigente despierto con quien comentar que se debe matar a Aznar”: “there’s always some homeless person awake with whom to talk about the need to kill Aznar”

José María Aznar was president of Spain between 1996 and 2004 with the right-wing party Partido Popular (PP). He was a shit president, during his presidency the labour rights decreased and left thousands of workers with way less protection than before, he focused a lot of his work as president on making the economy more neoliberal and left thousands of workers with unfair salaries and harsh working conditions by allowing the owners to fire and decrease pay at will. He also gave support to the USA in the occupation of Iraq, even when the population had been protesting against it (I was only 4 or 5 years old at the time and even I remember one of the general strikes against it).

“¡Merece que explote el coche de Patxi López!”: “Patxi López’s car deserves to explode”

“¡Que alguien clave un piolet en la cabeza a José Bono!”: “Someone stab an axe on José Bono’s head!”

“No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'pepero'. Me da pena el que muere en una patera. No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'socialisto'. Me da pena el que muere en un andamio”: “I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold”.

“Prefiero grapos que guapos”: “I prefer GRAPOs to handsomes” (a pun). GRAPO was a communist and anti-imperialism armed organisation.

“Mi hermano entra en la sede del PP gritando ¡Gora ETA! A mí no me venden el cuento de quiénes son los malos, sólo pienso en matarlos”: “My brother goes in the PP’s headquarters shouting ‘Gora ETA!’. They won’t sell me the tale of who are the bad guys, I’m only thinking of killing them”

“Es un error no escuchar lo que canto, como Terra Lliure dejando vivo a Losantos”: “It’s a mistake to not listen to what I sing, like when Terra Lliure left Losantos alive”. Terra Lliure was a short-lived communist organisation that wanted to fight for the independence of the Catalan Countries through armed struggle. Jiménez Losantos is a fascist radio host who tells all kinds of lies and manipulates information to spread right-wingism, hatred towards national minorities, homophobia, etc.

“Los Grapo eran defensa propia ante el imperialismo y su crimen”: “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”.

“Quienes manejan los hilos merecen mil kilos de amonal”: “those who pull the strings deserve 1000 kg of ammonal”

“Pienso en balas que nucas de jueces nazis alcancen”: “I think of the bullets that would reach the nazi judges’ back of the necks”

None of these sentences are serious threats / plans at the moment. On the contrary, when the politicians he mentions make policies that directly cause deaths (of migrant people at the borders, suicides in migrant detention centers, of workers in their workplace, of people whose heat and gas is cut off or who are evicted, of women murdered by their husbands because they didn’t have anywhere to go for help, etc), now those are real crimes, aren’t they?

Pablo Hasél has been very vocal about being a communist. So I’ll copy-paste Friedrich Engels’ definition of “social murder”. I don’t know what Pablo had in mind when writing those lyrics but I think this fragments helps understand where he’s coming from.

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live — forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence — knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains. (Engels, The Condition of the Working-Class in England, 1845)

So we can agree or disagree with Pablo Hasél and what he says or his way of saying it, but that doesn’t mean he should be jailed because of it. And it’s incredibly hypocritical to consider saying (not doing, just saying!) that “there’s always some homeless person to talk about the need to kill Aznar with” is violence, but to ignore that Aznar’s involvement in the Iraq helped kill thousands of civilians (for a lie, because Iraq did NOT have weapons of mass destruction!) and caused the misery and indirectly the death of so many workers.

If your question was why did Pablo Hasél say these things, I think two of the sentences we said sum it up:

“I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold” and “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”. Pablo Hasél was highlighting how the current situation we live in is already violence. Violence inflicted by capitalism, imperialism and hatred, so he would consider his words self-defense.

[highladyluck]

Mat/Tuon meta: Will He/Won’t He (Stage A Military Coup)

Back on my Mat/Tuon meta horse! This is about why Tuon is absolutely convinced Mat won't mount a military coup against her, and under what circumstances he just might, actually. Obviously, ‘ware series spoilers. The personal/political dynamic Mat and Tuon have at the end of the series continues to fascinate me. Tuon is well aware that Mat’s prince-consort position, Prince of the Ravens, is a position that could lead a military coup against her leadership; she knows all about the power struggle that imperialist, expansionist government leaders face with respect to their armies and the generals that lead the armies. She also knows at this point that Mat specifically has the skillset to pull that kind of thing off; he has demonstrated political skill even if he's not used to Seanchan customs (she noted that the way he diffused tension in the hell boded well for his ability to handle Seanchan court politics), he quickly inspires personal trust and loyalty in his troops regardless of what troops he's actually leading (see: when he meets back up with the Band in the Altaran wilderness, plus how quickly her own armies took to him), and of course he is brilliant at tactics and strategy (see: the entire series starting at book 4). She is also *certain* that he won't actually use that power against her. He has shown her personal loyalty on numerous other occasions, and Tuon's entire brand and survival strategy is generating personal loyalty due to her power (or potential power), skills, and personal integrity. She knows what personal loyalty looks like and she knows how it works. She's a little appalled at herself for not being afraid of Mat staging a coup, and she even thinks that it's probably not good for her or the empire to *not* be constantly threatened by her top military commander, because she's been conditioned to believe that external threats keep her sharp and focused- but she absolutely does trust him not to be a threat to her. Which is wild!!! You have to understand how wild this is!

Tuon previously only trusted her personal safety to people she thoroughly controls- Selucia, Karede, her damane. She does have a kind of control over Mat, but it's not based on anything she's done or her position, it's based on his personality and choices, and I don't think she thinks she controls him. (I think she believes she has authority over him, and that's at least somewhat true, but that's much different from the total control she has over enslaved people, or even the political control she has over the Blood.) She does also trust people she doesn't entirely control- the people who are almost her peers- but notably she doesn't trust them not to hurt her. She trusts that they'll act in ways benefiting their own self-interest or the interest of the empire, which could mean they might hurt her.

