#how can we talk about the current political make up of the region and ignore actual literal centuries of reshaping conflict that

[meduseld]

No seriously it makes me feel like I'm taking crazy pills when literally no one even when talking about the history of the region talks about the FUCKING CRUSADES? THE ONES THAT SHAPED THE AREA TO THIS DAY????? THE ONES AROUND JERUSALEM, WHICH STILL VERY MUCH EXISTS???????? HELLO?????????? IS THIS THING ON??????

[chaos0pikachu]

Is BL Being Overly Influenced by Modern Western Romance Tropes?

Short answer: No. anyways, in the following essay I will explain that James Cameron is a weeb...

(okay fine~~ lets actually do this)

TLDR: discussing what media globalization is, how fandom can distill it down to only American/European cinema, showcasing how a lot of current BL is influenced by countries within it's own proximity and NOT "the west" but each other, also James Cameron is still a weeb

I had seen a post that basically proposited that BL was being influenced by modern western romance tropes and had used things like omegaverse and mafia settings as an example. I found this, in a word, fucking annoying (oh, two words I guess) because it's micro-xenophobic to me.

It positions western - and really what we mean by this is American/European countries, we're not talking about South American countries are we? - cinema as the central breadbasket of all cinema in and of itself. Inherently, all following cinema must be in some way, shape, or form, influenced by American/European standards, and as such America/European countries are directly responsible for cinema everywhere else, and these places - namely non-white countries - do not influence each other, nor have their own histories in regards to storytelling or cinema and do not, in turn, also influence American/European film making either.

Now like, do I think all of that~~ is intentionally malicious thinking on behalf of folks in fandom? No, so chill out.

I do, however, think a lot of it is birthed from simple ignorance and growing up in an environment where ~The West~ is propagated to be central, individual, and exceptional as opposed to the monolith of "Asia" - by which we mean China, Korea, Japan don't we? How often in discussions of Asian countries is Iran, India, or Saudi Arabia brought up even tho they are all Asian countries? - or the monolith that is South America - in which some folks might believe regions like the Caribbean and/or Central America belong to, but nope there both North America.

Anyway, what we're talking about here is the concept of "media globalization":

"The production, distribution, and consumption of media products on a global scale, facilitating the exchange and diffusion of ideas cross-culturally." (source)

"The media industry is, in many ways, perfect for globalization, or the spread of global trade without regard for traditional political borders. [...] the low marginal costs of media mean that reaching a wider market creates much larger profit margins for media companies. [...] Media is largely a cultural product, and the transfer of such a product is likely to have an influence on the recipient’s culture." (source)

Typically when I see fandom discussing what falls under MG the topic is usually focused on how "the west" is influencing Thai/Korean/Chinese/Japanese media.

Enter, Pit Babe.

Surely Pit Babe was influenced by Supernatural right? Omegaverse is huge in the west - love it, hate it, meh it - it originated in the west - specifically via Supernatural after all.

Nah.

Omegaverse has been popular in Japan and China for almost a decade, if not longer. The earliest omegaverse manga I can think of is Pendulum: Juujin Omegaverse by Hana Hasumi which was released in 2015, almost a decade ago.

(what if you added furries into omegaverse? WHAT IF?? - Japan)

There's countless popular omegaverse manga too, and the dynamics only moderately resemble the ones we're familiar with in the west. Juujin is part omegaverse and part furry/beastmen - the alphas are all beastmen the omegas are humans - while something like Ookami-kun Is Not Scary only slightly resembles omegaverse dynamics as a hybrid series - beastmen are really popular in Japan in part b/c of historical mythology (you see the combination of romantic Beastmen and Japanese culture & folklore in Mamoru Hosoda's work The Boy and the Beast and Wolf Children).

Megumi & Tsugumi (2018) is so popular they're an official English edition published by VIZ's imprint SuBlime and that's a straight up omegaverse story.

(look at the omega symbol on the cover loud and proud baby)

So if Pit Babe was influenced by anything, it certainly wasn't "the west" it was Japan, Korea and China. Because those countries have a thriving omegaverse sub-genre going and have had such for 10 plus years now. Supernatural is popular in Japan, yes, and that may be where Japan and Japanese fans originally found omegaverse as a fictional sub-genre.

HOWEVER

Japanese fans took the sub-genre, bent it, played with it, and evolved it into their own thing. As such, other countries in their proximity, like Thailand, China, and Korea who read BL and GL manga, found it and were like "hey, we wanna play too!"

(is that an omegaverse yuri novel I spy?? yes, yes it is)

When I watched the Red Peafowl trailer, it had more in common with Kinnporsche, History: Trapped, along with films and shows like: Jet Li's The Enforcer, and Fist of Legend, Donnie Yen's Flash Point, Raging Fire, and Kung Fu Jungle, Han Dong-wook's The Worst of Evil, Kim Jin-Min's My Name, Lee Chung-hyeon's The Ballerina, Baik's Believer & Believer 2, Yoshie Kaoruhara's KeixYaku, popular Don Lee films The Gangster, the Cop and the Devil and Unstoppable alongside BL manga like Honto Yajuu and Bi No Isu (probably one of the most well known yazuka manga to date).

Like, we're seeing a rise in mafia based BLs and people think that's because of "western influence" and not the absolute insane success of kinnporsche??? Especially in countries like China, Korea, Taiwan, Philippines and other Asian countries???

Mafia films and gang shows aren't even that popular here in America/Europe; don't get me wrong, they still get made and exist, but the last full length film was The Irishman which did not make it's budget back, and while Power is still on-going it's not a smash hit either. The heyday of Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, The Wire, Goodfellas, and Scarface are long gone. And if you've watched any those shows or films they have very little in common with Kei x Yaku, Kinnporsche, or Red Peafowl in tone, or style.

(who knew martin just wanted to make his al pacino/robert de niro fanfic come to life all these years?)

Another example, The Sign, which is clearly taking inspiration from Chinese costume dramas: Ashes of Love, Fairy and Devil, White Snake (and it's many adaptions), Guardian, & Ying Yang Master Dream of Eternity. Alongside Hong Kong and Korean cop and romance shows like Tale of the Nine-Tailed, Hotel Del Luna, Director Who Buys Me Dinner, First Love, Again, and previously mentioned cop dramas.

Like, I know y'all don't think Twins is influenced by, what, American sports classic Angels in the Outfield?? Gridiron Gang?? Rocky?? Nah that shit is inspired by the popularity of sports manga like Haikyuu!!, Slam Dunk, Prince of Tennis (which even has a Chinese drama adaption), and the like. And also probably History 2, & Not Me but I'm like 87% sure Twins is just Haikyuu fanfic.

So like, does this mean that there's NO history in which American and European cinema influenced these countries? What, no, obviously that's not true, American/European totally have had media influence on countries like Korea, Japan, etc.

Astro Boy by Osamu Tezuka considered "the father of manga" was inspired by Walt Disney's work on Bambi. Another more recent and prominent example is director Yeon Sang-ho and his film Train to Busan.

"And it was Snyder’s movie [Dawn of the Dead, 2004], not the 1978 original, that filmmaker Yeon Sang-ho recalled as his first encounter with the undead. “That was when I started my interest in zombies,” Yeon said, in an email interview through a translator from South Korea. Even today, he added, “it’s the most memorable and intense zombie movie I’ve ever seen.”" (source)

HOWEVER, the global influence doesn't stop there. It's not a one-way street. Yeon Sang-Ho was inspired by Zack Synder's Dawn of the Dead, a remake of George Romero's own work, but Yeon Sang-Ho's work has inspired countless Korean film makers to make their own zombie media; following Train to Busan there's been: Kingdom (2019 - current), All of Us Are Dead (2022), Zombie Detective (2020), Zombieverse (2023), Alive (2020), Rampant (2018).

And hey, wouldn't you know it now we're starting to see more zombie media coming out of places like Japan (Zom 100 the manga, movie, and anime) and High School of the Dead.

Do you know what Domundi's series Zombivor (2023, pilot trailer only) reminds me of? It's NOT The Walking Dead (which is the only relevant zombie media America has created in the last decade) it's Korea's All of Us Are Dead (2022). Comparing the trailers, the settings, the tone, it's clear where Zombivor is pulling inspiration from: Korean zombie cinema. NOT American zombie cinema.

In fact a lot of Domundi's shows - Cutie Pie, Middleman's Love, Naughty Babe, Bed Friend - are all very clearly inspired by Korean filmmaking, specifically that of romantic kdramas from the 2016 - 2020 era. Not always in story, but rather in technique.

This is media globalization. It's not simply ~The West~ influencing non-American/European countries but countries who are often more close in terms of: proximity, culture, and trade are going to have more influence on each other.

It is far more likely that Aoftion (Naughty Babe, Cutie Pie, Zombivor) was influenced by watching Train to Busan, All of Us Are Dead, and other Korean zombie shows and films than a single episode of Walking Dead.

My point isn't that this goes one way only, but rather it is very literally a global thing. This includes American and European film makers being influenced by non-American and European cinema.

Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan, the Wachowski sisters, George Lucas and James Cameron have all been influenced by Japanese film making, especially the works of Akira Kurosawa, Satoshi Kon, and Mamoru Oshii.

John Wick's entire gun-fu sub-genre is heavily influenced by classic Hong Kong action films, specifically John Woo films. Legend of Korra, The Boondocks, Voltron, Young Justice, My Adventures with Superman are all obviously inspired by Japanese anime but animated by a Korean animation studio (Studio Mir). Beyond that, the rise in adult animated dramas like Castlevania, Critical Role Vox Machina, and Invincible to name a few are very clearly taking inspiration from anime in terms of style. The weebs that were watching Adult Swim's Inuyasha, Bleach, and Dragon Ball Z have grown up and are now working in Hollywood.

Okay so like, what's the point of all this? What's the issue? Since American/European cinema does influence et all cinema does any of this really matter?

YES.

I take contention with this line of thinking because it centers "the west" and our supposed individual importance way to much. Declaring definitively that "BL is being influenced by western tropes" and then including tropes, narratives, and film making styles that aren't inherently western and actually have major roots in the cinema of various Asian countries, removes the existence of individual history these countries have which are rich, varied, and nuanced. It removes the "global" part of globalization by declaring "the globe" is really just America and Europe.

It distills these countries down to static places that only exist when American/European audiences discover them.

BL doesn't exist in a vacuum you can trace the development of Korean BL to the development of Korean het dramas almost to a T. You can also trace their development to the queer history of each country and how Thailand interacts culturally with China, Japan, Korea, etc and vice versa. It also ignores the history of these countries influencing American cinema as well. Don't mistake "the globe" for only your sphere of experience.

Anyway James Cameron is a damn weeb y'all have a good night.

Check out other posts in the series:

Film Making? In My BL? - The Sign ep01 Edition | Aspect Ratio in Love for Love's Sake | Cinematography in My BL - Our Skyy2 vs kinnporsche, 2gether vs semantic error, 1000 Stars vs The Sign | How The Sign Uses CGI | Is BL Being Overly Influenced by Modern Western Romance Tropes?

[like these posts? drop me a couple pennies on ko-fi]

[eye-in-hand]

Alexander, 27 (18+), ✡ autistic bastard trans man ✡

Currently learning Russian and trying to start learning Ladino wish me luck lmfao but feel free to message in English, Russian, Spanish or Italian!

Art blog: @sova-dozhd

Fandom blog: @flut-flut

I do not have anons on, if I can show my face while talking about politics you can show yours. Stand behind what you say proudly or don't say it at all.

And I have a lot of political opinions, but since I post about these the most and it's gonna give me the most shit lmfao:

On Israel and Palestine:

I am not qualified to have an opinion on how to end the centuries old conflicts in the Middle East. I urge people to listen to those in the region who support Peace and coexistence, whatever that may end up looking like.

Israelis and Palestinians both deserve to live in the Levant for different reasons. Jews are indigenous to the Levant, but you can't displace people who's ancestors moved there a few hundred years ago without destroying lives.

While the conflict centers around Jews and Arabs, there are other groups of people in Israel and Palestine that also deserve safety.

Hamas is using Palestinians as human shields. Hamas and Hezbollah are terrorist proxies of the Iranian regime, and Arab colonialism is just as awful as European colonialism and has resulted in numerous native cultures being erased.

Donate to anera to make sure your money goes to Palestinians and not Hamas! Tumblr fundraisers are not properly vetted and are not transparent with where their money goes. Let your money matter!

To actually care about Palestinian lives you MUST condemn Hamas.

I will not engage with historical revisionism, propaganda, or Nazi rhetoric on any topic, but especially Israel/Palestine. I will not engage with terrorist sympathizers. And I will not engage with anyone who claims Israel is committing Genocide when that is not a proven fact and everything says the opposite of that (like the Palestinian population actually growing. Which you know, doesn't happen during a genocide.). I will not engage with anyone who refuses to accept that Jews are indigenous to the Levant, and Arabs are indigenous to Arabia. This does not mean I support killing arabs in the Levant, as I believe anyone should have the right to live where they want. I just support Native rights to self determination in their indigenous lands, no matter how long they've been forced into exile. My position on Israel is not founded by Religion or the Torah, it's founded on archeological fact. If you ignore these facts, I am not engaging with you.

On Ukraine and Eastern Europe:

Слава Україні! Героям слава!

Westerners really need to get a grip on not supporting the USSR/Russia or Russian supremacy.

Communists are not the opposite of Nazis - the USSR did not fight the Nazis because they cared about human rights.