Mat, on the other hand, she trusts not to hurt her except accidentally, by making choices that have implications for her standing. (That's what all the manners lessons are about, she's trying to protect him so he doesn't leave her exposed.) Again, THIS IS WILD. Tuon’s an autocratic empress raised under the threat of assassination from birth, she has MAJOR trust and control issues, and here is someone she does not fully control but whom she implicitly trusts not to physically or even intentionally harm her. Do you think she's ever had that experience in her life before? I can't see how she would have. I think there's room to explore this in a way that would be therapeutic for Tuon, but it's also an extremely tempting vulnerability to exploit narratively. Either way, it's fascinating. So what's Mat's motivation not to harm Tuon, and how much of it does Tuon know? It's both a character thing and a situational thing, and I think Tuon knows about some of it, but not all of it, and she also has some major blind spots about what Mat is capable of. Mat won't intentionally harm her for a couple of general character reasons: he's in love with her, which she knows about and is like 'weird flex, but ok'; I don't know if she really knows how to parse it tbh. Also, because he won't kill a woman, which she knows about and is like 'this dumbassery is going to get my himbo straight-up murdered; however, it's kinda cute'. Also, because he has a saving-people-especially-women-thing, which she may or may not know about; I forget whether it came up in any of her surreal chats with Mat's childhood friends, but even if it did she may not know enough to give it proper context in his motivations, or understand how truly generalized it is. He's also promised to protect her from harm in the past, and while that may have been a time-/situation-limited thing, she's seen that he keeps his promises, assuming he gave the promise in earnest. So while he hasn't necessarily made such a promise recently, she knows that he keeps his word and that's something she values as a mark of integrity and a reason to trust someone. The other reasons she trusts him are more down to circumstances: the Last Battle had him temporarily siding with the Seanchan against their common enemy, the Dark One. I think Tuon's aware that he's not fully committed to the Empire yet, but possibly she doesn't realize the extent to which he is ambivalent, or she thinks it's the kind of thing they can compromise on, like the uniform design, rather than a fundamental disconnect in goals. Or she thinks that once he understands what his responsibilities are, he'll absorb himself into the role the way she has, which is... uh... rather optimistic of her, but we all have our blind spots. Finally, I don't think Mat's fully realized that a military coup (which would likely look like a situation where he spares Tuon's life but gets her off the throne) is an option for him. Or, it's occurred to him, but the circumstance has not yet come up that would justify him taking that path. And I do *not* think Tuon has considered this! She might think he knows that the Prince of Ravens is traditionally a threat to the Empress, but I don't recall that she's actually said that to him. And I don't think she sees a difference between her not being Empress and her being dead- she's conflated 'being in power' with 'staying alive' literally her entire life, and she probably thinks any situation where she's not Empress but still alive, if it's even possible, would be so shameful/painful it would be better to be dead. So it wouldn't occur to her that one outcome of a coup would be to replace her as government head but still keep her alive. And Mat hasn't yet faced a situation where he might have major ethical issues with not just the structure of the army but also the goals of it. (Even his iconic ‘I am accidentally leading an army despite really not wanting to lead an army, because I can’t let these dumbasses get killed’ move was ethically consistent, since he was just trying to run away/save people.) And, as I will never shut up about, he’s done literal war crimes to achieve his goals before- he didn’t stop to give aid after he ambushed the Seanchan in the Altaran forest, even though Teslyn specifically says this is against Randland military convention. And given Mat’s early canonical history of being railroaded into leading military campaigns, I don’t think Mat’s going to balk at leading the Seanchan army just because he doesn’t like the Seanchan empire, though it will matter what specifically he’s asked to do with it and why. I think Mat's way more likely to be willing to lead the reunification of Seanchan than to deal with local Westlands slave uprisings or rebellion. You're going to hit his moral breaking point a lot sooner if there's domestic civil crises. An actual slave revolt or rebellion would get hit with military force, and Mat says as much to Beslan so he's well aware that he'd be, if not in charge, certainly culpable for the Seanchan government response to it. (They might try to prevent it from happening at all with Seekers; but Seekers are mostly focused on the Blood, I think, so I think it's possible that if there's minimal Blood involvement they might not know about it in time to nip it in the bud.) So if you wanted to force Mat to have a crisis of conscience that's one situation you could set up, and I think it's even somewhat likely. Post-TG Seanchan-Westland politics are going to be a Cold War, and many entities in the Westlands would be happy to lend plausibly deniable support to an organic citizen and/or slave uprising! The other thing is, Mat needs to be constantly occupied and he does like using his skills; if he gets an 'acceptable' target for military force he probably will go for it. So if the forces in Seanchan unified under a rando warlord, he'd probably be ok leading the Westlands Seanchan troops there, reasoning that Tuon is probably a better or at least more influenceable ruler than that other guy. (Might be complicated if it was a female unifier, but probably not that much.) He would not be keen on enslaving the free Westlands- not that that’s going to happen as long as the Dragon’s Peace is going on- but a ‘peacekeeping mission in a foreign land’? ...idk, I can see him going for it, especially if he doesn't have enough political capital yet to back up an outright refusal. Mat was conflicted about using the damane he captured in the Last Battle, but he did use her. She was a prisoner of war from the enemy side, which probably eased his conscience a little re: personally owning her, but I don't see anywhere in the text that he had issues commanding Seanchan sul'dam and damane in a less personal way. The Last Battle was an unusual situation, but we've also seen Mat willing to ally or at least put up with plenty of people he dislikes- on personal and ideological grounds- to achieve a goal (see: rescuing Joline) or just figure out his options (see: all that card-playing with nobles in the Stone of Tear while he had emotions about Rand. XD)

So if you wanted to force Mat to have a moral crisis while fighting in Seanchan, you'd make the people he's fighting in Seanchan be people he sympathizes with more than he sympathizes with imperial Seanchan; let's say it's a coalition of rebels who want a different, more equal society. Mat's got gilt by association (thank you for that amazing phrase, Terry Pratchett) and he's not pleased about it, and unlike Tuon, he can envision a situation where she's still alive but not Empress. So I think that'd be another situation that would force him to have a crisis of conscience and start planning a coup or at least using his considerable power for leverage. The key in both cases is that it's not just Mat randomly deciding to take a stand for freedom; frankly, I don't think he would, unless he thought it was the best way to 'rescue' Tuon, and even then he would wait or maneuver until the tactical/strategic landscape was as much in his favor as possible, which is where the external circumstances weakening the Empire come in.

[yubsie]

Hand Me Downs

Breha gives Hera baby gifts. Which means she can pass them on to Leia for her child. (AO3 if you prefer)

No one had warned Hera that being a high-ranking member of the Rebel Alliance was going to involve ruffles. She was prepared for overwhelming odds, to risk her life against an enemy who gave no mercy. And in the early days, that was exactly what she got. A lot of sneaking around and flying and getting shot at and  wearing a flightsuit . Then she’d worked her way up through the ranks and found herself having to attend formal dinner parties that covered for high-ranking strategy sessions. The perils of being a general.

If she had a choice, she would have gone for formalwear with a bit of slink to it. But her rapidly expanding midsection didn’t lend itself well to that at all. The only dress she’d been able to find in... whatever her current size was took the philosophy that the bump could just blend in with the rest of the floof. Her attendance in her condition would surely fuel all sorts of gossip about her and the man Breha had chosen to sit her next to. Gossip was useful; it meant that everyone was speculating about her personal life instead of what they might actually be discussing. The trouble was it also meant they were speculating about her personal life and the child who hadn’t volunteered for this. It wasn’t even the worst thing to happen this week, but it felt so incredibly alien.

She wished she could talk to Kanan about it. He would have delivered some sort of over-the-top compliment. And then Ezra would have somehow still not noticed. At least she could still hope to explain to a very baffled Ezra where her child had come from.

But neither of them were here. Now she had the new constant figures of her life: Mon Mothma and the Organas. She trusted the high-ranking members of the Alliance; it would be disastrous if she couldn’t. She even liked them quite a bit. They were good people. Friends, even. They just weren’t family, and she wanted so much of that around right now.

Her glass represented their current target in the makeshift map they were drawing up on the dinner table. The fact that she was the only one currently restricted to water set it apart conveniently from the wine glasses representing rebel units. She tapped Bail’s glass. “If we bring the demolitions team in from the west, they’ll have the sanitation droids as cover.” Sabine would be thrilled, she was sure. Garbage had so much artistic merit.

Mon Mothma nodded. “And that will help minimize the collateral damage to the surrounding citizens.”

Ierlin Allston, head of their fledgling public relations department, nodded. “The benefits of that are pretty obvious.”

They probably didn’t need to consider it from the public image perspective. It was enough that it was right. But it was still a useful angle. Anything to win hearts and minds over in the fight against the Empire. While also winning key weapons factories. They had a solid plan that was sure to go out the window and require extensive improvisation, but at least they had something to build on now.

It was also as far as the plan could possibly go before that first engagement with the enemy. They were still waiting on several key intelligence reports Mon Mothma had hoped they would have in time for this session. There hadn’t been a way to postpone the dinner party that wouldn’t attract suspicion when the information. So they would have to fill the remainder of the dinner party with actual dinner party activity. Definitely not Hera’s specialty, that was more for those who had come here from the senatorial side of things.

“General Syndulla, a word?” She didn’t actually know enough about the etiquette of these sorts of parties to know if it was unusual for Breha to break away from her carefully balanced seating arrangement. They’d eaten most of the courses at this point, so perhaps mingling was entirely normal.

At any rate, when the Queen of Alderaan requested a word, one gave a word. She didn’t need to know anything about royal etiquette to realize that much. “Yes, of course.” How was she supposed to address her? They were on friendly terms, and in a flightsuit she would probably address her by name without a second thought. She really was out of her element in all these bolts of fabric. Who had bought out the store to construct this ridiculous dress? “Your Majesty?”

The queen smiled. “It can still be Breha.” She paused. “This is absolutely a personal interaction.”

Hera had almost forgotten what those felt like in recent months. They were always for family, but even the ones she could locate were scattered. Zeb and Kallus came by often, but they had their own work. It was often just her and Sabine, since Ezra vanished. And she didn’t want to put too much pressure on the girl. It wasn’t fair. “It is?”

“You know, Leia was rather unexpected.” It was obvious enough where that was coming from. No one had to be told that she hadn’t planned this. Even if Kanan had lived, they were in the middle of a war, and she still wasn’t quite sure how she was going to balance the baby with all of that. How she was going to keep him safe. He would need her to step back, especially at first, but he would also need a safe galaxy to grow up in. She had to find a way to give him a mother and a future at the same time. It would have been easier if Kanan were here to help. But she’d tried to stop dwelling on things that were well and truly impossible. She had to deal with the situation as it was.

“Wasn’t she adopted?” That was the sort of development one usually tried to plan. It didn’t just happen like having strange symptoms weeks after losing the love of her life and realizing that the Force apparently wanted more little Jedi running around. Or something like that.

Breha laughed warmly. “She was. The last days of the Clone Wars were the strangest.”

She’d only been a child then, but old enough to realize how quickly everything was changing. The galaxy suddenly looked completely different and as dangerous as ever. That was just never going to end, it would seem.

“We had talked about it, but I wasn’t expecting Bail to come home with a baby that day.”

Hera couldn’t even imagine. She was already struggling to prepare for her baby with months of warning. Having one just show up was a logistical nightmare. But she wasn’t sure where this was meant to be going. “You seem to have managed quite well. She’s remarkable.” The princess was involved in more missions of late. And she didn’t disappoint.

“There are... certain advantages to a hereditary home. The attics have more than anyone could possibly use in a lifetime. So it was easy to prepare a nursery.”

That wouldn’t really help on the emotional front, but sometimes logistics were the easiest thing to focus on. Their supplies had never been so well documented as right after the liberation of Lothal.

“I was wondering how you were doing on that front?”

“I...” She’d been trying to figure out how to care for the child. “Our usual suppliers don’t tend to trade in infant goods.”

“That’s what I thought.” She would never have expected a queen to be so practical before she met Breha. But what was government if not a giant exercise in logistics? She’d seen quickly that Princess Leia Organa had not been routinely handed off to nannies. They probably would have attempted to exert some sort of moderating influence to keep her out of the Rebellion. “Bail and I wanted to give you a few items. Some clothing, a travel bassinette. We have more spares than we could ever need. Leia could be a great-great-grandmother before we had to reuse a single item. It will go to so much better use with you, I think.”

“I...” She suddenly pictured items from a royal palace tucked into one of the Ghost’s empty rooms. The image was strange enough to bring laughter instead of the usual sadness at the state of those rooms. “That’s so generous.”

“Alderaan favours simplicity.” Translation: don’t worry, I’m not handing you something jewel encrusted to furnish a freighter. “The craftsmanship is excellent.”

Hera rested her hand on her belly, taking a moment to imagine her future. “He’ll be the most elegantly dressed baby at the spacestop.”

***

No one had warned Leia that victory would involve quite so many Functions. She should have been prepared for them, growing up in a royal palace, but after fighting a war for so long, she’d let herself forget. Now they moved more and more toward an actual government, and she had to learn an old role all over again. She’d gotten used to her days involving more strategy sessions than dinner parties.

Of course, she still had military officers approaching her. They just wore the notoriously unpopular dress uniform now. They had barely had a uniform at all when her parents first let her get involved in the Rebellion. Now there was a dress variant, and the people who wore it had no end of opinions. Even if a general would, of course, never breathe a word about it. “Senator, a word?”

Leia maneuvered herself around carefully. That was the only way she could actually move these days. Her small stature made her increasing bulk feel all the more unwieldy. “Of course, General.”

“It’s really more of a Hera conversation.” They’d known each other too long to always stand on ceremony. Right now, Leia didn’t much care for standing at all. “Can you handle the walk to the Ghost?”

“As long as there are chairs at the end.” At least they had enough history that she could admit that.

Hera nodded and started to lead the way. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said almost automatically.

Automatically enough that Hera immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Tired.” It was a completely different brand of exhaustion that the sleepless nights in a battle zone. Not necessarily worse, but unique. She’d never grown a human being before but it was taking more out of her than she was eager to admit. Especially when she was trying to convince her staff she wasn’t an invalid. “Exhausted, really.”

Hera smiled. “It’s like that a lot. I’m not going to lie and say it gets better, but it’s a nice sort of exhausted. Most of the time.”

“How’s your son doing? I hope he’s well.”

“He spent this last deployment with Zeb and Kallus. He’s amazing, even if keeping up with a Force sensitive child is more work than three full starfighter squadrons.”

More of a preview of her life than she meant it to be. Deep in her heart, she knew that was true, but she hadn’t had anyone who’d knowingly experienced that to talk to. She couldn’t have been that bad a child, could she have?

She probably had. “Just regular squadrons, I hope?”

Hera shook her head. “All of them are Rogue Squadron.  All   of them.” Current reports indicated that the general they were currently attached to was rapidly balding. Also making remarkable progress through former Imperial territory but in utterly exhausting and unexpected ways. “Of course, I don’t really have a non-Force sensitive child to compare him to. Sabine was already a teenager by the time she was in my life.”

She could handle it. At least she had some amount of Force sensitivity herself. Poor Han, she should warn him. Maybe have him talk to Hera, if they could stop arguing about the relative merits of their ships long enough to discuss anything else. This might actually be important enough to manage that.

Hera keyed in the sequence to open up the hatch and led the way into the common area. Which had some remarkably comfortable chairs. Well chosen. Maybe she could get Han to install something like this on the Falcon. At the very least she had to find out where these cushions came from. Maybe she could even sneak one for the next Function...

Once she was suitably settled to relieve her overtaxed feet, Hera tried several times to open a conversation. Finally, she managed, “It can be hard to stop thinking about who you desperately want to be there, with a child.”

Leia’s hand drifted to her belly. “Han’s the important part.” She’d worried a lot when he was off dealing with Kashyyyk. But he was back now and ready to be part of their son’s life. It wasn’t like what Hera had had to deal with when her son was born. She had so many others around her, it wasn’t fair to wish for the things she couldn’t have.

“A baby can never have too much family. The whole crew helped me with Jacen.” She reached over and took Leia’s hand. “And so did two people who would be the most delighted grandparents anyone could ask for.”

Hormones were completely unfair. She was a senator; she couldn’t go crying like this. “I keep thinking of all the traditions I always thought any child of mine would participate in.” There was a lot involved with being the heir to the throne of Alderaan. For all that she’d complained, she couldn’t have imagined back then things going another way. Her child wouldn’t be the heir to anything— only a field of rubble.

“I had no idea what I was going to do without Kanan. But your parents were so kind to me.” She’d been busy with her own missions and a certain amount of teenaged tunnel blindness, but she did remember General Syndulla being around more often in the months leading up to the Battle of Yavin. She’d assumed it was all about the Rebel Alliance getting more established and the longtime leaders having more work to do. But of course, a pregnancy would change the day to day activities of a general. For all that she told her staff she wasn’t an invalid, she did occasionally have to slow down.

“They were always like that.” That was why it hurt so much. The galaxy needed people who were that kind. She tried to carry on their legacy, but she could only do so much. It would never be enough.

Hera pulled two crates forward and opened the first to reveal an assortment of baby clothes. She handed Leia the top onesie to examine. It wasn’t the sort of clothes she would have expected an active rebel to pick out, but these must be Jacen’s old things. They didn’t get a lot of babies in the Rebellion, after all. She ran her hand over the fabric. “This is beautiful.” It almost felt like rannasilk. But the only place to get that was... “It can’t be...”

Hera handed her another piece of clothing. The same craftsmanship. The same material. “Your mother said she had more than she could ever dream of using.”

“I remember. We had more than we could ever need, but no sense letting perfectly good things sit by, even if they were a little bit too luxurious.” It wasn’t what most people expected of royalty. But Alderaan wasn’t like anywhere else in the galaxy.

“She told me you could be a great grandmother before they ever had to reuse any baby things.” And then all of that had gone to waste when Tarkin said fire. Except for these boxes.

Leia held the onesie to her heart. Any connection at all.

“The other crate is a few items of furniture. I assume you have something permanent set up at home, but they knew I was mostly going to be travelling.” Settling down only became a real possibility for any of them in the past year. And even that was slow going. “It would make a good shipboard nursery.”

She’d been surprised that Han was willing to make changes to the Falcon. Putting in a galley. If he’d do that for her, surely their baby would also be worth it. They weren’t going to leave any permanent marks, and there was that strange room that Lando kept referring to as his cape closet. There wasn’t much in there but junk now. They could sort through all of that and make space for the baby. Space for... she opened the crate.

A perfectly crafted travel bassinette. Just like she would have slept in for all but her very first trip to Alderaan. Artfully carved, solid craftsmanship. Though the straps attached inside didn’t look at all Alderaanian. A practical addition, but added with respect for the aesthetic. She tugged on them. Solid, that would keep a baby from going anywhere even if his father decided it was a good idea to go into an asteroid field. But also quite lovely.

“That was Sabine’s work. Alderaanian royal politics don’t tend to quite rival an active rebellion for excitement.”

“If you go far enough in our history...” There was a reason Alderaanian royals had found themselves drawn to rebellion. She’d like to think it was all about justice. But they didn’t come from a tradition of sitting quietly, no matter what her tutors had tried to convince her of at the time. “I hope they’re never necessary.”