Misc:

I'm neither a capitalist nor a communist because we need an entire re-hauling of human society and the only way it'll ever get better is to demolish the economic system all together. However this is an idealized world view and not the reality we live in right now.

I support unions, a 4 day work week, paid maternity and paternity leave, and not having to work when you're sick!

Anyone or any movement that tries to get you to hate an entire group of people for traits they were born w is trying to sell you something.

Trans people exist, deal with it. Someone else's identity is none of your business.

Support victims regardless of gender

Whiteness is a western social construct but that doesn't mean it doesn't affect people in different ways. We need to be open to talking about race if we want to take a stand against racism.

To truly be anti-imperialism, we have to stand against it regardless who is doing it.

Not voting is compliance with Trump which is compliance with fascism. Vote while you still have that right! Waiting for a revolution is not going to save you. The "revolution" is not going to save you. To protect each other we need to engage with positive social change!

Politics are not sports, you don't have to choose a "team"

Being safe from bigotry is not conditional. I don't care how much you disagree with someone. You can disagree/hate someone without being discriminatory.

Most Importantly:

Value human life. Value companionship. Value peace. Value understanding. Value communication. It's harder to be radicalized by hate groups when you put loving human beings over ideologies.

[hero-israel]

Years and years of work towards the Abraham Accords and impending normalization with Saudi Arabia--a stepping stone on the way to tangible progress in the region--was just obliterated overnight because certain journalists across the world could not stop themselves from tripping over the corpses of butchered Jews and all the people who actually suffer in this conflict while on their way to receive the Word of God from genocidal terrorists who oppress and murder their own people.

This has nothing to do with the IDF, who are no more flawless or immune from criticism than any other organization, especially one with the responsibility of prosecuting war. This is about the historical double standard from some of the same people in English-speaking countries who would never accept a narrative report from other terror and/or hate groups with question. Apparently it's better to signal as loudly as possible what sports team you're on than engage in any serious wartime journalism, lest you make the mistake of humanizing Jews and Israelis and god forbid treat us equitably.

(I should add-- Iran and its proxies may still have been able to derail the normalization process even in the absence of any Western reporting at all. I don't want to over-ascribe importance to certain political players while ignoring others just because I don't speak their language and can't access their untranslated media. I'm just bitter that journalists at major papers in the West have played directly into their hands once again with zero regard for how it breeds anti-Semitism; consequences they will never have to face.)

Of all the things that have been damaged by this atrocity, at the moment I would worry the least about the normalization trends. The four Abraham Accords countries were still aboard after the big blow-up in May 2021, Jordan has been on through the Second Intifada, Egypt across both of them. Saudi Arabia was willing to come aboard this year after all of the above. Israel's actions in Gaza so far have not been a category different from what we have seen in the past. And if anything, the Saudi government has gotten a clearer view than ever at what an Iran-sponsored proxy death squad is able to do, so they quite likely still want a partnership.

If you look back through my posts of the last year, you'll see I never discussed the talk of Saudi normalization. That's because I wasn't sure I wanted it to happen now. Yes, it's always good to show Palestine dead-enders that the time for wishing is over and they need to just accept and deal with Israel. But the current Israeli government did not deserve to be able to claim Saudi normalization as a reward. They could hardly normalize while Israel was BDSing itself to stop the judicial overhaul. I actually would not have minded if Saudi Arabia had trolled Israel in the end, saying "we were going to do this, but you're too racist, it's postponed until you do better." That is NORMAL DIPLOMACY, carrots and sticks, and no country in the world is too good to get it.

As ever, the various antisemitic fascist militias of the Middle East have not changed any of the underlying facts or dynamics. All they can manage is to kill Jews. This time, they killed more than usual. We can see how proud they are.

[earaercircular]

Contradictions everywhere

When it comes to climate protection, it becomes clear how far the claim and reality diverge. It's getting harder and harder to bear.

What does one not do often against his better judgement?  This week we went to a local appointment by car in a traffic jam, although the S-Bahn was operational.  And in the canteen it was a meat dish that ended up on the plate.  There might be perfect people in the world, but the normal ones live with suppression and contradictions.  Almost everybody does that.  You just have to observe what's happening in the district of Munich in terms of climate protection.

The current greenhouse gas report[1], which describes a strong region in which many things do not quite fit together, is a good item to read: whereas climate protection managers in town halls are brooding over how zero greenhouse gases can be achieved as soon as possible, the trucks diesel on the motorways in front of them and construction workers are asphalting the ninth and tenth lanes. New residential areas are built in many places, while commercial areas are being added elsewhere. Many people see the contradictions and wonder if those responsible actually know it what time period the clock presently has struck. Recently, a young man wanted to know what the municipality intended to do if it does not achieve its climate protection goals - which he obviously assumes it will happen. Another time, a young woman asked whether the town hall seriously believed that a few electric charging stations would make the switch to electromobility possible.             

The questions are not surprising. In view of the crisis that the greenhouse gas report describes, much of what has happened so far seems completely inadequate. The municipality of Haar[2] is just praising itself for taking into account the consumption of resources when building the youth club up to its demolition in 2080. Resource-saving construction aims to save 28 tons of carbon dioxide - that's about as much as four residents of the district emit in a year, not counting the flight to vacation. At the same time, the mayor, who talks about the circular economy and drives an electric car, wants to set up a rocket construction company in the area.

Sure: even if greenhouse gases are to be saved, the regional development continues, so the mayor has to attract trade taxpayers. And the district is booming too. Schools, university buildings and commercial complexes are being erected, and some start-ups in the Munich area claim to be on the verge of a breakthrough in nuclear fusion or electric flight. Some are only too happy to hear that. It helps to suppress. Incidentally, psychoanalysis considers the latter to be quite beneficial as an instrument for regulating mental states. The philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel[3] even saw contradictions as a motor of progress. However: the climate crisis is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, the time for political sermons is over.

Source

Berhard Lohr, Überall Widersprüche, ihn;: Süddeutsche Zeitung, 19-05-2023,  https://www.sueddeutsche.de/muenchen/landkreismuenchen/klimaschutz-treibhausgasbericht-verkehr-energiewende-kolumne-1.5869085

[1] The climate protection efforts in the district of Munich are gradually showing success: 7.9 tons of CO2 equivalent emissions per capita in the district in 2020, the reference year of the new report. That is around 1.8 tons less than in 2018. Although the measures taken in connection with the start of the corona pandemic probably also had a beneficial effect here, the figures clearly point in the right direction. Since the introduction of the 29++ climate and energy initiative, per capita emissions in the district of Munich have been reduced by a total of 24 percent from 10.4 tons in 2016. The goal of a per capita emission of six tons per inhabitant has thus come a big step closer. The largest savings from 2018 to 2020 were recorded in the trade, commerce, services and industry sectors with a decrease of 0.8 tons and transport (-0.5 tons). In particular, the share of renewable energies in electricity consumption has increased. While it was still 15.7 percent in 2018, it was already 19.7 percent in 2020. The proportion of renewable heating was also increased again and is now 23 percent (2018: 20.3 percent). In the solar energy sector, around 97.8 megawatts peak of photovoltaic capacity was installed in the district of Munich at the end of 2020, at least 12.4 megawatts peak more than in 2018. 20 of a total of 29 municipalities already have district heating networks of varying degrees of expansion. There has also been growth in the area of mobility in the area of alternative drives. Their share has increased from 2.1 percent in 2018 to 5.2 percent in the current reporting year.  https://www.landkreis-muenchen.de/artikel/neuer-treibhausgas-bericht-erschienen/

[2] Haar is a municipality in the district of Munich, in Bavaria, Germany. It is 12 km east of Munich (centre). As of 2017 it had a population of more than 20,000.

[3] Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (27 August 1770 – 14 November 1831) was a German philosopher. He is one of the most important figures in German idealism and one of the founding figures of modern Western philosophy. His influence extends across the entire range of contemporary philosophical topics, from metaphysical issues in epistemology and ontology, to political philosophy, the philosophy of history, philosophy of art, philosophy of religion, and the history of philosophy.

[thesaltyace]

I'm sorry if that question is ignorant (I'm from Europe and don't know much about US politics).

Why is no state intervention possible? I've heard someone talk about enacting the "14 amendment". The current president Biden is a democrat, no? Is it just unwillingness or are there other forces blocking a federal intervention.

I mean every Florida bill but especially the kidnapping one is unconstitutional, isn't it?

I'm not an expert on U.S. politics, but as best I can tell the Biden admin is currently legally challenging other anti-trans laws in at least one other state, likely to set a legal precedent to later challenge laws in places like Florida. Because we have several court circuits (based on geographic region) to handle cases like this, they're likely challenging another state's anti-trans laws bc it's on a circuit more likely to produce an outcome protecting trans people, which may make later challenges in other circuits more likely to succeed. Honestly our political system is a complete clusterfuck right now. Seats on the Supreme Court are filled by fascists, so taking a case to the Supreme Court would be incredibly risky bc the outcome is likely to be horrible (see Roe v Wade). Democrats are still playing by the rules and losing because Republicans have largely descended into fascism and don't care about rules.

Just like anything else, it comes across to me as though Democrats will not pull out all the stops to address this as the next election approaches, so that they can say you must vote for them so they can fight it once (re)elected. And whether or not we believe they'll actually follow through, the alternative is outright fascism, and with our political system no third party candidate is actually viable.

I have no idea if federal intervention is impossible, or if perhaps they think doing so would incite much worse. Despite what I said above, I think a major concern is that DeSantis is likely to be the Republican candidate in the next presidential election. If the Biden admin directly swoops in about Florida's anti-trans laws right now, that's what DeSantis will build his presidential platform on. Look at the government overreach! Look at how they're forcing us to allow the corruption of our children! And unfortunately, even though it's 100% bullshit, that's exactly the narrative that will invigorate a base who already succeeded in electing Trump. Trump was an ineffectual buffoon out for his own enrichment, but DeSantis is a calculated madman who aims to create and lead a christofascist state. A DeSantis presidency would be TERRIFYING. Everything currently happening in Florida would start being pushed through at the federal level. So while I retain my skeptical criticism of the lack of federal intervention in Florida, I also recognize that to do so right now could potentially produce even worse outcomes on an even broader scale.

Like I said, it's an absolute clusterfuck here. 😭

To sum up, I don't know enough about the legal intricacies of this discussion to put forth an accurate assessment. I personally feel that the Biden admin isn't putting forth their full effort to address this human rights issue. Florida's recent actions point to a plan of trans genocide, no exaggeration. I also recognize that the lack of direct federal action might be a strategy to limit the ways in which DeSantis can demonize the federal government to rally his base in support of his inevitable presidential campaign. It's a shit sandwich.

[jbk405]

I just finished reading Crier’s War and Iron Heart, a fantasy duology where the struggle is between humanity and the Automae.  Automae are artificial beings created through alchemy who overthrew humanity 50 years ago, and who now rule over the oppressed humans while aping human customs and institutions.  They look human, all Designed to be beautiful and stronger than any normal person, but perhaps missing that spark which makes humanity more than just another animal.  Then again, maybe they’re not missing that spark at all.

The story is told through two perspectives.  Ayla is a human maidservant who works in the Sovereign’s palace, but is actually a member of the human Resistance who is plotting to kill the Sovereign’s daughter in revenge for the death of her whole family years ago when the Sovereign’s forces burned down her village.  The other perspective is that very Sovereign’s daughter, Lady Crier, an Automa.  Crier is something of a human-sympathizer, she even advocates for human representation in government, but she is very much naïve as to what their society is actually like and advocates from the White Man’s Burden perspective (’I oppose brutal oppression, but since we are better than humanity  it is still right that we rule, we just need to be nice about it’ and so on).

Crier’s “father”, the man who commissioned her and helped Design her, is Hesod, Sovereign of Rabu.  He claims to be Sovereign of all Zulla -- the continent they inhabit -- but the Varn region achieved independence years ago and Tarreen is ignored to the extent that it’s functionally independent without anybody in the capital quite realizing it.  Hesod is a “traditionalist”, an Automa who feels that their society should continue human traditions and customs that were already in place at the time of the overthrow.  Marriages to seal political alliances even though Automa do not reproduce sexually, feasts to celebrate momentous events even though Automa do not need to eat, etc.  He is facing internal political challenges from Kinok, the leader of the Anti-Reliance Movement, which argues that since Automa are Superior to humanity in every way then they should not borrow anything from humanity.  Kinok wants them to exterminate humanity completely, burn down all their cities and destroy every relic, and rebuild completely from the ground up with a new Automae society.  To co-opt Kinok’s popularity and make him invested in the current system, Hesod engages him to Crier.

When Ayla accidentally saves Crier’s life, she is appointed to be her personal handmaid and so their two lives become suddenly intertwined.

I think the story made the wise choice of not making the society a metaphor or parallel for any particular real-life nation, revolution, or point in history.  The Automae are physically stronger, faster, and in some ways (But only some) smarter than humanity, so trying to map that as a metaphor onto American Slavery or the British Empire would have fallen apart right away.  It can condemn the oppression without saying “This is just like XXXX”, which I’ve seen a lot of other fantasy stories try to do and not understand why it fails or why it’s offensive.

I loved the examination of Traditionalism as a particularly cruel form of cultural appropriation, since it has no real respect for what it claims to be honoring.  Hesod talks big about how they are learning from humanity, but it’s all surface-level.  He’s the asshole dressing up in a costume of your people for Halloween and then insults you when you aren’t flattered.  It’s clearest during one of the banquet scenes, where Crier actually hears Ayla’s stomach rumbling but knows she can’t eat anything because she’s a servant.  The big feast is literally going to waste: Automa are physically capable of eating (Of putting food in their mouth, chewing, and swallowing) but they get no nourishment from food.  So while the servants are starving, the Automae are pretending to eat.