“That’s what we all hope for our children. And we actually have a chance at giving it to them, thanks to the work your parents started.” Started. They’d all continued it. And now, her child would have more of a link to that than she’d ever dreamed.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough for this gift.” She didn’t expect anything from family for the next generation. It would have been a foolish hope. That was all lost years ago in the worst moment of her life. Except, it seemed, this one gift. Because her parents had taken the time to care for someone else. They couldn’t have known this would come back to her; they were expecting her to use the rest of the excess in the palace’s vast storage.

She would have to teach her child to be like them. Dreaming cradled in this gift they didn’t know they were giving him.

[tres-spades-hotel]

Day 5 - Decadence. Royalty. Power.

The Kingdom of Spades is very famous. I was fortunate enough to be born in such an incredible place. I worked at a small library in a village named Wintershire when the library burned down in an attack from a neighbouring kingdom. The owner, Yuma, recommended that I attempt to find a job at the main city, the Tres Spades.

So I said goodbye to my family, my friends and my life to find some excitement. When I got there, I was overwhelmed at how extraordinary the city was. I’m just a small village girl but when I arrived there, I realised that I wanted to be more than that. My life suddenly became very small.

Yuma told me that I could try to find a job in the Palace of Spades, where the King lives. My parents agreed to it since they wanted me to be safe. Yuma used to work there himself, so he sent me with a letter of recommendation and all of my money. I arrived at the gates and told the guards that I was there to speak with a man named Mr Kenzaki and they let me in. Apparently, he’s a Minister in charge of the city and knew Yuma quite well.

That’s how I became one of the librarians of the Palace Library.

*

‘Vivian! Stop dossing off! You’re being paid to organise the books, not read them!’ The head of the library tosses a raged cloth at my face.

‘Ah! Sorry, Miss Erika! I’ll get right on it!’ She huffs at me and saunters off with her twin assistants, Rina and Kana.

I quickly pick up the cloth on the floor and start organising the books by name. Copies of every book to ever exist in the entire world, live here in these expensive bookcases. When I first arrived here, I was astonished at the amount of books here. I fell in love with each cover, each name, each genre of every kind. For three years, I have been working here and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Maybe the library that burned down was destined to happen if it meant that I would come here to the Palace. There is a bundle of houses in the garden of the Palace dedicated as living quarters for the servants and staff. I met my friends, Chisato who works as a maid and Sakiko who works in catering. The three of us live together and we have a lot of fun.

‘Vivian! It’s your turn to lock up the library tonight. Remember to give the keys back to Mr Kenzaki before you go.’ Erika shouts into the empty library. I hear her and the twins stomp off and I let out a sigh. I swear it’s like walking on a mine field with that woman. It’s even worse when her two assistants start taunting me because I’m from Wintershire, which is a small, low-class village near the outskirts of the kingdom.

In an hour I finish my work and sit down on a chair. Last year, Chisato was able to help me gain a scholarship for a part-time degree in Literature so I gained permission from Kenzaki to use certain books in the library for my studies. There is literature from all over the world in the library which helps me a ton because I have to study different books from different countries.

Just as I open a book, the large doors open. I stand up when I see who it is.

‘Your Highness…’ I say and bow to the king, Eisuke Ichinomiya. His rule over the kingdom is absolute.

‘Hm, I wasn’t aware there was anyone still here.’ He says, looking at the books sprawled over the table beside me.

‘I had finished my work and was studying, your highness.’ I explain.

‘Ah yes, Kenzaki told me about this. You’re the librarian studying Literature.’

I nod.

‘Is there anything you need? A book or tea?’ I ask.

‘Coffee. And I want the strategy books written in the 1700s.’

‘Very well, your highness. The war fare and military strategy books?’ I ask and he nods at me, taking a seat at the plush sofa by the fireplace. I heard from Sakiko that the king likes to drink sweet coffee so I put sugar cubes and milk into the mug with some cookies I baked. Hopefully, he’ll eat them?

When I place the tray down, he looks sceptically at the cookies.

‘Oh, don’t worry! I made the cookies so they’re not poisonous. I’ll even eat one now if you want?’

‘No, that’s not necessary.’ I bow and head upstairs. I bring the books in a basket and lay them on the coffee table and stack the rest on the floor.

‘This coffee is adequate.’ He mumbles and I look up at him, shocked to have been praised by the king himself. As soon as we make eye contact, he looks away and picks up one of the books.

‘You can continue studying.’ He says.

‘Of course, thank you your highness.’ I bow again and let the books fly me away for a few hours.

*

EISUKE’S POV

When I became the King, I shouldered, no still shoulder the lives of every citizen in the kingdom. This neighbouring kingdom’s King, Sojiro Reisen, has been giving me a headache. Attacks are destroying the smaller villages living near the border. I’ve sent aid but it’s not enough. To protect my people, I must devise a strategy and fast.

What better way to gain knowledge than in the Palace Library?

Assuming the library was empty, I walked in. What I found was one of the librarian’s still inside, studying it seemed. She provided me with the books I wanted and left me to my work. Usually, staff would try to be in my good graces in order to gain something from me. But this woman has already gone back to her studying. Literature, hm.

‘What is your name?’ I hear myself ask.

‘Hm? Your highness?’ The bottom of the chair legs scrape against the wood as she rushes to my side.

‘I said, what is your name?’

‘My name? Well, mine is Vivian. Vivian Airheart.’

‘Hm, where did you come from? You don’t seem to have been born in the city.’

‘Oh, no. I grew up in Wintershire, your highness. I, um…’

‘Finish your sentence.’

‘I, came to the city for work because the library I worked in, back in my village, was burned down in an attack.’

‘When?’

‘A few years ago now. I’ve heard that the minister of Wintershire hasn’t rebuilt the library for fear of another attack from the Reisen Kingdom.’ She explains.

‘I’m sorry to hear this. I’ll make sure to send extra protection for your village.’

‘Please, your highness, you don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault that another kingdom is attacking us.’ She waves her arms and shakes her head in defiance.

‘Don’t forget who I am, Miss Airheart. I need to apologise because the safety of every being on my lands is my top priority.’

She gives me a smile.

‘Thank you. And I promise to do my best in my work, and I’ll complete my studies with flying colours!’ Vivian exclaims, pumping her small fist in the air.

I can’t help but chuckle at her cute behaviour.

‘I will hold you to that promise, Vivian.’

She blushes a fierce red, fiercer than the fire.

From then on, I visited the library whenever she was the one responsible for closing the library. Every time, she gave me coffee and the books I need. We sat in comfortable silence as we both did our tasks. Eventually, I persuaded her to sit by me as she studied.

‘Nobody knows what Shakespeare planned when he wrote Macbeth. It was either to gain approval of King James I, or to insult the King.’

‘I see, wow, the history of some authors is really fascinating.’

‘All authors have a story to tell, their own personal history is one of them.’

As she was sitting on the floor, writing in her notebook on the coffee table, I, on impulse, reached out and stroked her head. She turned her head at me, and I saw the flames of a burning fire in her eyes, reflected from the fireplace.

Many in the palace have taken notice of my involvement with her but what they don’t understand is that she gives me room to breathe. I no longer feel suffocated, nor do I have to pretend when I am with her. She began to etch herself onto my heart.

‘Eisuke, I don’t understand the question. Help me!’ She whined from my side. Her pouty face suddenly became very precious to me.

Her coffee gives me the strength to carry on and fight this war. I made her my personal maid in order to drink her coffee every morning, ‘noon and night. In return, I gave her my own knowledge and helped her with her studies. I can’t remember when she started saying my first name either, but I remember that it happened so suddenly.

‘Eisuke, even kings need to take a break, please. If you exhaust yourself, I’ll be blamed for it!’

I couldn’t allow myself to love her completely though. With Reisen hellbent on destroying me and my land, her life would have been in danger. I wasn’t able to send her back to Wintershire, so I sent her to live in the university for a while until the war stopped. But that didn’t seem to satisfy her.

She burst into the garden that day, begging me to let her stay.

‘I want to be here with you, forever. Even in times like this.’

Vivian decided for herself what she wanted. It was time for me to decide. Although, I already made up my mind a long time ago.

Nearly two years later, the war finally stopped, and I gained control of Reisen’s lands. But it took time to make changes and fix the area. Vivian, in the meantime, passed her degree like she promised she would. I made her the new Head of the Palace Library.

‘Eisuke, is this necessary?’

‘Of course, my queen needs to be the most beautiful bride in the world.’ She looked lovely with her reddened face.

On the day, the entire country came to see my newly wedded wife. She looked stunning.

‘I promise Vivian, that I will give you everything you ever want.’ I said, pulling her to my side by her waist.

‘All I need is you Eisuke, that’s more than enough for me.’ She smiles the same beautiful smile I fell in love with.

‘A librarian turned queen, a story worth writing about, don’t you think?’ I smirked at her and mischief sparkled in her eyes.

‘You’ll write it with me, won’t you?’

‘Obviously.’

I rested my forehead against hers, revelling in a happiness I never thought I would get.

[rainboo-dash]

Pro-Israelis.

A Thread. Part 2

(Check for part 1)

Bill Maher

Maher has steadfastly defended Israeli military action in Gaza, claiming Palestinans don't have the moral high ground, and are to blame for the deaths they've suffered from Israel's responses to rocket fire. Maher also took criticism for a tweet in which he compared the response to Hamas to hitting a woman.

Arnold Schwarzenegger & Sylvester Stallone

The actor and former California governor signed the 2014 pro-Israel statement, and called the country " a beacon of democracy and human rights" during a 2011 appearance at the Israeli consulate.

Stallone signed the 2014 support statement, and has raised money for the Israeli Defense Force by appearing at fundraising galas.

Minnie Driver

Driver refused to sign on to a boycott of the Toronto Film Festival in 2009, taking place because the festival was spotlighting films about Tel Aviv. She released a statement calling the boycott censorship, saying "Empowered groups of people, deciding whose stories can, and cannot be told, does nothing but remind us of oppression that has no place in filmmaking.”

Gal Gadot

"I am sending my love and prayers to my fellow Israeli citizens, especially to all the boys and girls who are risking their lives protecting my country against the horrific acts conducted by Hamas, who are hiding like cowards behind women and children…We shall overcome!!! Shabbat Shalom!"

Not to mention that she has served two years in the Israeli Defence Forces as a fitness/combat readiness instructor.

Natalie Portman

"I'm not pro-BPD, I'm anti-Netanyahu"

(Like that will give her credits)

Mena Massoud

Posted a seemingly harmless video on his Instagram page, “Evolving Vegan”. In this video, Mena details all the foods he grew up eating (and now can’t eat as a vegan), “shawerma, shish tawook, labneh”. He then introduces the restaurant he’ll be eating at- an “Israeli inspired plant-based restaurant serving up all the Mediterranean classics”.

Egyptian and Arab twitter caught on to this video, calling him out for reinforcing the idea that Palestinian and Levantine food is Israeli.

During his promotional tour for the film, Massoud sat down for an interview with the website Ynet, the online outlet for Israeli newspaper Yedioth Ahronoth.

"I visited Israel when I was in Jordon. I crossed the borders just for a few hours. It was such a process… because I am Egyptian, and born in Egypt, they had to do their research," the 27-year-old actor, who has frequently expressed pride in his Arab origins, said in a video published by Ynet on Sunday.

"It was lovely. We only spent a couple of hours there. I definitely want to go back and visit Jerusalem and walk in the path of Christ and kind of do all the big stuff," Massoud told the interviewer, who opened the interview by saying "originally, we're neighbours."

[lyriquette]

RWBY farming au

Conceived in the Frosen Steel server, a RWBY farming / hydroponics AU. I’ll probably use some of the ideas in this for Rising Snow. Mostly background with scattered pieces of actual fic. - lilac 

If people don’t mind this format, I’ll probably post similar world-building AUs in the future.  

Featuring: Penny Polendina, Oscar Pine, Whitley Schnee.  

Because of the freezing cold and the years of industrialization in Mantle, Mantle/Atlas soil is incredibly poor for growing plants. Most food product is imported from Vale, and in turn Atlas supports Vale in terms of sharing their technology. It's why the two Kingdoms are more modern in appearance than the other two kingdoms, not to mention that they were originally good allies during the Great War.

In this AU, Watts develops his murder machines first and ends up winning whatever contract Atlas was offering. The Penny Project is later realized by Pietro, and Pietro later resigns as he picks up on the increasing militarization in Atlas as if General Ironwood was preparing something big - and he wanted his daughter not to be involved.

Pietro decides to move down to the Crater in Mantle to facilitate that. That way no one would know about Penny. He then creates a small shop to help repair electronics and create prosthetics for the unfortunate. It’s through this change in locale that Penny learns how bad things are down at Mantle. 

The main reason is food. Though Atlas and Mantle do have greenhouses, they're only able to supply food for a small amount of people - and it's usually just to the rich who want to eat fresh produce up in Atlas. The rest of the food is imported and thus expensive. In a way, food is a means to keep Mantle underneath Atlas's thumb because if its citizens don't work, they can't eat. If they quit, someone else would gladly take that job just to feed themselves and their family. Thus, a cycle of control is created where people simply can't break free of the poor conditions nor could they really complain, because to them it's happening everywhere. 

The SDC is the main actor in that, given their non-essential businesses are everywhere. If they decide to forcibly close down those businesses, many many people would be out of a job and likely die. Whether the government would act or not is a coin flip - the SDC needs Mantle for labor, but Atlas could run effectively without it - they have robots for labor, the rich for funding, and a military arm in the form of Atlas Academy. 

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

Most of the Faunus who lived in the Crater did not trust Penny and Pietro at first, but given Pietro's generosity and Penny's kind demeanor, they slowly warm up to them. The White Fang within Atlas is more of a community hub that supports each other because they can't afford to be militant; attacks of SDC buildings end up having extremely bad repercussions on Mantle Faunus which includes unofficial anti-Faunus hiring policies or firings - the whim of the SDC can easily kill a couple thousand of them from that alone. 

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

Penny initially started this project, not because she wanted to change the world, but because her father had been getting more sick lately, getting thinner, and starting to get sores in his gums and bleeding more easily. She later on would learn that these were signs of malnutrition - scurvy - things that those living more centrally in Mantle or up in Atlas didn't get but was a problem now because of where they lived. Though buying vitamin supplements did help, it didn't quite replace actual food - and nutrients were often better absorbed and palated in the form of food, especially when it came to the nonessential but still important minerals. 

However, she knew that things simply did not grow in Mantle. And the things that did grow were usually hardy weeds turned poisonous due to absorbing heavy metals from the ground. It was all too common to see a desperate man or woman just collapse shaking from eating too many wild weeds because they couldn't eat anything else. Maybe one day, they could plant enough weeds to help improve Mantle's soil quality, but it didn't help her dad now. 

She's heard of hydroponics before. It wasn't exactly a secret; however, the science was in its infancy stages. Part of it was because people in the food importing business did not want others to grow cheap, domestic food - greenhouses were already bad enough for them. However, the main reason was that people didn't quite know what made plants succeed in growing and creating produce (farmers were the least likely people to work in permanently cold Solitas) - usually the plants failed to germinate, died drooping (overwatering), or end up growing but don't create produce (never bore fruit). Even though there was limited success, the yield would be extremely poor, and the amount of time and energy could've just be used to create another greenhouse instead.

But this was okay for Penny cause all she really had was time and energy. And it wasn't like she was selling food. She just wanted to grow produce, so her dad could eat healthier. 

Her dad supported her efforts by getting the short experiment logs of the initial hydroponics projects at Atlas. And it became clear to Penny that there were many holes in that research with the main factor being that there was not an actual farmer to help with the research. And with the arrogance of Atlasian scientists (Watts being the archetypical example), who would bring a down-to-earth farmer who knew nothing of science and the like? Lacking expertise and knowing that the entirety of Atlas would be of no help, Penny sought the CCT for assistance. 

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

Oscar didn't particularly like farming. He wanted to become a Hunter, but his aunt wouldn't let him. Too dangerous, she said. He might end up mixing with the darker elements of Mistral because of it, not to mention the fact he’d be fighting the Grimm on a regular basis. Better to be a farmer in central Mistral with a nice stable income like how his parents and their parents and their parents' parents lived. 

Still, he never complained out loud. After going to school in the morning, he helped worked the fields in the afternoon, the same as the other farmhands like his uncle and his cousins.  He was living under their roof, and he knew it was hard to provide for a thirteen-year old who was just starting his growth spurt. He probably ate more than his aunt and his baby cousins combined now. And their family generously paid for his living conditions without forcing him into anything he didn't want to do. 