The romance between Crier and Ayla -- I suppose this is technically a spoiler but come on you knew there was going to be a romance as soon as you learned Ayla became Crier’s personal handmaid -- I think sidestepped the big problem when it comes to trying to tell a romance between a member of the Oppressed and their Oppressor: It doesn’t happen while they are still the Oppressor.  Crier is obviously madly in love with Ayla from the first time she sees her, and Ayla has got all sorts of confusion over these feelings she’s feeling for the girl she had been planning to kill, but she can’t get past the fact that Crier’s Kind are slaughtering hers wholesale.  No matter how kind Crier is to her personally, no matter that she realizes that Crier is honestly ignorant of the worst parts of her father’s regime, she can’t get past that Crier is part of that regime.  There’s one scene where Crier -- in a moment of panic and fear -- shoves Ayla and is immediately contrite and apologizes for possibly hurting her (Because she is so much stronger than her) and Ayla is enraged that she is apologizing for something so small and not, you know, killing her parents and working her people as slaves.  At a different point in the story, Ayla explicitly points out that Crier cannot just be nice to one or two humans and have that make it all okay.

I’m reminded of that Doctor Who scene, that great scene I come back to as often as I can, where the Ninth Doctor points out that sparing a single life doesn’t counterbalance all the others.  Crier isn’t as villainous as the Slitheen, but the principle is the same: Being nice to the servant who you have a crush on and giving her extra food and the day off work doesn’t give all the other servants a full meal or a rest from their backbreaking labor.

So, despite feeling Feelings, Ayla doesn’t stop fighting and resisting those Feelings until Crier has defected and started actively undermining Hesod and Kinok.  When Crier tries to bring down the entire system.  That’s when Ayla allows herself to Feel what she has already been Feeling.

Technically, I think Iron Heart was the better-written of the two novels.  The timescale was all off in Crier’s War, with events way too rushed.  After Ayla has just become Crier’s handmaid three days before, and she hasn’t even worked all of those three days, she states she has already gotten used to the feel of Crier’s eyes on her enough to identify her watching from the darkness.  In the same timeframe Crier has noticed how Ayla’s behavior and mood as changed ‘lately’, when again she has only actually worked with her for like a day and a half.  The same with Crier’s ever-evolving relationship with Kinok, rushing between tentative trusting to boiling hatred and halfway back again in a matter of days.  I’m not sure if this was deliberate, maybe an attempt to show that it’s True Love or Love at First Sight by having emotions build so quickly, but it was awkward and drew me out of the story as I kept running into headfirst into “You don’t even know each other, calm down”.  Spreading it out a bit more, writing “three weeks” instead of “three days”, would have changed the whole vibe.

I loved, absolutely loved, the final defeat of Kinok.  Because it happened the way I thought it should happen, and which I thought the book wasn’t going to have happen.  Towards the end it seems to be leading to a big climactic struggle for power between Kinok and the ARM versus the combined armies of Varn, the human Resistance, and some of Rabu’s forces as well, except that as this happened I was extremely confused as to how Kinok could rival this power.  His most loyal followers were accidentally killed by his own efforts earlier in the novel, and he never had a large martial force in the first place, so where was his giant army coming from?  It turns out he doesn’t have a giant army.  He’s outnumbered by thousands, with barely 200 followers still with him, and even those remaining forces abandon him the second that they see an alternative.  He doesn’t have one last glorious charge to die a martyr, he’s dropped like a hot potato and then killed by one of the human’s he spent years tormenting.  Not Crier, not even Ayla, but Faye.  It made sense, and was exactly what I wanted.

[qqueenofhades]

Some additional points about that grave find in Finland that you may or may not find interesting. And that may or may not be dated, because I studied history 20 years ago. That said, I'm not sure if 1000 years ago is firmly middle-ages in this context? At least back in my uni days, they told us that here middle ages got going slowly during 1100's and 1200's when Sweden started converting the population to Christianity and the prehistorical era gradually ended. Maybe they teach differently now.

More about the grave. I don't know why The Guardian would talk about Vikings in this context at all, because the erstwhile population of current day Finland is not considered to have been Vikings, afaik. They were similarly warlike, and the graves from that era have a lot of weapons, and they certainly encountered Vikings, but they never participated in the raiding, and isn't that what makes Vikings Vikings? Their language and religion was also different. But anyway. I don't mean to correct you because the larger point stands. When I saw the headline in a Finnish news paper about that grave and traditional gender roles my first thought was, well, maybe the gender roles hadn't become traditional then yet. Just some additional context, which could be illuminating or could be totally dated.

I did the stupid thing and sent you asks about the Suontaka burial before reading the Cambridge article about it: I'm reading it now, and my comments seem fairly useless. Feel free to ignore with extreme prejudice. We're in agreement on the guardian article.

Aha, well, we all make mistakes from time to time, so no worries! However, since you do touch on a few points that I would like to discuss, I'm going to go ahead and answer, whether for you or anyone else who might find it useful. (It's the teacher in me, I'm afraid.)

First, I have to say that I had a definite "eeegh" moment at the idea that the eleventh/twelfth century isn't "medieval" in Finland just because it (at least prior to the Baltic/Northern crusades, if we're considering them to begin with the Wendish Crusade in 1147) wasn't yet fully Christianized. Scholars pretty universally accept "medieval history" as referring to the time period between 500--1500 CE (the fall of the Western Roman Empire to the Renaissance). These, of course, are horribly Eurocentric frames of reference, but there you have it. Any event or culture taking place within that span of dates, no matter where in the world it is or what its socio-political circumstances may be, is medieval. We have to call out the pernicious equivalence of "medieval" with "Western Christian European," since that seems to be the underlying assumption. This is also what makes people mistakenly think that the medieval world (which, y'know, was just as big as it is now) is exclusively about white Christian Europe, and that no other global regions have a medieval history. Either way, the eleventh/twelfth century is actually closer to the end of the medieval era than it is to the start. I'm certainly not suggesting that you were consciously implying this; I have no trouble believing that that is indeed how they taught it twenty years ago. But yeah, the idea that still-largely-pagan eleventh-century Finland couldn't be "medieval" until it's Christian is definitely not the case as understood now.

The idea that anywhere in eleventh-century Europe is still "prehistorical" in any sense of the word is likewise a little baffling, tbh. Once more, it associates "history" only with "Christianity," and that would get quite a bit of pushback if included in a paper on medieval studies today. That is what also annoys me deeply when I see people describing the pre-Columbian Americas as "prehistoric" (read: pre-white-people-historic). If the chief marker of "history" is "written history," sure, there is a very narrow pedagogical argument to be made that these societies don't have narratives or chronicles in the standard historiographical sense. But also, uh, European colonialism and conquest destroyed vast swathes of records that we have never been able to read, understand, or even access, because they're just not there anymore. There is ample evidence that the ancient (and I do mean ANCIENT, up to thousands of years BCE) and early-to-late-medieval Mesoamerican societies had complex systems of writing, astronomy, calendar-keeping, and other history-recording practices, right up until 1492. There are something like four (FOUR) pre-Columbian Mayan scrolls still in existence, out of probably thousands and thousands, because the Spanish destroyed the rest. So "prehistoric," unless you're literally referring to the Stone Age, is never a politically neutral word or a word to use uncritically...

...and speaking of the Stone Age, we actually have histories for that too! Or rather (iirc) the Ice Age, because for example, Aboriginal Australians transmit their history orally and require each new generation to memorize it, word for word, exactly as taught to them. Some of these histories stretch back over ten thousand years, which means that we actually have first-person accounts of life during the end of the Ice Age, and scientists recently discovered that these traditional narratives accurately reflected the archaeological and geological record of Australia during the time period in question. (Indigenous people know what they're talking about and should be listened to, example number 85,000.) Of course, the Western-white-supremacist model of historiography calls these just "legends" or "myths" or "folktales" rather than history, because I guess not writing it down in a chronicle as a monk in a European Christian monastery in the year 1015 or whatever doesn't qualify as history for some people. (I don't have strong opinions about this or anything. Welp.)

I likewise don't know why the Guardian article brought up the Vikings, aside from the fact that they were quoting someone who explicitly used the Vikings in a hypothetical scenario about "traditional gender roles." This person expressed surprise that an intersex person living in a medieval Scandinavian society could rise to a high social role, by citing the widespread belief that "Vikings" were all dedicated to being very manly at all times and nobody with feminine qualities/feminine-coded social power could rule over them. I don't know if this was just a bad phrasing (plus, it obviously overlooks the often-egalitarian nature of medieval Scandinavian societies and plays into the favored white supremacist stereotype of the Vikings as some Master Aryan Race Where Men Were Men, etc) or what, but yeah, it's wrong across the board. Viking is the name of an occupation, not an ethnicity. It comes from the word wicing, meaning "seafarer" or "sea raider," and referred only to those guys who went out on their longships and stole a lot of stuff from their neighbors, most notably in the eighth to eleventh centuries. Their families back at home were part of the exact same society and benefited from those raids, but strictly speaking, they weren't vikings. We use the word "Viking" to describe any member of a medieval Scandinavian society, but it's similar to describing everyone living in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, no matter who they were or their social status or ethnic background, as "pirates," which is obviously inaccurate.

As you correctly point out, the Finns aren't considered quite the same as the Norwegians, Danes, and Swedes (as anyone can tell from looking at their written language; N/D/S are mutually intelligible and derive from the same linguistic family, while Finnish is COMPLETELY different and comes from an altogether separate branch of the tree) and therefore it's even more baffling that the person quoted in the Guardian article would cite them as an example of a "Viking" society. Likewise as you note, the whole phrase "traditional gender roles" is intensely problematic in most contexts, and especially here. It assumes that modern Western ideals of sex and gender have been static and unchanging throughout history, and that means that we tend to read our own (biased) assumptions onto the historical record and then get surprised when, shock of shock, they don't fit. The burial at Suontaka seems to have been of a biologically intersex person (i.e. someone with Klinefelter syndrome), but this is also the case when it comes to people assigned the usual male or female at birth, without any complicating genetic conditions. I'm working on a book review for an entire edited volume that discusses the intense gender-fluidity and proto-transgenderism in some medieval saints' lives, and how obviously the fact that they have been held up as a holy example, while explicitly subverting the so-called Traditional Gender Roles of the Middle Ages, means that it was (and is) a lot more complicated than shallow stereotypes and Bad Medievalism would have it.

Anyway, this is long enough (especially considering that you graciously offered me the chance to ignore it) so I think we'll stop here for now. But yes, there you have it. :)

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Why have I done this?

So, as per a conversation with @little-lightning-lavellan, I was blessed or maybe cursed, with this idea about Fane. As such, I had to write a short story about it that I think will be like four chapters long because...yeah. XD

Anyways, enjoy part one! (Look at what you’ve done. IT’S GLORIOUS!)

***

Anatomical Observations - Chapter 1

It had happened once. Short lived, quick, and barely noticeable as many things were more pressing, the world teetering on a crumbling edge. But it was hard to ignore such small things when voices were all you could hear when one was trying to work.

Solas was highly divested in an article of research. A basic magical theory in concept, minor amplifications of lesser spells, but it still required his mind to bend, to become flexible much like his magic when he had first awoken. As such, he had not heard many people come and go through the rotunda, he had not even heard the doors leading in and out slam shut or creak open, nor a polite greeting or scurrying messenger. That was how deep he was in his bubble of concentration. However, one--no, two voices from directly above were currently making it incredibly, and he meant incredibly, difficult to remain focused. 

“I do believe that is my chair you are sitting in, Inquisitor.”, a male voice with a distinct Tevinter accent floated down from above, indignation and slight amusement laced within it. 

“I don’t see your name on it, do I?”, another voice, far deeper and like rolling thunder with how it always held a slight growl. It always made Solas involuntarily shiver, and the same remained true now, making his focus splinter further like cracked ice. “Anyhow, it’s Inquisition property. Got a problem, talk to Josephine. I’m off duty.” A sound like a page being harshly flipped made his ears twitch. 

A gasp. “And work her harder than she already is? Absolutely not!” Solas could tell the line was meant to be a jab, but it only held the telling of a joke within its haughty vibrato. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sit your ass on the floor until I’m finished.”, that rumbling timbre came once again, a shifting sound and a loud thud signifying someone’s boots had been slammed down onto something. 

“The floor? Me?!”, another indignant squawk, actually making Solas let out a frustrated sigh as he lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this going to go on for? It wasn’t unusual for this type of banter to sound, but right now, he had work to complete.

And this was not helping accomplish that.

“Yes, the floor. Yes, you.”, another harsh flick of a page ruffling through the air. “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re quite busy stuffing your face with tea cakes!”, the Tevinter accent rose a pitch, as if in disbelief at what it was saying. “The crumbs! Have you no etiquette, Inquisitor?!”

“Nope.”, the gravelly voice responded with a heavy air of indifference, actually sounding a bit muffled as if it were eating something. “If Vivienne and Josephine can’t knock the elf out of me, no one can.”, Solas could just hear the sarcasm and roll of eyes in that statement. It almost made him chuckle, but he was still too miffed to push one through.

“Most elves I’ve met are very well mannered!”

“I’m not like most elves.”

“Well, that much is apparent!”

“Thanks for noticing. I’m so happy.”, the tone voicing that statement dripping with concealed disdain. Solas knew where that bitterness originated from, and hearing it always made his heart heavy. Heavier than it already was, even.

“You are a truly stubborn man! Fine, I’ll sit on the floor! The cold, cold floor!”, a scoff following right after those words as the sound of leather and, most notably a body, plopped down onto the stone. 

Solas let out a heavy, heavy sigh as silence finally followed that exchange, letting his head hang down to where his chin nearly touched his chest in defeat. It would seem his attention was severed as much as the world’s magic was. He would not be getting back into his rhythm anytime soon. 

“Perhaps I should find a quieter, more secluded place to do my work..”, he mused, lifting a hand to rub at his face slowly. “One of the lower chambers maybe..”

Solas sighed again before letting his hand fall back down to his desk with a light pap, eyes absently roaming over the pages of the tome before him. Maybe if he stilled his mind, found his anchor, he could try to decipher this line of text. The glyphs were a no go, however. Just trying to look at the faded lines was making his vision go blurry. Sadly, the theory he was trying to prove was reliant on those patterns, and they were far more convoluted than he remembered. Perhaps more things had adapted than he originally thought? Or did the older methods  have to be reworked, seemingly forgotten like so much else? He, frankly, did not know. He couldn’t focus, but he would have to try.

“A ward..?”, Solas muttered under his breath, brows furrowing as he traced a sigil with his finger. “No..it is more akin to a summoning circle. Or perhaps a rune?”, he continued, slowly feeling how his mind began to bend and think, the lines of the glyphs becoming clearer, more defined. “Ah! The outlining symbols are for--”

His musing was immediately cut off, much like the frayed line of his focus, as a shout had him freezing and quite literally jumping in surprise.

“Fasta vas! What are you doing?!”, a squawk, the curse in Tevene elongated between the two words for more flair.

“Would you calm down?! Dammit, my ears are fucking ringing now! Ugh!”, the rolling thunder voice no longer indifferent as its volume rose to make the very stone quake. Once again, it made a light shiver run down Solas’s spine despite his tensed up form. What was going on now?

“How can I be calm when you...you do that!?”, furious shifting sounded as if someone was flailing limbs about. 

“One, I don't know what the hell you’re going on about, Dorian!” The sharp snapping of a book making the ravens up above in the rookery flap in agitation. “Two, you can have your chair back because I’m not getting anything done with your needling!”

“I believe you need a needle, my friend! That looked incredibly painful!”

Solas felt his slowly relaxing body tense up at that, mind awakened, but for a completely different reason than trying to get magical research done. He lifted his gaze from where it was fixated on the pages of his book, looking upwards to search the railing that outlined the library for the source of the voices that had shattered his hour of contemplation. He knew them both, but the exclamation housed by one had him wanting to see the other.

Where..? Solas thought the question, eyes roaming every inch of the circular area before stark white had his gaze halting immediately. Ah. There we are. 

He would spot that messy head from anywhere, even in snowy regions like the Emprise. Though, the body that that hair was attached to did a fine job of location as well. Occasionally, he would find his eyes lingering, or searching for less...conventional reasons. However, this wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things, especially as his mind still reeled with what the unaccounted voice had yelled.

Fane was currently along one of the bookshelves, a gloved hand firmly pushing a book back into its place with a typical scowl plastered on his otherwise smooth face, the faded green lines of his vallaslin making an already striking face look more so. Solas felt his body relax as he took in the sight of the man, or rather, the dragon.

His dragon, to be more precise, but not in a way of physical possession. It was more fond, more willing than that. It was not a bond of slavery. It was a vow. A centuries old one, to be exact.

Solas almost called out to the other, a sense of fondness and curiosity as well as mild concern invading his mind, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Dorian stride up to the snowy haired man with a look of wide eyed fascination. That was an interesting look, and truthfully, a worrying one. Such looks harbored questions, and he knew Fane did not entertain many inquiries.

And for good reason.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious?”, Dorian said with an airy laugh. “You do that, and just walk it off?”, his tone rose pitch in disbelief. 

Solas caught the glint of ebbing gold as Fane rolled his eyes, turning his larger frame to face the Tevinter mage more directly. His eyes zoned in on how the reluctant Inquisitor was tentatively rubbing at his jaw, working it back and forth slowly as if it were locked up. Dorian had said something about something being painful, hadn’t he? Was that what he meant?

“Again, I didn’t do anything.”, Fane growled out in denial, the hand upon his jaw shifting so he had it pinched between two fingers to where it appeared he was trying to fit it into place. “I was eating, and I bit my tongue because you pissed me off!”

Solas smirked faintly at his dragon’s typical usage of foul language despite the way he watched his odd movements like a hawk. Fane was incredibly eloquent, cryptic, even, but when irritation or just general boredom took hold, the dual being was a sailor. It always fascinated him rather than disgusted him. For a dragon, an ancient dragon, to latch onto common parlance as if it were the most natural thing to their being was intriguing. Then again, Fane had lived in this world for twenty-four years without knowing he was a dragon. That, would perhaps, be a more justifiable reason, but it still piqued Solas’s interest. Everything about the dragon turned elf was a point of interest. Especially now, with the way he was still nursing his sharp jaw and glowering at Dorian as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

“I’m sorry, but that was not you biting your tongue!”, Dorian exclaimed, shaking his head with that same look of disbelief before it morphed into a thoughtful look, hand coming up to absently stroke his mustache. “Though...if what I saw was..well, actually what I saw, then I have questions and curiosities regarding it.”

Fane’s expression went deadpan as he stared at the other, the golden light in his eyes all but extinguished as he turned on his heel to go the other way. Solas blinked a bit, even as his eyes followed the dragon’s retreating form.

He disengaged. Solas thought with certainty and familiarity. Unsurprising, but still worrying. He only resorts to that level of disregard when he is hiding something.  

His eyes never left Fane’s stalking form, noticing how his brows were furrowed deeply, but could see one of them twitching with nervous energy. Broad shoulders were raised much like a shield, narrow nostrils flared with attempts at dispelling whatever heat had invaded a snowy disposition, partially gloved hands flexed, tendons underneath leather bindings apparent from how much force was behind its pull.

And golden emerald eyes were now fighting for dominance - dancing and bashing against each other as abilities that had laid dormant for too long began to try and enable themselves in an attempt to mitigate the, no doubt, myriad of emotions coursing through a draconic mind. 

Solas felt his concern towards the ancient man mount at all those observations, but also, he felt slightly exasperated. The latter was only because he knew this strategy of deflection that Fane always used as his Queen upon the chessboard of his mental battles. He bounced, side stepped, and outright threw a verbal wall up when he did not wish to cross a specific square. It wasn’t that Fane was lying out of malicious means; he was doing it to protect himself and others. But Solas knew it only caused more harm, more warped perceptions.

It hurt Fane, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to keep the truth hidden, even if it was necessary for the long run.

That is the secondary explanation for this flight. Solas mused silently, eyes never leaving the dragon’s form despite his long strides. Whatever has happened puts his mask in jeopardy.  

So lost in his own thoughts and the duel of veridium, Solas didn’t notice how Dorian broke out of his look of repose as he noticed the other striding away with purposeful steps.

“Where are you going?”, Dorian called after the white hair elf, but not making an effort to chase after him with how far the other had already gotten from him.

“To beat the shit out of a dummy before I beat you.”, Solas heard Fane growl out lowly, dangerously, and for a moment, he easily caught the flickering of his eyes as they met with his own. He met that gaze with ease, reading them as no other could. The message they conveyed had him instantly seeking more as the shifting of deep emerald had his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?”, Solas mouthed to Fane as he was unable to communicate precisely how the other did without it being perceived incorrectly. He noticed how the man had slowed to keep their gazes longer. There was such volume in them that Solas nearly wanted to tear his own away, but also delve deeper like he thristed for their color bound words, their fathomless depths amid a thin world.

Fane’s eyes flitted to the door that led to the balcony the Enchanter always occupied, and then down, to signify he was taking the adjacent stairwell from there to bypass the Great Hall before he disappeared from the edge of the railing, the sound of door slamming issuing his complete departure. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh before nodding, pushing himself up with his arms to stand straight. Well, it would appear he was most certainly not getting an ounce of work done today, and oddly, he was okay with that since concern was overriding his need for magical answers.

There were other, more pressing, questions that needed attending to.

***

[transcendentcacophony]

Thoughts on Worldbuilding: Storytelling with Geography: Lunar Lakes

So I've been thinking about worldbuilding for awhile, and one of the things that I like about certain worlds is that they tell a story with their geography. I think Lunar Lakes is one of these worlds.

Image: An overview of Lunar Lakes from Sims 3

All Lunar Lake images will be from here

This is going to draw from James C. Scott's The Art of Not Being Governed and the concept of Zomia

So one of the central concepts behind Zomia and The Art is the idea that not everybody wants to be a part of centralized governments or nation-states.

Traditionally, most academic fields have held that as societies centralize around agricultural centers that evolve into urban centers, they draw everybody to them through some kind of unexplained magnetism as they gradually expand. It's usually held that this is because the centralizing power of agriculture allows for population booms not supported by hunting-and-gathering. At least one philosopher <cough> Daniel Quinn <cough>1 this is a result of these populations controlling access to food. Not just surpluses of food, but access to food at all, forcing those within their borders to join the system or die.

This idea that agricultural societies are somehow fundamentally better. We see this reflected in different cultural evolution models (all of which are horribly racist but still manage to hang on in weird places, particularly developmental models). As such, the shift from hunting-and-gathering to sedentary agriculture tends to be heralded as a good thing in most history text books and is pretty much always seen as a step towards "modernization.2" But what if you don't want that? What if you have zero interest in joining the agricultural community and implied state control?3 What options do you have then?

You, then, may be interested in Zomia or one of the other extra-territorial spaces that function similarly.

Image: A village in the mountains

So what is Zomia? Zomia encompasses a large territory that ranges across Southeast Asia up into Tibet. Its primary defining feature is its rugged terrain and various populations that have no interest in different state-sponsored "civilizing" projects. While different agricultural centers expand outward to fill the lowland regions seeking to bully those they encounter along the way into joining, various people along the way say "f*ck it" and go up into the mountains. Why? Because the rugged terrain makes it harder for their valley-based neighbors to control them while providing plenty of hiding places push back against their expansion.

Image: A map of the Zomia area highlighting the Southeast Asian and Himalayan Massifs, areas encompassing the geography of Zomia itself.

Agriculture tends to lock people into place and makes them easier to control, therefore nation-states interested in keeping track of large populations have a vested interest in convincing people to farm. Buggering off into the mountains offsets this. Agriculture isn't necessarily harder in these mountainous areas4, but you do have different crops as a result of altitudinal zonation and a fair amount of people choose to engage in animal husbandry instead because the high altitudes impact calorie consumption as your body spends more energy keeping you warm.

This impacts cultures in these regions as well. People may choose to define themselves in opposition to the lowland culture they are avoiding. They may hybridize with cultures already in the mountains, create new languages, or define themselves by the fact they are there for political or semi-political reasons and expressly avoiding the control of an outside party, even if that outside party is the nation-state they are legally considered a part of. There is also a tendency of these cultures to discard literacy for orality, in part because orality is easier to carry around and in part because it marks them as Other compared to their lowland counterparts. It also gives you a since of control over your culture itself, as orality can't be shared unless you want it to whereas almost anyone can learn a writing system and open a book.

So what's this got to do with Lunar Lakes? Let's look at LL more closely, shall we?

Image: The downtown region from Lunar Lakes

The most densely developed part of Lunar Lakes is easily this "downtown" district in the lowlands region. This area contains most of the community lots for the world, and, most tellingly, City Hall and the Perigee, which we're told in the original blurb brought the (human) sims to Lunar Lakes to begin with.

Image: The Rim

There is a little bleed over of rabbitholes from the city center onto the Rim, a slightly elevated area just above it, but these are no where near as "mountainous" as the craters we'll get to in a minute.

Image: The Canals

Another defining feature of the lowland central area are these canals. As these canals do not extend to a beach or other waterway, they can't be for trade, thereby lending themselves to the idea that they are intended for agricultural uses. They could, of course, predate the colony, but that doesn't change the intent.

Image: The Crystal Mine, the Outpost, and the Depot

On the backside of the craters, we have the Crystal Mine, the Outpost, and the Depot. We're told in the original backstory blurb for the world on the Store page that the residents had to harness the crystals to to make their colony sustainable, but it feels abandoned now. Given the importance of the mine in the early days of the colony, it makes sense they'd have a transport depot here for the workers and an outpost, possibly for the military, to protect it, especially if the world was inhabited and the indigenous people wanted nothing to do with them or actively apposed them.

Image: The Craters from Lunar Lakes

Which brings us finally to the craters themselves. Here's where Zomia comes in. If Lunar Lakes was inhabited and if the native population had no interest in joining the colonists or being exploited by them, where would they go? The craters, of course! This would also hold true for anyone who didn't want to fall in line with the colonial leadership among the human sims themselves. We know the Louie family, for example, had to move to the craters after they were exiled by Patricia Cross, the current colonial leader. It therefore stands to reason that, even if the people who live here are colonists, this is where they are expected to go if they are exiled or want to get away from the political milieu of the central powers in the downtown district.

Image: Suburban Subspace lot from Lunar Lakes

And, of course, architecturally, this is where we got those distinctive mushroom houses, which again, suggests an alternative development of this region compared to the lowlands even if the people here are exiled colonists, deviants, etc.