As of late, he's been a bit happier with his lot in life. Using the CCT, someone from Solitas had contacted him in regard to farming - about how they wanted to grow things in Mantle and potentially revolutionize the lives of people there. But they couldn't due to the soil being bad. In what way, he didn't particularly know. They discussed the issue with each other through voice-chat, talking about their very different lives and even the possibility of something called hydroponics - honestly, it felt like finding a kindred spirit. And he looked forward to the days he could talk things out with his new friend. 

"Hey, wait. Check this out," Oscar said as he checked the CCT forums, "Your thread got replied too." 

"Really?" said a bewildered voice on the other line. 

"Yeah, a Penny123 is asking about farming in Mantle too. Even mentioned hydroponics." 

"...Let's try bringing this Penny in." 

"You sure, Whitley?" 

"Yeah. As much as I want us to keep the credit, it's not like we're going anywhere right now. Maybe this person will have new ideas." 

==========

So a duo became a trio. And Whitley was right. What Penny brought to the table was the scientific expertise. She might not know how hydroponics actually worked, but she did have the means to analyze the soil content (retrofitting some of her sensors for more specialized purposes) and simply put - she was a scientist. On the other hand, Oscar had the farming expertise - he knew what soils worked well with which crop, the habits of each plant he grew, he knew what plants liked more water and which ones preferred less, and what a plant should like when it was growing well.

Whitley was the odd duck in the group. First of all, he wasn't quite doing it for altruism's sake. He was doing it because he disliked his family - and really hated the Schnee Dust Company, seeing that it's responsible for his mother's drinking, his parents' loveless marriage, Winter abandoning the rest of the family for Ironwood and the Hunters/Huntresses, and Weiss's likely plans to abandon ship on him too (he's angry at her for that, but after having Oscar to confide in, it wasn't as bad as being left alone and isolated completely.) 

He's also responsible for making sure that his two partners weren't murdered in their sleep. Going this route infringes upon the interests of several major corporations including the SDC and the food import companies. Seeds and food products coming from and going to Solitas were tracked very closely. Penny is also given some chilling news from Whitley: people have tried building greenhouses at the Crater before, and all of them were destroyed without a perpetrator to be found.

The danger was serious enough that Oscar was also planning to move to Solitas to not implicate his aunt and uncle when he and Whitley finally started the project in earnest. With Penny around, Oscar potentially had a place to stay (Oscar also was like "i can do heavy lifting, the dishes, cooking, farming, etc" as part of his self-advertisement). 

Even Whitley acknowledges that he himself might not be safe. One wrong move on his part - and well, if his father was able to endure nearly a decade of loveless marriage just to take over the SDC, there's no telling what he'll do when he realizes he's working against his interests. 

Penny needs some time to think. She now knows that her tiny project of letting her father eat better is connected to the livelihoods of so many and also brings a lot of danger along with it. Not just to herself but to her father - her dad would also be a target if things go south. With her partners’ agreement (since it's inevitable Pietro would get wind of things since the project will be occurring in his house), Penny talks to her dad about the hydroponics / farming project. He's worried for her but understands what she wants to do - she's filled with purpose now and wants to help the people out. As much as he's scared for her and doesn't want her to do this, he can't help but feel a bit of pride about his daughter growing up. Still, he makes her promise that as soon as things start looking bad, they'll stop. They'll quit and not look back. He asks to speak to the other two, not quite realizing they're a pair of thirteen-year olds, and extracts the same promise for their sake. 

------

As plans for moving and gathering soil samples are being made, Pietro starts building Floating Array. 

Penny begins dragging several abandoned shipping containers to the "backyard" of their store, saying her dad needed some raw material for experimentation when in reality it's gonna be where the heart of their project is. 

Weiss starts getting worried about her younger, now constantly sneaking around and speaking to the scroll in hushed tones. She overhears part of his conversation - about how he'd get in a lot of trouble for a certain course of action (directly smuggling goods in using his authority) - and worries that he's getting bullied. 

Oscar tells his family that his friend found him a job working as an engineer's assistance in Solitas, and he'd like to stay there for a year. His place of employment has already paid for the transcontinental ticket.

[luckyharbinger]

I’m seeing a lot of post about people being worried that Clover will betray Qrow, so I wanted to touch on a few reasons as to why I’m not worried about this, at least not when looking at the bigger picture.

Clover has always been set apart from his team in multiple ways. The most obvious is the fact that he, unlike the others, doesn’t have a partner with a matching semblance. This instantly establishes a disconnect, only made more prominent with his team’s attitude of “teammates and friends aren’t the same”. Despite that, Clover seems to genuinely like his team, between small bits like him smiling fondly at Marrow and clasping arms with Elm.

An important flag: the quote in the photo above. “What would you guys do without me?” is, narratively speaking, a flag to let the audience know we’re going to find out.

We all know there’s no way in hell Qrow’s gonna abandon Ruby and Yang, one because he loves them and two because he promised Taiyang he’d keep an eye on them. It’d be awfully strange to give Qrow someone he can freely use his semblance around, and awfully strange to finally give Clover the partner he’s clearly been wanting, just to separate them again. But, to get on with the evidence:

Clover has had multiple disobedient flags in the short time he’s been in the show. In the confrontation with Robyn on the transport, he seems to genuinely want her to succeed in the election, despite the fact that she plans to challenge Ironwood at every turn. When Ironwood orders that Robyn be arrested, Clover doesn’t respond as the other Ace Ops tend to, with a “yes sir”. Instead, with a glance at Qrow, he says “We’ll figure it out,” which implies he wanted to find another way around the mess. One might be inclined to say third times’ the charm, eh?

Additionally, has anyone ever asked where Clover is from? Take a look at his expression when he gets his orders about Tyrian.

These orders meant that he’s going to be dropping the fight to protect people from swarming Grimm. He’s obviously not pleased with the call, despite being so optimistic about the situation when they jumped from the plane. Given that Clover seems to be quietly rooting for Robyn, and his grudge against Tyrian after the slaughter of Mantle citizens (and perhaps Qrow's poisoning, but that's a whole other post), it's exceedingly clear that Clover places an importance towards Mantle that Ironwood doesn't. And it's quite possible that Mantle may have even been his home in the past. His character card says he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his kingdom, but ‘whatever it takes’ doesn’t necessarily have the perimeters of ‘whatever it takes so long as it aligns with my job description’. Don’t forget: Mantle is a part of his kingdom, too.

Unlike the other Ace Ops, Clover hasn’t been secretive about his admiration for Qrow’s relationship with RWBY and JNR. And it seems like an awful waste of time, money, and resources for CRWBY to animate him fighting so in sync with Qrow and being so openly fond with him (insert separate post here about how they literally can’t take their eyes off each other) just to have him side with Ironwood till the bitter end. I think it speaks volumes that four of the Ace Ops were present when Ironwood ordered RWBY’s arrest, especially when it’s been established that teams come in fours and Clover has no partner. Further more, character developments go two ways. Whether you’re fan of Fair Game or not, it’s indisputable that Clover has deeply affected Qrow. And Qrow has likely affected him too, in ways we haven’t yet been allowed to see. Remember, Qrow is the character with the most open disdain for the military and the way James runs it.

I don’t deny that it’s entirely possible for Clover to default to Ironwood at first. In fact, I might even go so far as to expect it. But Qrow’s going to throw a shitfit if his kids end up getting captured, and something tells me Clover isn’t going to be wiling to arrest Qrow a second time. 

And like Ironwood said...loyalty always matters.

(Sidenote: doesn’t it seem like one final....betrayal might be the thing that sends Ironwood into a full blown breakdown?)

[jauneda1]

RWBY

The New War

Vale Aftermath

Two Hours After The Attack

Teams JNPR, RWBY and a man that went by the name Qrow where sitting in a onsite medical treatment center. The military had set a bunch of these up in Vale to help all citizens. The miasma had dissipated and dispersed in most areas, but some areas are still burning from the explosions. Fire Fighters and EMS are doing what they can but this attack, rocked the kingdom and the only thing on most people's minds is why those soldiers where wearing Atlas military patches. General Ironwood had came to Vale after the conflict and spoke with Ozpin alone.

Jaune and Ren where laying down in medical cots. With there teams comforting them as they recover. Jaune's new moves and over usage of his semblance caused him to have heart pains but he should recover. Ren was going through what could only be considered a flu. But the medic there said he was just experiencing the symptoms and couldn't place it. It was then that Jaune realized that he knows what's happening transferring Ren that energy to him was the main reason. He had never used it before so he'll just extract the kinetic energy and bear the pain for him.

As Jaune took away the pain Ren felt Jaune had his hand gripped as he extracted the energy from him. Ren looked towards Jaune and locked eyes with him.

Jaune: I'm sorry Ren for putting you through that, don't worry about me I've dealt with the pain before.

Ren: Do you go through that all the time?

Jaune: More or less

It was quiet for a second between the two and something made Ren's heart skip a beat. He couldn't place it but it felt good. Then a perfect timing of Ozpin speaking up with Ironwood at his side caused everyone to look at them so no one saw Ren's blush but except one ginger bomber.

Ozpin: Mr.Arc what you did today was reckless and you could of gotten your teammate Lie Ren killed.

Everyone was silent and Ren was about to speak up.

Ironwood: You fought with great valour and honor kid. When people's lives where in danger you showed no hesitation to rush in and save them.

Ironwood: For that you have my respect. You would make a fine solider one day

Jaune: Thank you, but um professor wasn't those men wearing Atlas Military patches?

Ironwood: They where but I can tell you none of my men wear those kevlar uniforms anymore. They had hit one of our old production bases here in Sanus.

Ironwood: There are bigger matters at hand, I believe you should inform your students on what's about to happen in our world today.

Ozpin had sighed and looked to Ironwood but knew he was right. As he began to speak he had informed Teams RWBY and JNPR that starting tomorrow they will no longer be studying to be huntsman. No that they will be apart of a task force to help combat the unknown threats that have thrown the world into discord. It turns out Vale wasn't the only kingdom to go up in flames today. The attacks there had also taken place in all of the kingdoms. Mistral being hit the hardest because word has it they not only where attacked by Solider's with Vale military gear and White Fang. They suffered heavy lose so a few of they're high-grade students will be coming here to join the task force.

While everyone one was listening and not asking questions Jaune had to speak up he just couldn't sit there and not speak

Jaune: I'm sorry for cutting you off Professor Ozpin, but we are not soldiers we are Huntsman in training!

Jaune: Are you saying that we should stop working towards our dreams as Huntsman and Huntresses to fight a war that we aren't even sure has started.

Jaune: I understand these terrorist attacks are serious but that's not gonna stop the Grimm they are gonna keep coming even more now, since there is so much disorder and distress in the people.

Ironwood: I hate to be the one to say this, but your dreams will need to be put on hold. The world is changing there is people in the dark who wish to destroy our very way of life.

Ironwood: Look with all of your skills we can find out who is behind all this and put a stop to them.

Ruby: I think we all know what we have to do.

Jaune: Ruby you serious!? This isn't our fight, we aren't ready for this.

Ruby: If we truly weren't ready for this then you wouldn't have gotten involved earlier would you?

Jaune was sitting up now even with the pain in him.

Jaune: There where innocent people dying I had to do something.

Ruby: That's the point Jaune. Huntsman or soldiers we have to protect those who can't. Remember what you said back when both became team leaders.

Ruby: You said now that we both have our own teams that you would trust my judgement and be our sister team.

Ruby: So I'll ask you again do you really trust my judgement.

Jaune had turned his head to avoid Ruby's eyes trying to think of a way to counter her argument but it only took Jaune a moment to realize all eyes where on him. Like his decision makes the difference for everyone right now.

Jaune: I trust you Ruby, even though I don't like the idea of this. Your right people will continue to die if we don't do anything.

Jaune: As long as the rest of my team is okay with it I'm in.

Nora: Let me be the first to say it we always have your back Jaune.

Pyrrha: Absolutely

Ren: you didn't think we would leave you did you.

Ironwood smiled and he saw his way out but gave Ozpin a nod of respect before he left. Everyone was now sitting and waiting for what's next till Qrow reminded Ozpin he was here.

Qrow: Now you know I'm completely against this and Summer will be too. Where not even going to talk about how Raven will react.

Qrow: But I trust your judgement, so what's my goal in all of this?

Ozpin: you'll be leading this little Task force of ours and training them all in cover operations. I'll be sending two other's to help you Thundra will be there military combat trainer. While Raven when she arrives will be there survivalist trainer.

Qrow: Oh she already knows?

Ozpin: Not all of it no.

Four Days Later

Jaune is finally done with his healing period and can't wait to see what he's missed out on. Ren had finished up on day one so he has been alone for four whole days. The New FOB they have been staying at is high-tech Ariel base that travels around Remnant.

Jaune: Dame it's storming outside and Jaune was making his way around looking for everyone now that he's got feeling back in his arm he can't wait to spar someone again. Until he saw everyone down in a push up position and Red eyes peering into his soul. Jaune knew from that moment on he was going to regret trusting Ruby's judgment.

End of part 5

Yes I know not really eventful but don't worry the next chapter will be they're first mission.

Character Analysis:

Ruby Branwen Rose: Age 18,

Huntsman Classification: High-grade

Classification: Sniper/Attacker

Semblance: Petal Burst

After losing her father on a mission Ruby has relied on her sister and her mother's Summer and Raven, and a childhood friend Jaune.

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla

Summary: Alva tries her best to adapt to her current lifestyle. Savilla helps her by teaching her the ways around this world. But some dangerous forces are on their way. And a familiar face shows up.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the third part of my fic. I accidentally deleted this part as well as the second part so I had to reupload. I hate myself and I cried .

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: I thought this fitted the scenery

Alva adapted slowly. It was important that if she wanted to pass as a villager she had to develop. Where she came from, who her parents were and why she came.

And they came up with an easy background story. Alva was the daughter of two Medics, Drarnoz and Isada of Verden. Verden is one of the minor kingdoms in the North, located at the very mouth of the river Yaruga, with Kerack and Brokilon on its northern borders and Cintra in the south, just on the other side of the river. After her parents died in a brutal raid of their village Alva sought a sanctuary by a family friend Savilla living in Riverdell. She took the orphan in.

James brought Alva the Ducates he had collected over the years which made up a small fortune. He promised to bring her every coin he’ll find in the future.

That’s how Alva started her life in a small village. Savilla had an extra bed for her and she didn’t mind sharing her food and clothes.

“You are pretty bad at healing you know that? You’ve been here for almost a month.” Savilla always made fun of the way the girl was bandaging or trying to figure out which plant was good for the specific treatment.

“I just don’t understand how you can separate all of these. They look all the same.” Alva sighed and took a seat. Trying to figure out which herbs were able to calm a burn.

“This isn’t your desire and I get it. It’s not your fault. And I maybe have something set up for you.” The mage smirked while she picked big orange blossoms from her garden. “Merigold, Alva. One of the herbs that can potentially save lives.”

“Don’t change the subject. What did you do?” The girl gave her a doubtful look while watching her picking even more blossoms.

“The tavern in the village. They need a servant. The old one got scared off because the olds kept trying to seduce her and she felt uncomfortable. But I figured you’d be perfect for the job.” She walked inside with a full basket in her hands.

“Are you insulting me or what are you trying to say?” Alva hurried after her, stumbling while getting up.

“You need to get better at walking when you want to serve the folks.” The maid laughed and started to cut the flowers into small pieces.

“But to get back to your question, no. But you are tough and have a huge temperament. Exactly what a good servant needs. The old douches won't have it easy with you.”

Alva let out a loud sigh.

“And I should warn you. They acquire you to look … a certain way.”

“I’m not going to dress like slut and shake my booty.”

“Yes…alright. Anyway, that was not what I was trying to say. They want you to wear your hair down and a dress that will make you look pretty but still can get stained.”

“That’s fine by me but why exactly do they want me to keep my hair down?”

“Maybe they liked it. You know the time we got some bread? That’s when the tavern owner offered me this position.”

The girl hummed in agreement.

“They’ll pay you well. You need that money if you want to find a way back. Mages aren’t cheap. They usually work for kings and queens.” Sevilla stopped with the chopping and went still for a couple of seconds. Her gaze went up and she looked Alva straight into the eyes. She hated that look. It never meant something good.

“You want me to find a different mage?” The girl was confused. How was she supposed to find one? She has no contacts whatsoever and it’s not like she could call the information desk to give her a number.

“I’m not sure who I want you to find for now. It's dangerous out there. I need to find out who I can trust with you. I don’t want you to get captured.” The mage was serious. She liked the girl and felt the urge to protect her. She was sure it was her duty in this life. To help this girl around her world and keeping her safe until she found a way to get back.

“Why would they? I mean I’m not that special and I pretty got at acting old like you.”