Regardless, we end up with a setting that is rife for internal worldbuilding and storytelling based on its geography. If you add an alien population seeking to escape SimEarth colonization by fleeing to the craters, it establishes a political backdrop for stories, making the world feel more lived in and providing a ready-made backstory. This is one of the things I think is drastically missing in the Sims 4 with their itty-bitty neighborhoods and lack of connecting spaces.

Anyways, these are the things I think about when worldbuilding myself. What story does my world tell geographically? Does it have a built in backstory represented by its geography? Are the different regions/neighborhoods connected in a way that makes cohesive sense? Are their other worlds you think do a good job of storytelling with their designs?

If you build worlds, do you take into account the storytelling potential of your geography? Why or why not? If you play in worlds like Lunar Lakes, does the geography inform your storytelling? Does it help build a metadiscourse around your game? Are there other worlds that inspire your gameplay with their layouts?

Edited in response to @nornities excellent feedback.

1) This is not meant as an endorsement of all of Quinn's arguments; he's got a weird overpopulation theory built into his writing that's a little too close to Malthusian for my liking, but I'm not one to throw out the baby with the bathwater, as it were.

2) Ever notice how "modernization" and "development" are always fundamentally anchored in how Europe moved from feudalism to imperialism to democracy etc.? Yeah, that's the remnants of that "cultural evolution" model I'm talking about. "You're not successful until you look like us!" "Take these developmental loans from the World Bank or the IMF! We promise the strings attached are for your benefit too!" "What do you mean you want to skip industrialization and natural resource extraction and invest in your environment, happiness, and long-term sustainability? You'll never be like us that way! You're a failed state! Ignore the coup in the background we swear we had nothing to do with!"

3) This is the section that was edited after @nornities pointed out that it could be read to imply that non-agricultural societies don't have taxes, class warfare, epidemics, subjugation, slavery, conscription, etc. That was not the intention, although it is clearly stated in Scott's original work that he considers these and other negative societal effects to be the direct result of such "civilizing projects." It was not my intent to perpetuate that idea as these things do happen in non-agricultural societies, so I have changed the original wording. Thank you, @nornities

4) I also forgot to mention the clear exception to this: the Incan Empire. Unlike most empire models, the Inca engaged in a top-down society (literally) that was based in the mountains and expanded downward and outward over time. They were predated by two earlier Andean civilizations.

[fursasaida]

do you have sources or opinions about the uh. development of the idea of the 'veil between the worlds' stuff and how it relates to how we understand ... space and place? question brought to you by "i just read some fantasy fiction that royally hacked me off"

lmao did you know one of my big “i don’t work on this but i lowkey develop expertise in it as a hobby” things is fairy tales and folklore

Anyway, I don’t know very much about the history of the “veil” thing, but I am given to understand it originated with the Victorians. Google Scholar has been unforthcoming on this point, so while I do not have sources, I do have opinions! My opinions are these:

As previously discussed, most people in most places were not, until recently, of the opinion that the world is made of space and space is the universal extensive backdrop, the dimension in which things happen. Moreover, even if we more or less think the world is made of space semiconsciously and in our uses of language, it's not really how most people think most of the time, even in contexts where space in this sense (as opposed to "room") has been invented/internalized. Instead, the knowledge of the world was and is structured much more around places, routes, and regions (which are just a kind of place distinguished by being part of a larger whole). Places have insides and outsides. They are distinct from one another. (Although, as with regions, they can also nest or overlap; this isn't state territory or administrative boundaries we're talking about. Those are spatial artifacts.) Therefore, in a spaceless world, there is nothing contradictory about believing that there are, simply, places where magic is stronger or where the gods dwell or where time behaves differently, and so forth. Just because things aren't like that here means nothing about whether they're like that there. To be clear: I am not saying people in the past (or who practice such traditions today) had or have no sense of a visible/invisible, mundane/extraordinary, or material/immaterial divide. That, I think, is pretty truly universal, and simply a product of human cognition. We have myths in many cultures about a deep past when knowledge (or ignorance) was perfect and the world was immediate, young, more alive, partly because, for whatever reason, the way we experience reality includes the sense that there are some gaps in it, or a little too much room. ("A mystical experience" is basically--and across many traditions--an experience of the full immediacy we normally don't have.) However, places like Olympus or Tir-na-Nog or the realm of Ereshkigal are, still, places. You may not think you will find yourself in Hades or the land of the ancestors if you fall down a well,* but you can still think it is possible for someone to go there in a non-metaphorical sense. They may need extra steps or divine/magical assistance, but going is still going. You know, like people do in the stories.  And at the same time you can very easily accept that some extraordinary kinds of creatures or spirits really are here in this realm, and that their personalities and behaviors differ from place to place (animism, genius loci, some types of ancestor-honoring practices, etc).

(*Or in other words: to think you will end up in Hades if you fall down a well is actually to think about it spatially, or indeed geologically, as simply being what is found at a certain distance down. Why should Hades/Hell/etc, as a place, be under this well, all wells, any wells, just because it's under the Earth? These places have defined entrances, in the same way that you can walk up to a city wall as much as you like and this means nothing about whether you’ll get in if there’s no gate there.)

So I do think plenty of archaeologists, anthropologists, folklorists, etc. who study this kind of thing and look at the iconography or narratives as "obviously" portraying distinct realms in the sense of dimensions are unwittingly applying their commonsense, spatial sensibility to something that is much more ambiguous--because almost none of them have thought seriously about place as anything other than a location in space. They see a line or a boundary drawn and assume this means two existential dimensions, rather than two places. What now follows is basically the speculative explanation for how we got into this situation. It is based on a lot of things I know for sure, insofar as "for sure" can be known re: intellectual history; but I have not demonstrated a direct link, only surmised it. In Europe--more particularly, to my knowledge, in England, France, and Germany--space in our current sense really starts to get cemented in the 17th century. Notably, at the same time, people suddenly get interested in the scientific question of "the figure of the earth." It had long been known the Earth was round, of course, but suddenly it mattered to people what its precise shape could be. Is it a perfect sphere? An ellipsoid? What kind? What is the precise length of a degree of longitude? Is the Earth longer than it is wide or vice versa? This was the first time that intellectuals in these countries started seriously trying to reconcile the Biblical narrative of the Earth's formation with ~Science. They cared about this for some obvious reasons, like figuring out whether Newton or Descartes was right about the physics of motion, and testing Newton's gravitational theory; and there were practical reasons as well (the modern science of geodesy, which is what you need to make "accurate" maps for consolidating your state and conquering places, and to, say, build a railway, gets born as part of this). But they cared about it for another reason too. Namely: after the Thirty Years' War, there was a real sense of dislocation in Western Europe. This dislocation was religious, political, and social all at once. There was thus a serious need to realign political and social order with the cosmic order, and the Enlightenment and Scientific Revolution are significantly responses to this. Empirical knowledge (especially math) was to be the universal language that would allow people to communicate across differences rather than engaging in bloody warfare (they were quite explicit about this, especially Leibnitz, but if you know to look for it you can read it in Hobbes, Locke, Newton, Descartes...there was a reason they all suddenly got obsessed with reason), and the "Quest for the Figure of the Earth" was part of that. So was the emergence of geology a bit later, as the history of the earth becomes increasingly scientific rather than Biblical; the questions that created geology came out of these initial struggles to conceive of the Earth as a "natural" artifact to be known by science. This matters here because it means a redefinition of what the Earth is and what can happen there that is not just a matter of scientific debate but is fundamentally connected to social and political understandings of the world. In other words, it redefines what “the Earth” is as a place and in its cosmic place. One consequence of the new rational empiricism as a reaction to a war understood as being caused by religious ontological commitments and enthusiasms was a transformation in what counted as real. On the one hand, things that under the old Aristotelian paradigm were treated as real but imperceptible and therefore impossible to study (like magnetism) became newly study-able. In the Newtonian, empirical paradigm, you don't have to be able to say what something is or even what physical qualities it has; only to demonstrate its reliable and reproducible effects. On the other, things not observable in these terms become defined as unreal. At the same time, the shift from an Aristotelian to a Newtonian science is itself, precisely, a shift from a world explained by regions to a world explained by space. "Regions" here means places, but it also means directions like up and down. Aristotelian physics held that substances behaved in certain ways (like smoke rising and rocks falling) because it was in their essential nature to belong in different places. In other words, different areas of the world, as well as different substances, were ontologically different in real ways that had real effects. In modern empiricism, this is not at all the case. The laws of how things behave are universal laws. They are not about belonging, difference, and places/directions that have their own meanings and hierarchy; they are about forces interacting contingently. It's exactly Newton who formulates the idea of "absolute space" as an infinite and homogeneous, but insensible (like magnetism) extent over which things are distributed. Forces’ specific interactions may be locally different, but the forces are translocal and indeed universal, because they happen in the single homogeneous substrate that is space. So all of this percolates through various levels of society and fields of knowledge through the 18th century and into the 19th (and up to today). One effect is the redefinition of ghosts, fairies, elves, and so on as not real. It takes a very long time for this news to really reach everybody, though; I've read accounts of rural peasants in the British Isles and Ireland who still fully believed and practiced fairy lore into the 20th century. You also see some wobbles, like the famous hoax involving fairies and Yeats, in part because new technologies are making new things observable and therefore potentially “real” in the Newtonian terms. Thus Spiritualism, for example, was in many ways a practice of reliably producing observable effects of things that are not themselves observable; its attempt at credibility was pursued in Newtonian terms.

At the same time, after initial big achievements in geodesy, the figure of the earth keeps getting refined, details filled in, and so on. The same thing happens to the underground with geology. It similarly takes a while for this to really settle in; you have older formats like isolaria and cosmographic maps overlapping with properly spatial, cartographic mapping. (An isolarium is a world atlas that doesn't try to put all the pieces together but treats every landmass individually as an island. The islands tend to get filled in with what we would now consider fantastical stuff because the mapping enterprise, with isolaria, was all about places and their different characters; things did not have to be consistent, there was no homogeneous substrate. That fantastical stuff is part of what's called "cosmography.") So by the time you have people studying folklore in the 19th century, in these same countries and others, as part of nationalist projects and what have you, these educated elite types are likely to have accepted the following. 1) We know the shape and nature of the earth--not in every particular, but we know that physical conditions are basically the same everywhere--and 2) what is empirically unobservable is not real; and 3) space is a dimension, it is homogeneous, it is the dimension in which things that exist exist. (Plato is howling somewhere.) To be clear, #1 especially matters here because it means the idea that there might be places where things behave/occur abnormally gets ruled out. Long before the maps had actually been filled in, there were "no blank spaces" on them anymore. (Insofar as they ever did get filled in, that still hadn't happened by the turn of the 20th century. I actually have a personal theory about where the blanks are now, but that's a whole other digression.) Therefore, if you want to collect and make a fuss over stories about unreal beings and events occurring in places where the universal laws of physics and histories of geology do not seem to obtain, you cannot fit these beings, events, and settings into the world in which you understand yourself to live. There is quite literally nowhere to put them. They cannot exist in a physical, geodetic, geologic world of space; they cannot coexist with its elements. Let us now note that in the 19th century we also get the Spiritualist movement, which conjures up lots of ghosts and puts them behind a Veil. Ghosts in this framework are real, but they cannot be here. They can visit, but only by "piercing the veil." I therefore further surmise that, likely without being fully conscious or intentional about it, these folklorists and such had to assume that when people talk about a fairy court, etc., they are talking about another dimension, one different from the spatial dimension that we live in. (This is the same assumption the experts I was dumping on at the beginning make; this is what I mean about a commonsense spatial sensibility.) The language of "the veil" may well be influenced by Spiritualism, or may not; I think the "thin places" and "times when the veil is thinnest" stuff is even more recent than the Victorians, like mid-20th century. But what matters more IMO is that the two moves--what happens to ghosts in Spiritualism and what happens to fairies etc. in folklore--are parallel. They both get kicked out of here, they get made not part of "the world." The world is one place, and what is "not real" has no place in it. So in order to talk about interacting with those things that have no place here in the world, it becomes natural, maybe inevitable, to talk about what separates them from us. You need a barrier to explain why something that exists (if you believe it does) is not visible and testable all the time and everywhere, or to make sense of how other people could believe such a thing exists.

There is a very deep irony to all this, though. In making the world a single place with a single set of conditions and a single set of possibilities for what can happen and what can exist, right, we end up creating this “other realm” where all the other stuff is. In physics there is talk of a “quantum realm” exactly because the conditions, behaviors, objects, and so forth found there seem to behave differently from the “classical realm” of our experience. But "realm” is a very unstable and ambiguous word, not clearly spatial or placial. The irony is that what we have here is, still, in fact a discourse about two places. We just don’t even know that, because our formal thinking has become so spatialized. Thus the nature of the barrier between the two or how it could be possible for conditions to be so different in the “other realm” remains fundamentally mysterious--let alone what “crossing over” could possibly entail. Hence a metaphor like “the veil” becomes important and necessary not just to generate another place to put these unreal things, and not just to explain why these unreal things are not here in the real world/place, but also to paper over the basic absurdity of the whole premise. We have come full circle in that we are still basically talking about there being other places where things are different, but we have made it much more mysterious and confusing than it was (I believe) when it was just accepted that the world contains many places where things may be different.

[gumx395]

Daenerys’ Reign of Terror Didn’t End with her Death

In the almost year since the end of Game of Thrones, there has been a lot of jokes, memes, and theories about what will happen to Westoros and its people after everything was said and done. People have talked about the Night’s Watch and Beyond the Wall, the North, Dorne, pretty much every place left a bit open-ended.