“I know. But if they see anything strange in you, just some glance. They don’t need a good reason anymore to imprison the people. It’s getting rough out here. Cintra will lose the next battle. Nobody in this kingdom wants to hear it but you can feel the tension in the air. The Niflgaards are coming and we need to be prepared when they do.”

“Are they like Germany in the Second World War?”

“You do know that I have no information about that.”

“Let me explain. World War II was a global war involving fighting in most of the world and most countries. Like shit went down. Most of the world's countries, including all the great powers in our world, fought as part of two military alliances. They fucking hated each other. World War II was the largest and deadliest conflict in all of our history. It involved more countries, cost more money, involved more people, and killed more people than any other war in our history. About 80 million people died. It included massacres, the Holocaust, strategic bombing, starvation, disease, and the only use of nuclear weapons against civilians in history. Like they could fly bombs from one country to the other through the air and just let them explode wherever they wanted to. It was horrible but I wasn’t alive when that happened.”

The mage had listened carefully only to realize that their worlds aren't that different. “You have to understand that the Nilfgaardian Empire is the most powerful in the history of the known world. It is located in the southern part of the Continent and boasts both a thriving economy and a strong, well-trained army with talented commanders.

It has expanded mostly through the conquest of foreign countries, which were then turned into provinces of the Empire. The Empire's inhabitants believe that "real" Nilfgaardians are only those born in the heart of the Empire and not those born in the conquered provinces. All of them are ruthless. Killing anyone and anything that’ll come in their way. We need to be careful and prepared.”

“So you think they’ll just walk in here like they own this place.” The girl felt she was pulled into something like Lord of the Rings style. Everyone wants to kill the other race. What was happening in this world?

“They won’t pretend that they own these lands, they will fight until they own the whole continent. Saying they want to protect the citizens but slaughter the like an animal for fun. I want you to be prepared that not everyone in our world will respect you, especially because you’re a woman. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Sevilla meant every word she said.

“That’s why I want you to be protected. Here.” She opened the wooden closet and pulled out a silky cloth. “Take it, I have my own. And I won’t need it, I still have the chaos inside of me that’ll help me if needed. I hope you never need it.”

Alva received the loth and lifted the cloth. Underneath there was bedded a silver dagger. It was heavy, but still manageable with one hand.

“Come on, I’m not going to stab anybody. This is not Assasin’s Creed.” She held up the dagger and inspected the weapon. It was beautiful, looking exactly like something a video game character would keep under their robe.

“I’m not joking around Alva! I want you to work so we have enough Ducates in the case of an emergency. If you’re not willing to protect your one life no one else will. I can protect you as far as my power goes but everything is limited. At this point, you don’t have a choice. If you want to get back to your world you need to adapt completely! Do you understand?” Sevilla handed her a scabbard possibly fitting for the dagger.

“No need to be rude.” Alva took and let the weapon slide smoothly into it.

“Attach it to your belt. It's best if you keep it on you at all times. Even while you sleep.”

The girl nodded and pulled her dress up to gain access to the pants she was always wearing underneath. She tied it around her waist and let loose of her dress.

“I understand but I hope I’ll never have to use it.”

“Me neither.”

-

The next weeks went on smoothly. Alva tried her best to lie to herself. If she realized that she left her entire family and friends behind, everything she loved. She didn’t know if she could handle the pain and panic that would appear again. She remembered her first week here. It was exhausting. She didn’t want to stand up and live in a world she didn’t belong. The only thing keeping her from ending it all was the promise Sevilla gave her.

She will bring her back. No matter what is going to happen. She’ll find a way out. And if she could get back, she can’t give up. That wasn’t an option. But she couldn’t think about it anymore. The pain that would crawl up into her chest even if she only thought about it for a second. It was unbearable.

Alva tried to act like new her role this life. At least for now. Her dad was Drarnoz of Verden and her mother was Isada of Verden. She was an orphan. Currently serving at the tavern where she was allowed to live with a family friend. Sevilla. That’s all she needed to remember.

Usually, no one asked about her past. That wasn’t a thing in this village. As soon as Alva said the word ‘orphan’ no more questions were asked.

She liked her job at the tavern. It was an easy way to meet new people and experience the world fully. Adapting day by day. But still being herself. Everyone loved the way she talked. Foolish but skeptical. No man was able to win her or flirt with her. She shut them down real quick.

Today was such a day

It was an afternoon and everyone was ending their work for the day coming to the tavern to get a well-deserving drink and sometimes a meal, but Alva knew by experience you shouldn’t eat the food of this tavern. Dossar, the owner, didn’t know how to cook but he surely wasn’t giving up on an opportunity of getting more money.

The folks around the area knew never to ask for a meal but it was always a pleasure to see the look on a travelers' face.

Alva was serving everyone with a kind smile but some men interpret this as a sign to flirt with her. Woldor, a farmer, decided to try his luck today. He was trying to gain her attention by whistling at her and holding up his cup of beer. Only for her to come and check if he needed a refill. But at his point, she was ignoring his calls and gestures.

But the man didn’t stop. So Alva thought it was her time to shine.

“I’m not an animal! You can’t win my attention by whistling at me and calling me with sloppy pick-up lines! Cut it before I start acting like one.”

“I’ve never been threatened so adorably before.” Woldor and the men sitting beside him star to burst out into laughter and continued drinking.

“Yes well, I’m about to adorably kick your fucking arse.” The laughter silenced and the men stared at the girl.

“This isn’t going to end well is it?” Her coworker Cozlo walked up to her and tried to calm her down, by laying his arm around her shoulder. Alva liked him. He was a good friend and was amazing at keeping her out of trouble when she had a tantrum. This was one of them.

“Fuck no.” The girl wanted to jump at the man and rip his eyes out. He was the one that couldn’t take no for an answer. He was harassing her since the day she started to work as a servant.

Getting ready to throw some punches Cozlo grabbed her by her waist and picked her up.

“Let me down! Let me show this bitch what my adorable hand can do around his throat! I want to see if he still thinks their pretty when I choke him!”

“I think I’m in love with you my dear!” Woldor called out for her while sipping on his beer.

“That’s fucking unfortunate!” Alva was yelling across the tavern while trying to fight her way out of Cozlo's grip.

“You are significantly more destructive than I was anticipating.” That was Cozlo's response after Alva successfully freed herself and was ready to throw fists.

“Enough!” The dark voice of Dossar echoed between the walls. “Woldor get your arse out of here before I tell your wife that you're harassing my servant again!” The tall and bear-like built man stepped in front of the counter and was ready to throw him out with his own hands.

“Can’t take a goddamn joke, can ya?” The farmer grumbled some swearings under his breath and tossed his payment on the table before leaving the bar with his men.

“Next time leave a fucking tip, bastard.”, Alva shouted out through one of the windows and held up her middle finger. “Fuck that dude.”

“You did well Alva, let me admit that.” Dossar gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the kitchen area.

The conflict calmed down and the girl started to clean the table the men had left as a mess. Scrubbing the sticky beer of the top.

“May I compliment you on your skill of handling this rude of a man, my beautiful Lady.”

Alva turned around and in front of her stood unmistakably a bard. The usual costume they were wearing gave it away in an instant. But the lute that was strapped on his back made it even clearer. The man wasn’t older than probably 30 years old. His clothing had seen better days and his brown hair was all messed up.

“Thanks, I guess.” The girl wasn’t in the mood for a conversation so she continued scrubbing the table.

“My name is Jaskier if I may introduce myself. I’m the new bard in town.”

“What brings a bard like you in a village like this?”

“I expected a job, which was me kindly offered by the master of this tavern. A nice man. Allowed me to show off my talent every evening.”

“Good for you Jaskier.” She wasn’t trying to be mean but the bard was definitely flirting and she just wasn’t in the mood for another thirsty mean.

“That makes us workmates if I’m not mistaken? I look forward to seeing more of you…?” It was obvious that he waited for her name and the girl let out her sigh while turning toward him.

“Jaskier, I don’t mean to be rude but I had men trying to marry me at least 4 times today. And a dozen of them were just trying to bring me to bed. So please, if you stop that flirty behavior I will see you as my workmate and friend. But that’s all I can offer.

“Of course, Alva. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I’m glad I found a friend already. My last company wasn’t that welcoming.” A half-hearted smile was on his face and he scratched the back of his head.

“Why? Were you trying to flirt with them too?” Alva smirked and put her hand friendly on the shoulder of Jaskier.

“Oh no. Trust me. That would have been very … disturbing, may I say so. I see around Alva.”

“Yes, Jaskier. I’ll see you around.”