But very few people have talked about what happens outside of Westoros, to people and places who aren’t invested in the continent. These are also the people most affected by Daenerys and her journey, and are also the most people of color we see in the show.

Looking into it, it’a pretty grim reality.

The Unsullied:

(note: I’m counting the Unsullied separately because they’ve behave and been treated as their own entity throughout the show.)

As we all know, the Unsullied were enslaved soldiers forced to live, fight, and die for the Good Masters of Astapor. Daenerys came along and “freed” them. Now, one can argue that they chose to follow her of their own free will, but the fact is that Daenerys never actually gave them the option to walk away from the life of a soldier. She gives her word that no harm will come to them, but she doesn’t offer these men, who own nothing, who don’t know HOW to own anything, any money, food, water, or resources to live the life of freedmen.

Daenerys takes them across the Narrow Sea to Westoros, to a continent they’ve never been to and couldn’t care less about. They fight and die for a throne they’ve never seen and never wanted. Then Daenerys dies.

What exactly are they meant to do now? Who are they meant to fight for? All those years in Daenerys’ service, and still nothing to indicate they’ve been taught what it means to be a freedman.

The show ends letting us know that, under the leadership of Grey Worm (the only Unsullied soldier we ever see shown any humanity or concern by Daenerys), the Unsullied will go to Naath to fulfill Missandei’s dream of going there and providing protection. It’s supposed to imply a happy, if not bittersweet ending. Thinking about it a bit deeper, however, shows that’s not exactly the case.

There are two scenarios that can happen for the Unsullied, based entirely on whether or not you believe that the poisonous butterflies that reside in Naath from the books is tv canon or not.

If the butterflies are canon (which Jacob Anderson, the actor who plays Grey Worm, seems to believe), then the truth of the matter is the Unsullied are wiped out almost immediately after arriving to Naath, with the Naathi no less in danger than they were before. Slavers continue to pick people up off the shores that continue to go unprotected.

If the butterflies aren’t canon (which the show seems to suggest considering Missandei encourages Grey Worm to return with her to Naath), then at best the Naathi are protected for at least half a generation (assuming all of the current Unsullied are at least in their twenties) by a group of soldiers who will live their entire lives not knowing true freedom, blindly following a leader who will live out the rest of his life harboring unresolved anger and hatred from being forced to watch the one person he ever got the chance to love executed for the sake of someone else’s ambitions. As the best case scenario, this seems much more bitter than sweet.

Slaver’s Bay:

I’m combining the cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen because they’re fates are quite interconnected. I am also specifically calling this region “Slaver’s Bay” instead of “The Bay of Dragons” because of it’s most likely fate.

Daenerys left Slaver’s Bay almost immediately after getting the former masters to submit. She did not wait to see if the peace would last or if the former masters were simply re-strategizing, she simply assumed that her dragons were enough to force a peace…..and then promptly took her dragons and left. It is pretty much guaranteed that the former masters resumed their plans to regain power the moment they heard that the dragon queen was long gone.

There are also two likely scenarios based entirely on the decisions of one man: Daario Naharis

In the first, slightly more optimistic scenario, Daario is loyal to Daenerys and follows her orders, trying to aid in constructing a government from scratch. Considering the man has freely admitted he has no mind for politics, it can’t be imagined that this goes well, and the former masters attack once again, this time in all out war. It’s hard to see any other outcome except that the freed people of Slaver’s Bay, with no Unsullied, no Dothraki, no dragons, only whatever might be left of the Second Sons to protect them, are sadly re-enslaved. The old masters kill those who try to fight back, and create a system of slavery even harsher and stricter than the one before, with the intent to kill any more dreams of freedom.

In the less optimistic scenario, Daario, who’s proven his loyalties change on a whim, who freely admitted he does not care for the people in Slaver’s Bay before being jilted and put in charge of its government, refuses to aid the freed men of Slaver’s Bay, and freely allows the former masters to commit a massacre throughout the three cities before regaining power. He might even be paid handsomely for it.

In both cases, slavery returns to the bay with a harsher hand than before, effectively making it worse than it was before it was freed. All whispers of another revolution die when news reaches Slaver’s Bay that Daenerys Targaryen will never return to help them.

The Dothraki Sea:

The scenarios for the Dothraki people are possibly the most tragic.

When Daenerys killed every Dothraki khal in the khalar vezhen, she wasn’t just killing Dothraki leaders, but Dothraki protectors. She took each and every fighting man the Dothraki had to offer, named them all her bloodriders, and carried them off to fight a war that, like the Unsullied, they had no investment in. 

We’re supposed to see this as some great military victory on her part, but this ignores some pretty crucial people: The women, children, elderly, and disabled among the Dothraki. We don’t see any of them with Daenerys during her conquering in Westoros, so it’s pretty safe to assume they were all left behind in Vaes Dothrak. It’s possible they stayed in the city, waiting for their husbands and fathers to come home.

Unfortunately, that leads us again to two scenarios with the same results.

The first scenario, much like with the Unsullied, depends on whether book canon is expected to crossover onto the show, despite never being mention. This is the Dothraki rule that all bloodriders must seek vengeance for their slain khal before commiting suicide themselves. If this is considered canon within the show, then it can be assumed that a mass suicide took place not long after Daenerys died and the remaining Dothraki (however many were left after they were massacred in the Long Night) were told that they would not be allowed to kill Jon Snow. If this is not considered canon, then the Dothraki men are trapped on a continent that is not their home, either expected to figure out how to commandeer and sail their own boats home, which during the winter would almost guarantee them dying at sea, or were eventually killed off by Westorosi soldiers for pillaging Westorosi cities and villages.

In either scenario, those left in the Dothraki Sea will be unable to defend themselves, leaving them wide open to killers and slavers.

Essentially, Daenerys committed a complete genocide of the Dothraki people, succeeding in wiping all of them out and destroying every remnant of culture they had.

Daenerys’ reign of terror did not die with her, and from the ruins of Old Valeryia all the way to the Red Waste (all this assuming Qarth was able to establish some sort of government after Daenerys killed the remaining rulers and sacked the city), her atrocities will be felt for generations to come.

[anakin-danvers]

adore you

Obi-Wan Kenobi x senator!reader

reader is gender neutral!

Request: “congrats chas!! 💞💓💘💖 how we feelin about “Just say the word. You know I’d do anything for you” and obi?” as requested by @cherieboba​

Description: Visiting the Unknown Regions has its risks, especially as a Senator of the Galactic Republic. But you never expect the greatest danger to be your Jedi guardian. 

Word count: ~2.3 k (was planning for it to be around 1 k but here we are)

Warnings: lots of pining! and lots of fluff!

A/N: I really hope you like this Ann! 🥰 Thank you so much for your patience! 💞 I loosely based this off of Harry Style’s Adore You, hence the title. I was planning on making this sort of sad but couldn’t bring myself to do it as I listened to Adore You, so now it’s pure fluff. Also, there’s little Easter egg is present from my first ever star wars fic, if you catch it, I love you ☺️

P.S. I have begun to specify gender neutral or female/fem readers on the top of each fic! I am open to write for all genders/pronouns!

Tags: @acnini @roseofalderaan @ohhellokenobi @goldenkenobi @snips-n-skyguy0501​ @cherieboba​ @catsnkooks @sacred-things @corellians-only @nobie @obirain @royalhandmaidens @bb8sworld

join my taglist!

——

You’re not sure you like this. The feeling of vulnerability, the feeling of not knowing. Of course, you’ve dealt with the unknown before, even with the feelings of vulnerability, your role as Senator for the planet of Busil forcing you to deal with both. But you’ve never felt them the way you do now. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s been assigned as your go-to Jedi guardian for different high-risk trips you make around the galaxy. Being part of the Galactic Senate and being such an outspoken member of the Antislavery committee means you are not a stranger to being a target. It’s because of that which Obi-Wan was assigned to protect you on any high-risk missions. But it’s due to his enthralling ways that you’re in the mess you find yourself in. 

You’d never admit it to anyone, but you have feelings for the Jedi Knight. You’re not exactly sure how you got to this point. Romance was never something you’d been looking for. For most of your life, you’ve been involved in politics. Your mother had been a Senator for Busil back in her time, and being the only child, you followed in her footsteps.

No, you’re not sure how you got to this point. But eventually, he began to take over the thoughts in your mind. The small conversations became the highlights of your days. The small kiss he gives your cheek upon greeting you began to leave a burning sensation too immense to ignore. You began to long for the feeling of his skin on yours, the fleeting touch of hands suddenly not being enough. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes. Your heart began to jump at the simple mention of his name. Yes, you have feelings for Obi-Wan, but you know you shouldn’t. 

He’s a Jedi, and Jedi have no possessions, no room for attachments. He’s fully dedicated to the Order, you’ve seen it when he talks to you about it. You could never ask him to leave all that behind for you. Instead, you’re left to love him from afar, giving him your heart in silence. But there’s a part of you that feels guilty for keeping it from him. The basis of your friendship is honesty, it’s always been that. Not telling him about how you feel, it makes you feel dishonest, betraying almost. How do you manage to keep this from him without tainting the pillars of your friendship?

You’re currently on a diplomatic mission on a planet in the Outer Rim. Naturally, Obi-Wan is with you. Today in particular, he hasn’t left your side, taking extra precautions after the rumors of an attempt against you. If it weren’t for the important meeting you are to have tomorrow, the mission would have been called off. 

“We’ll set camp soon, Senator Y/L/N.” One of your safeguards, Edu, says. 

“That sounds great,” you say, welcoming the idea of finally getting some rest. 

“You must be tired,” Obi-Wan says, and you look over to find him looking at you with a concerned expression. 

It had begun raining some time back, immediately after your speeders had given way. You’d planned on lodging locally, not wanting to bring much attention to you and your entourage’s presence. Because of this, the ship you’d travelled in had been hidden, and you’d been traveling in modest speeders up until they’d stopped working. Now, you’re all left to travel by foot, hoping to reach civilization at sunrise. 

“As much as you are, I’m sure.” He, along with your other companions of the mission, have been walking in the rain. You would have been too, if it weren’t for Obi-Wan’s insistence to ‘give you at least some coverage’.

At your response, he smiles. “Always concerned about me. It’s you I’m asking about.”

“I’m simply stating the truth. You’ve been working hard today.”

“Not any harder than most days, rest assured,” he says, and as if on queue, you can see the tiredness in his eyes. 

“Obi, I wish you’d take the time to—“

“We’ll be stopping here, Senator.” Edu interrupts you, and before you can continue, Obi-Wan gives you a smile before going to help set up camp. 

The loss of speeders not only meant the need to resort to walking; it also meant you had to carry less supplies with you, and consequently, had less tents for the night. Everyone paired up in the tents, and you’d been left to share your tent with Obi-Wan. Somehow, you knew this would be more dangerous than any attempts made on your life. 

You’re sitting on the makeshift bed, foot in hand as you lightly massage away the soreness from the day’s walk. You’ve changed into some comfier clothes, undoing your hairdo to release any tension on your head. You can hear voices outside your tent: Obi-Wan and Edu discussing security measures for the remainder of the stay. It’s until you hear them bid each other goodnight that your heartbeat quickens. 

“May I come in?” There’s no door, nowhere to knock, but he still wants to make his presence known. 

“Of course.”

He enters the tent, the quick opening letting you hear just how bad the rain is outside. This is only emphasized upon seeing him, his brown cloak drenched. Instantly, you stand, making your way towards him with an extra blanket. 

“Obi-Wan, you’re soaked.”

You stand in front of him, holding the blanket out to him. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, showing his hair is just as wet. Your heart hurts at the sight, not wanting him to be in any sort of uncomfortable state. 

“Please, take that off.” As quickly as the words leave your mouth, the heat travels up to your face. Obi-Wan notices your flustered state and lets out a small chuckle. 

“Very direct, I see.”

You reach out to give him a small push. “You know what I mean, Kenobi.”

He does, since he shrugs off his cloak and takes the blanket you have for him, giving a small thanks. He uses it to dry the ends of his hair, moving to lessen the dampness of the rest of his robes (thankfully, they’re not as drenched as his cloak). Your eyes follow his every move, practically glued to the movement. When he’s done, he drapes the blanket over his shoulders, and you take a step closer to wrap it tighter. Lost in thought, you leave your hands on the corners of the blanket, your eyes focusing on the cloth material.

“Is something on your mind, darling?”

Just that I would do anything for you. “No, Obi, just tired is all.”

“You should get some rest then.”

“I was hoping we could talk? We haven’t had much time lately.”

Another small laugh comes from him. “I thought you were tired.”

“Well, yes, but I miss our talks.”

Obi-Wan smiles, giving you a small nod as you make your way to the bed. You sit next to each other, the distance between you seeming too large and too small all at once. 

“Now tell me, what’s been going through that brilliant mind of yours?”

Just that I don’t know how to live without you. “I’ve been worried about the mission.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes soften, and he takes a hold of one of your hands. It takes all your strength not to interlock your fingers with his. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my dear. I’ll keep you safe.”

You nod, a smile present on your lips. “I know, Obi. It’s not that which I’m worried about. It’s tomorrow’s meeting. I’m worried it won’t go as expected.”

“If there is one thing which I know is guaranteed from this mission, it’s that you’ll do great tomorrow. You’ll get through to them, Y/N, trust me.”

“Thank you, Obi.” 

He smiles, giving your hand a small squeeze. The blanket slips off one of his shoulders, and when he moves to fix it, you notice a small grimace on his face. 

“Are you hurt?” You try to mask the worry in your voice, to no avail. 

“No, I’m fine. It’s from an injury in a previous mission.”

You’re already up from the bed, hands on his affected shoulder. 

“Have you gotten it treated?”

“There’s no need. I’m fine, really.”

“No need? Obi-Wan, you have to take care of yourself.”

“I do.”

“Well, you have to do better. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

You don’t realize you’ve said the second sentence out loud until you see his eyes fixed on you. Light-toned sapphires, taking your breath away. 

“I...may I?” 

At your request he nods, and you move to put pressure on his shoulder. Your hands push and pull at it, carefully massaging it the way your father taught you when young. You see Obi-Wan lightly flinch once, then see his eyes relax. You continue to work on his shoulder in silence until he speaks. 

“What are you thinking?”

Just that I’d walk through literal fire for you. “Nothing, really.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm...” Damn him for knowing you so well.

You finish working on his shoulder, taking your hands away. “How do you feel?”

He rolls it back, and to your delight, he doesn’t grimace anymore. “Much better. Thank you.”

“A small payment,” you say. 

“For what?”

Just for showing me what it’s like to love someone. “Always being there for me. And not just on missions. Just, always.”

“There’s nothing to thank, you know that.”

You look at each other for a bit longer before you break your gaze. “Well, I guess we should be going to bed.”

He nods, getting up and setting the blanket he’d had on his shoulders on the floor. He grabs another blanket and rolls it. He’s about to place it on top of the spread out blanket on the floor when you notice what he’s doing. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Kenobi.”

He turns to look at you, an eyebrow raised. You continue before he can protest (and before you second guess yourself).

“You have a bad shoulder, and you’ve had a long day. The bed is big enough. We can both fit. And I’m not taking no as an answer.”

An amused smile makes its way to his face. Nodding once again, he picks up the blankets, placing them to the side. You help him fix the bed before slipping under the blankets, Obi-Wan slipping in next to you. Looking up at the tent ceiling and feeling him so close to you, you wonder how you ever thought this was a good idea. You’re just thankful he can’t hear the beating of your heart, at least you hope he can’t. 

“Something’s on your mind.” It’s a statement this time, the third time he’s addressed your pensive state. “And it’s not about tomorrow’s meeting.”

Just that I don’t know how much longer I can go without telling you how I feel. You hate keeping this from him. You’ve both always been so honest to each other, why not be honest with this too?

You take a gulp before speaking. “Can I tell you something?”

At the seriousness of your voice, he shifts his body so that it’s facing you, giving you his full attention. You, on the other hand, keep your eyes on the tent ceiling.

“Yes.”

You take a deep breath, and to your own surprise, turn to face him. Like this, he’s even closer, mere inches separating the tips of your noses. 

“I adore you, Obi. I have for some time. We’ve always been so honest with each other, and because of that, I need you to know. But know that you’re not obliged to say or do anything. You don’t have to say you love me, you don’t have to say you don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to know.” You take another deep breath. “I just hope to ask one thing.”

“Just say the word. You know I’d do anything for you.”

His voice is so sincere, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to calm your breathing. 

“Just...let me adore you. It’s been such a beautiful experience for me to feel these things that I do for you. Different and even frightening at times, but really, I’d have it no other way.” It’s after you say the words that fret begins to cloud your mind. Why have you told him? What do you expect him to say? What of the Jedi order?

Obi-Wan closes the distance between you by taking a hold of your face, strong hands holding your cheeks to bring you towards him. His lips land on your forehead, and he gives you a kiss that eases even the sound of the strong rain. With eyes closed, you feel like you’re in the clouds. One of your hand comes up to hold his wrist, while the other lands on his chest, right above his heart. The feeling of his heartbeat under your fingertips is what elicits a bloom within your heart. 

“I’d be honored, my love. Only if you allow me to do the same.”

You look up to meet his eyes, the mesmerizing eyes that took your breath away the first time you saw them. “Are you saying that...”

“Yes, darling. I love you. It’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

Now it’s your turn to kiss him. You take a hold of his face, bringing his lips to yours. The feelings from it, they’re amazing. You know now that the feelings of vulnerability and not knowing are not bad; they’re part of the experience of loving and being loved. 

Obi-Wan holds you that night as you sleep, and you swear you’ve never slept better. Yes, you’re sure you love this.

[allycryz]

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon. 

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift?  I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again.  There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck.  "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock.  Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides  without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat.  Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

[imlovethomassanders]

Destined - Chapter 5 (FINAL)

You can also read on ao3

Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck around for the whole thing! I hope you enjoy this last chapter!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Summary: Damien never wanted soulmates. When his fifteenth birthday came, he prayed he wouldn’t receive a “hint” - a way soulmates are connected to help find each other. And to Damien’s horror, the universe gives him multiple soulmates. He’s determined to not let them find out about them. He wants to let them live in ignorant bliss and not force them to deal with him. As Damien grows older, he moves away and goes to college - He even manages to find a boyfriend that he chose himself, and Damien tells himself that he’s happy. But on Damien’s twentieth birthday, the universe gives him and his soulmates another hint - and this one is not one Damien can avoid.

Pairing: DLAMP

Warnings:Abusive romantic relationship (physically, sexually, and verbally), past physical parental abuse, sex and alcohol mentions,  general angst (but happy ending)

Words: 3030

Taglist:

@touchstarvedvirgil

@lamp-calm-sanders

@ninjago2020

@confinesofpersonalknowledge

@secret-novelisthost18

@phander-sides

@sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet​

@fortheloveofvirgil​

@what-up-dudesss

@roxiefox24

@stan-logan-you-cowards

Damien pushed an actor out of the makeup room and huffed as he closed the door. Finally, it was the last scene of the last performance. He allowed himself to lean against the door and take a breath. He was the one person in charge of makeup and the director decided to cast a musical with thirty actors. He was exhausted. But he knew he couldn't relax just yet.

He heard the final number begin to play and he went to pack up all this things before the actors rushed in. As soon as he packed his bag and hit it under the bench so no one would mess with it, the door swung open and the room was filled with actors, all buzzing with excitement.

"Damien, can you wash the gray out of my hair?" "Damien, I can't get my eyeliner off." "Damien, is there any makeup still on my face?" "Damien, do you have a hairbrush I could borrow?" "Damien, I need more makeup wipes."

"Brush it out with this first and then I'll come back to you to get the last of it out." "Here, use this instead. It's specifically for eye makeup." "There's a little under your jawline." "There's one on the end of the counter." "Here, I have plenty more."

When things finally relaxed, he found where Roman was sitting and collapsed on the bench next to him.

Damien was not particularly pleased with how much time he's had to spend lately with the eccentric Thespian. With dress rehearsals and performances the last week, Roman and him have had to see a lot of each other, which was the opposite of what Damien wanted. But the theatre came first, so Damien sucked it up and did his job.

"Thanks for all the help these last few nights," Roman said as he wiped makeup from his forehead. Damien grunted.

"Thanks for actually knowing what you're doing and not requiring my assistance every damn second."

Roman laughed.

"Seriously. I swear, you were the only person who paid attention at my base makeup demonstration. Everyone else was bothering me to help them."

"You're incredible."

Damien prayed that he wasn't blushing.

"...You still have makeup on your neck and side of your face," Damien noticed and he reached for another makeup wipe. He placed his other hand on Roman's face and started removing his makeup, which wasn't unusual. He helped plenty of other actors remove their makeup, especially the men who weren't used to wearing it. But then he noticed the sly way Roman was looking at him. Roman gently took Damien's hand that was holding his cheek and kissed his palm. Damien scowled at him and hit him in the face with the makeup wipe before finishing.

Roman waited for Damien to finish helping the other actors to get them to leave and helped him clean up the makeup room, and the two were finally able to leave. Once the two made it to the lobby, the other three rushed to them to congratulate them. When Damien was complimented on the special effects makeup he did, he brushed them off. He still didn't know how to respond to compliments.

"Damien, we usually go out after Roman's performances," Patton explained. "But if you really don't want to, we can just head back home."

Damien could tell Patton was just making the offer to be polite. He knew the four of them really wanted to go out. Damien really didn't want to, but he knew he should since they were letting him stay in their apartment, and he didn't want to become such a burden on them.

"I don't care."

And that's how Damien found himself at iHop, squished in a booth between a window and Roman. Apparently, iHop was a theatre kid tradition, since they saw plenty of other actors there.

Patton sat on the other side of Roman while Logan and Virgil sat across.

Damien spent most of the time just staring out the window, ignoring the conversation and the food Patton had ordered for him. That was until Roman said his name.

"Hm?" Damien hummed as he turned towards them.

"I asked how you got into theatre. Did your parents take you to a show when you were young? That's how I got into it."

Damien grimaced.

"Um... no. I just discovered some cast recordings in middle school and watched a lot of bootlegs."

"Oh. Well, what was your first show? Mine was The Sound of Music."

"I haven't had the chance to see a musical live outside of school performances."

Roman's eyes widened.

"Well, I can't allow that! I am always a seasonal ticket holder at the regional Orpheum, and starting today, you will always be my plus one. The Lion King is coming next week."

Damien's heart leaped. That sounded so incredible. But...

"That's a very nice offer, Roman," Damien said as he turned his attention back out the window. "But I'm afraid that won't be necessary. I'll be gone soon."

Roman's smile disappeared and he looked at the others, but they didn't know what to say.

"Come on, Dee. At least let him take you to The Lion King," Virgil said.

"But don't feel pressured to!" Patton quickly added.

"...We'll see."

That wasn't a definite no, so the they relaxed a bit as they continued their conversation.

But they didn't let Damien go again. They kept asking him questions to keep him engaged, and somehow, Damien found himself not hating it. He tried his best not to show it, though.

Once Patton finally got Damien to laugh at one of his jokes, he gave Damien a soft smile that he hoped let him know that he belonged here. He fit with them, they wanted him.

Damien glanced away from Patton as his throat tightened.

Damien tried to keep a balance of distancing himself while also not being terribly rude to his helpers, but he was failing miserable. Whether it was Roman sweeping him into a dance mirroring the one playing on the current Disney movie, or Logan reading to him to calm him down, or Patton dotting cookie dough on his nose when he helped in the kitchen, or Virgil lounging beside him and showing him just, just like they used to - whatever it was, Damien found himself entranced.

Besides, what's the harm of indulging himself a bit before they inevitably get sick of him?

Damien had just been watching a movie, when the next thing he knew there was a pillow fort being built around him by Roman and Patton. And now he was lying on the floor between the others.

His phone dinged, and when he checked it he saw it was a confirmation email from an apartment complex saying his background check was cleared and that he could come down and try to work out paperwork.

"Are you okay, dear?" Roman asked from his direct left.

"I'm leaving soon," Damien said as he  put his phone back in his pocket.

They all froze, and Damien couldn't stand the tense silence that fell over them.

"Why, sweetie?" Patton asked, pain evident in his voice.

"It will be better that way."

He didn't expect them to understand yet, but once he's gone they'll realize how much better it is when they don't have to deal wit him.

Virgil placed a hand on Damien's right arm and Damien went to move his arm out of Virgil's grasp, but when he saw Virgil's hurt eyes gazing up at him, he let Virgil wrap an arm around his.

"I just got you back," Virgil whispered as tears welled in his eyes. He quickly ducked his head onto Damien's shoulder to hide his face. "You can't just leave again."

"Talk to us, Damien," Logan said as he sat up from his spot on the other side of Roman. "Tell us what we can do to help."

"There's nothing you can do," Damien said, trying to ignore the wet spots forming on his shoulder.

"Please, what's troubling you, darling?" Roman asked.

"Nothing you can fix."

"Let us try."

"I can't let you do that."

"Damien, please," Patton cried. "Let us help you-"

"Stop." Damien snapped. "Just stop. If I stay, you're just going to get sick of me. You're going to find out how awful I am to have around, and I don't want to be here when you finally realize how unlovable I am."

Silence.

"Damien," Virgil said with a shaky breath. "You were an asshole when I first met you, and yet you still managed to make me fall in love with you..."

Damien's eyes widened.

"Who did this to you?" Roman whispered. "Who was so evil that they tricked you into believing such lies?"

"No one tricked me," Damien muttered. "It's just the truth no one has ever loved me before. Not even my own mother. Not until Jackson, at least. But you four are adamant he never really loved me."

"You don't hurt the people you love," Roman said defensively. "We can't let you think that's how love is supposed to be."

"Well, there you go," Damien snapped. "Everyone I've ever loved never loved me back."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sure someone-"

"No, Patton," Damien interrupted. "My mother literally tried to kill me. All my foster parents abandoned me. None of my classmates liked me, my teachers hated me, my counselors gave up on me. No one has ever loved me."

"You're mother did what?" Patton whispered as he sat up, all four of them staring at him in horror. Virgil tightened his grip on Damien's arm.

Damien groaned as he ran his hands down his face.

"Look, it'll just hurt all of us if I stay. You'll understand in time."

"No, no, sweetie, wait," Patton said as tears welled in his eyes. "Please don't leave, we-"

"I love you," Virgil whispered into Damien's shoulder. "I don't expect you to say it back, but I want you to know I love you. Every part of you."

"A troubled past does not diminish one's self worth," Logan said.

"I know we haven't known you as long as Virgil has," Patton said through tears. "But we care about you so so so much."

"Damien beloved, darling, dearest," Roman said gently as he raised a hand to cup Damien's cheek. "More than anything, we want you to be happy. But know that we want you here, with us, in our relationship and our lives. We know it won't always be easy, but we want to work it out with you. For you, dear, anything."

"...No," Damien whispered as he gently moved Virgil off of him. "No, no, no. This can't happen."

"Damien, what-"

"I didn't know how much I had fooled you already," Damien interrupted Virgil as he sat up. "I can't let myself deceive you into thinking I'm good for you."

"No, Damien, wait!" Virgil cried as Damien stood up. Virgil reached for his wrist but caught himself, and Damien locked himself in the bedroom.

Damien didn't let himself see the others at all over the next few days. He responded to the email to set up an appointment time. Everything would be resolved soon.

As Damien quickly walked out of the campus building, he checked his phone for the time. If he hurried, he could get back to the apartment before the others do.

He cut through a student parking lot when he heard a familiar voice.

"Damien!"

Damien didn't even look behind him before he started running, but it wasn't long until there was a hand around his wrist and he was being pinned against a van.

"Where have you been, Damien?" Jackson asked. "I've missed you."

His grip grew tighter.

"You have to come home, Damien. I-"

Damien kneed Jackson's stomach, used that brief moment that Jackson let go of him to try to run, but Jackson quickly grabbed Damien's wrist again and slammed Damien back against the van, slapping his face before grabbing Damien's hair.

"You're really trying to run away from me again Damien? You really want to get in trouble, huh?"

Damien felt tingling on his arm.

"What's going on here?"

Damien looked over to see Patton and his face paled as fear shot through him. He couldn't let Patton get hurt. Oh, god, Patton was going to get hurt and it was all his fault-

"Who are you?"

"A friend. Now I'm going to have to ask you to let go of him."

"Look, you really need to mind your own business and leave before I-"

"Patton!" someone yelled. They heard heavy footsteps running towards them before Roman came into view. "I saw your message," he said, holding up his right arm.

It was very unnerving to see the usually very happy and excited Roman now look very intimidating and very, very angry.

"Let go of Damien. Now."

"So these are your soulmates?" Jackson laughed as he pressed his arm against Damien's throat. "What happened to not wanting anything to do with them?"

"I said let. Him. Go." Roman said as he walked towards Jackson. Jackson threw Damien behind him and Damien hissed in pain as his hands made contact with the concrete. In his peripheral, he saw Patton duck behind a car. Jackson shoved Roman away from him, but Damien's view of the fighting was soon blocked by Patton kneeling in front of him.

"You're okay. It's okay," Patton assured him. "Deep breaths. There you go. You're doing great."

Patton gently but quickly got Damien to stand up to lead lead him away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jackson called out. Damien whirled around and quickly blocked the punch that was heading towards Patton's face. Patton yelled out as he caught Damien who staggered back. Roman quickly kicked the back of Jackson's knees and pinned his arms back once he fell.

And that's when Logan and Virgil ran over with campus police.

Damien collapsed onto the couch once they got home. Explaining what happened to the officers took longer than he liked. Of course Jackson tried to defend himself, but once they checked the parking lot cameras, he didn't have much of a case. Roman's attack on Jackson was ruled as self defense, and Jackson would be charged accordingly. It was then agreed that Damien would get a restraining order.

Virgil came to sit beside him as the others whispered in the kitchen.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Virgil said. "...I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

"That you had to deal with that monster for so long."

Damien didn't say anything. But when Virgil opened his arms, Damien hesitated only for a second before falling into them.

"They put themselves in harms way for me," Damien whispered as he looked at Roman and Patton. Roman was being dote on by Patton over his acquired scrapes and bruises, and Damien was sure that Patton would do the same to him, too.

"Of course they did," Virgil said softly. "...Are you still thinking of leaving?"

Damien sat up from Virgil's arms, and worry flashed over Virgil's face.

"Because you know we won't stop you from leaving, but we're worried that you don't realize how much we care about-"

"No," Damien whispered.

"Huh?"

"I'm not leaving. I don't think I could even if I wanted to."

A large grin grew on Virgil's face and he opened his mouth to say something but paused when Damien placed a hand on his cheek.

The two gazed at each other for a moment, and then Damien kissed Virgil.

Kissing Virgil was so much softer than Damien ever imagined kissing someone could be. Virgil's arms wrapped securely around Damien's waist, and Damien felt safe.

They parted and gazed at each other, but only for a moment before they both leaned forward to reconnect their lips. Virgil made Damien feel cared for, adored, loved. Tears fell down Damien's cheeks as he placed his other hand on Virgil's other cheek and pulled Virgil closer, desperate for as much contact he could get. He couldn't think of a time before when he was handled so lovingly.

The next time they parted, Virgil gingerly wiped the tears from Damien's cheeks.

"I love you," Damien whispered. Virgil's eyes widened but a soft smile graced his face.

"I love you, too."

He leaned in for one more gentle kiss that made Damien's cheeks grow even more red.

When they separated for the last time, Virgil looked behind them and smirked to see a beaming Patton and a blushing Logan and Roman.

"Come here," Damien pleaded, and they quickly came and joined them on the couch, Roman sitting on his right side with Logan by Virgil and Patton by Roman.

Damien pressed a kiss on Roman's jaw where a bruise was forming.

"Thank you," Damien whispered. "All of you."

"Of course, my angel," Roman murmured as he kissed the top of Damien's head.

"Does this mean you're staying?" Patton asked, trying and failing to hide the hope in his voice.

"Yes," Damien said as he curled into Virgil's side. "If you'll have me. You all make me want to try."

"Of course, sweetie," Patton cooed as he reached over Roman for Damien's hand.

Damien soon moved onto the couch, insistent that he's been hogging the bedroom for far too long. But it wouldn't be that much longer before he moved into the bedroom with them.

First kisses would soon be shared between Damien and Patton, then Roman, then Logan, and later then the first "I love you"s. But it wasn't always easy. On the road to recovery, Damien sometimes found himself take a few steps back. He'd get angry and lash out, or say something he'd regret. Sometimes the others argued back, and sometimes they'd accidentally make Damien flinch. But they always ensured that things ended okay. None of them liked to fight, and any disagreements would quickly bubble down and end with what Patton called the "cuddle puddle."

Damien was happy, he was safe, and he was loved - things he used to never imagine for himself. And for the first time, he was certain he was where he needed to be.

Thanks so much to everyone who hung around for this whole thing! And thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot!

[kingofthenorth49]

Made in China

I don’t know about you, but it sure feels like we are living through the start of World War III.  

Now before you scroll past and think my tin foil hat is on too tight this morning, hear me out. It’s not like this doesn’t make sense or anything, if you connect the dots it would appear that the next global conflict will look much different than the previous two.  

Think about it. China has been posturing for years to become the next world superpower, and if you can see through the medias bullshit you can read the overtures that are being made in the Asia region along with the saber rattling in the Middle East, you can see that it didn’t take long for Biden to unravel almost 50 years of progress towards peace.

War is inevitable and necessary to the state, and if you ever read Sun Tzu “Art of War”, a Chinese war treatise from the 6th dynasty you would understand the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. He also said that the outcome of war is pre-decided and gave solid advice on the best way to conduct campaigns to conquer foreign powers.

Now before you get your panties in a bunch, I’m not accusing China of deliberately inducing a world-wide pandemic through the use of a genetically modified pathogen after spending years devaluating the US dollar using printed money (not like we have room to talk, but we also haven’t been on a buying spree like the Chinese have in say, Canada for example.), but if I were President Xi Jinping that’s what I’d do. The best war is one where you risk no resources.

Again, not saying the Chinese are attempting to destabilize the United States, not at all. Just saying if I were going to take over the world that’s how I’d do it, from a far, using disinformation and creating confusion and chaos in the streets of my enemy. Not like it hasn’t been done before.  

See many of you see people like me as conspiracy theorists, people who are to be dismissed because we believe in things others’ think are foolish, things that seem farfetched and impossible to be going on in a frame of present reference. I just see myself as a guy who likes history and reads a lot of books that were written before Google came along and dumbed down our nations. Anyone who has ever read a book on the rise of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party in 1920’s Germany would understand completely. If you were to pick up a couple other books on how Hilter rose to power on the back of that party, you’d understand also how quickly people can be manipulated, and how the media and ideology can quickly create a firestorm of hate that makes it easy for societies to crumble. Read even further on how the German army used deceptive tactics to invade Austria and Poland so quickly they didn’t have a chance to prepare.  

That’s not a conspiracy theory, that’s history and we all know those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.  

I guess watering down history is a good thing, right? Taking down statues, changing historical accounts in the name of political correctness, and not encouraging people to critically examine all aspects of history to learn from them helps us become a better society.  

Let me give you the Cole’s notes version of how quickly things can go off the rails when the wrong ideology gains traction in a society where people intend to do evil. Again, not saying our current situation is remotely commensurate with our current situation, but it’s a good example of how quickly things can go from good to evil.

Here we go.

1933 - The Nazi Party takes power in Germany. Adolf Hitler becomes chancellor (or Prime Minister) of Germany. Nazis temporarily suspend civil liberties.

1934 - Hitler combines the positions of chancellor and president to become “Fuhrer” or leader of Germany. Jewish newspapers are no longer allowed to be sold in the streets of Germany.

1935 - The Nazis intensify the persecution of people that do not agree with their political philosophy. Jews are deprived of their citizenship and other basic rights.

1936 – Nazi's boycott Jewish owned businesses. The Olympic Games are held in Germany; Signs barring Jews are removed until the event is over. Jews no longer have the right to vote.

1938 - German troops annexed Austria. On Kristallnacht, the “night of broken glass,” Nazis terrorized Jews throughout Germany and Austria and 30,000 Jews are arrested. Jews must carry ID cards (papers!) and Jewish passports are marked with a “J”. Jews no longer had businesses, attend plays, concerts etc. (maybe they were unvaccinated??)  All Jewish children are move to Jewish schools. Jewish businesses are shut down; They must sell businesses and hand over securities and jewels. Jews must hand over drivers licenses and car registrations. Jews must be in certain places at certain times.

1939- Germany takes over Czechoslovakia and invades Poland. World War Two begins as Britain in France declared war on Germany. Hitler orders that Jews must follow curfews; Jews must turn in radios to the police; Jews must wear yellow stars of David.

Now I’ll stop there.  

Those are all non-debatable historical facts, no subjectivity in my interpretation, just the facts m’am. Look how quickly one ideology took hold in a country ripe for change. At the time of the 1930’s German’s were desperate for change as they had just came out of world war 1 and were suffering from paying reparations for their conduct during that conflict and when Hilter came along he lit a fire under the German people by blaming the Jews for the loss of WW1.  

Five years. Five years from the time a tyrant took power until he was able to start killing 6 million people.

Now if you are one of those types that believe “it can’t happen again” look no further to all the other genocides over the past 100 years, up to and including the Uighur crisis currently going on in China where they have over 1 million Uighur Muslims in concentration camps and they are mass sterilizing these people to the point it’s actually consider a genocide, as it’s reducing the Muslim population in the western provinces of China though declining birthrates. If these women don’t submit to forced intra-uterine devices or monthly pregnancy tests, they are put in prisons.  

Put in prision because they needed to take a test, shot, or device and wouldn’t?  

Say it ain’t so Joe, say it ain’t so.

Folks, some people are evil. Rotten to the core. They have no soul and are in the most desperate need of getting laid of any person on the planet. That’s reality. You can choose to stick you head in the sand and pretend the boogeyman doesn’t exist, but in truth the boogey man will always exist because humans are nasty evil creatures capable of the most horrendous conduct, and if you think ignoring them or passing laws to prevent them from doing things are going to stop them, well you are just stupid. Sorry, I can’t soften that up any because I owe it to you to be blunt in these times.

Now if you’ve made it this far I think you would agree that something is amiss these days, there’s too many conspiracy theories of the past few years that are now seeming to be true, yet no one wants to talk about where the end game is. I’m not sure what it is, but I have some theories, most involved China or George Soros, but the data indicates more towards the former versus the latter.

Trudeau loves China, he’s said so on many occasions to the point of gushing over their communist form of government. His father was a Marxist, and his mother loved communists. Literally. **bow chica bow wow**

Hunter Biden and the Big Guy are in bed with the Chinese in a different way that Margret and Fidel. We’ve seen the emails, the testimony, and the allegations. For them, it’s about money. Last week the Big Guy shut down the investigation that Trump started into the Wuhan lab. That’s now created a firestorm that will likely make 9/11 look like a traffic accident. Coincidence? I think not.

We recently had two Chinese scientists with ties to the Chinese People’s Army kicked out of our highest security epidemiology lab here in Canada after CSIS had concerns they were passing information back to the Wuhan lab (a lab so highly classified Canadian scientists have a hard time getting security clearances to access it), and Trudeau drew the ire of senior Canadian military personnel when he bullied them into allowing the Chinese to hold winter war games at CFB Petawawa. Why is Trudeau so moonstruck with China?

Dot, Dot, Dot.

Once again, I hope I’m wrong. I really, really do, but go back and walk that timeline again and ask yourself if you now understand why Netanyahu hit Hamas as hard as he did.

Never again.

Can you blame him Comrades?

Now as you sit here in North America today, especially in Canada, does it not seem eerily similar to what has happened before in history? Keep in mind that Jews were loaded onto boxcars under the premise to take them to safety from the angry German peoples.  

I really do hope my tinfoil hat is too tight and it’s cutting off the circulation to my frontal lobe, I want the Canada back I grew up in, and the America I fell in love with. I just hope this really is just a bad bug that’s part of a cyclical pattern of virology and this isn’t the start of a global war to reorganize the planet power structure and de-populate the globe.

The dots just tell a different story.

Jim Out.