#it is a shame marvel will likely not have many projects with the same care put into them

[remarcely]

I think everyone has realised by now how cinematically beautiful Season 2 of Loki is, but there's one scene I want to focus on for a second, and that's Sylvie's scene in the record shop.

Not only does this section of Season 2 Episode 5 have some incredible visuals and works of CGI unheard of with Marvels rushed standards, but it explains so perfectly Sylvie's realization and understanding without a single word voicing her own thoughts.

Sylvie got out. She left the TVA, got a normal job, a normal life, and a normal friend; Lyle. A regular non-variant human friend who owns a record shop. This was her reward.

Something important to remember about Sylvie is that she was labelled as 'Variant' and taken to be killed by the TVA when she was a child, around the age of ten. She has spent over half of her life running in fear, which turned quickly into anger at the injustice of her fate. What do you think happens when you tell a child they have no right to exist? No one even remembers why she was taken.

She's earned this life of absolute blessed nothing, but that doesn't make the previous decades vanish. So she buys records, feels through music, and after slipping back into the never ending cycle of the TVA she goes to Lyle's store and puts on a sad song. She sinks into the leather couch, closes her eyes, and feels- a privilege she has only been allowed since she quite literally killed for it.

Then everything falls apart. The universe around her decays, she watches Lyle dissipate into strings, and is reminded of everything the small child inside her is begging to forget.

Sylvie is alone and is forced to acknowledge the one truth, through out all of space and time, that she can never out run.

The universe does not care.

It doesn't care that she's been fighting for as long as she can remember, that she it tired, and it doesn't give a single damn about what she is owed. Bad things happen all the time and there is no single person out there, directing them to the bad people as if they're checking off a list. Destiny is not justice. It's not even a roll of the dice. It's a case of the right place and the right time.

And Sylvie knows that she is one of the very few people that has the power to change at least this, the strings and collapse of the multiverse. Somewhere out there, there are thousands of Sylvie's and each one deserves the chance to live as much as her.

So, as her record swirls up into nothingness, she makes up her mind. A glowing orange portal opens behind her and she leaves, back to the TVA.

The colours and music express the melancholy of this decision so well, because this isn't some heroes epiphany. None of these characters are heroes, they are tricksters, variants, and people who worked for the system that wiped out truly countless lives. They are the people who were in the right place at the right time and saw fit to change that.

Loki Season 2 gives what may be one of my favourite discussions about power and the people that wield it. It is not a thing to be craved, it is something to be suffered. Power isn't fun, it's not meant to make you happy, it is simply something that must be carried on your shoulders as a burden.

All of these characters lose something so that others can have the blessing of existence. They may regain it again later on, like Sylvie having chance number who-knows what at a regular life in the finale, but that doesn't negate the lifetime of suffering that exists in her shadow, always with her and one step behind.

Loki didn't have a happy ending, but it did have the right one.

[berzahoes]

“slut!” | tom blyth

summary: in a word full of boys, tom is a gentleman.

an: takes place before filming billy the kid

warnings: mean names hence the title also if you care, reader is the same age as tom lol

“so keep your boyfriends hidden because y/n is newly single!”

“how many boyfriends has she had in the last four years?”

“clearly she’s the problem if she can’t keep a boyfriend.”

you heard it all. the names people called you, the headlines, news reports. it was always the same. people would rather shame you for your love life than be quiet. in the past you did joke that you went on many dates, clearly the media didn’t care if you were joking or not.

your manager had even banned you from looking at the really negative comments on your phone. twitter was having a field day with your love life.

“slut!” was the phrase often directed towards you. while your loyal fans defend you, you could still see all the hurtful things people said about you.

“do you want to cancel tomorrow’s interview?” lisa, your manager, asked one day. you hadn’t answered your phone at all and she was concerned so she drove to your new york apartment and let herself in with the spare key she had. she had found you in the darkness of your room curled up with your plethora of blankets.

“cancel everything. i just want to rest for a while.” you managed to say. lisa was like your second mom. she cared about you more than anything.

“we can do that.” lisa assured.

“lisa?” you turned to face her.

“yes?”

“thanks for checking on me.”

“always.”

after that conversation, lisa made some calls and any movie or tv show deal you had were quickly cancelled. over the next few days, the media found out that you pulled out of many movies from big franchises like marvel and star wars. it was always a dream of yours to be in anything marvel or star wars related, but for now, those projects had to continue without you.

many friends and colleagues reached out to you, but all you could do was send a simple ‘thank you’ and be done with it.

days passed and you were still in your apartment. you didn’t mind being alone, you liked it better that way. sometimes lisa or your parents would drop by or even your upstairs neighbor, mrs. davis, a nice old lady who knew that your favorite cupcakes were red velvet so she made you some to cheer you up.

it was a tuesday afternoon when you heard someone cursing multiple out in the hallway. you figured someone got locked out so you ignored it. pretty much everyone in the entire building got locked out at least once. you were ignoring the cursing as you continued reading your book and ate your red velvet cupcake that your kind neighbor had made you. a few seconds later, you heard a knock on your door.

“no.” you groaned as you stood up to answer the door. you opened it to find tom. you had only known him because you had a mutual friend so you were surprised to see him at your door.

“hi,” he spoke. “i called and texted . . a lot. i just wanted to see how you were.”

“i’m alive as you can see.” you said.

“i know you’ve been asked this question a lot lately but are you okay?”

that’s when you broke down. you couldn’t keep it together in front of tom, but he didn’t mind comforting you. somehow he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

he would often come over to keep you company when lisa or your parents couldn’t. he understood you didn’t want to step foot outside so he didn’t force you. instead, you two would go up to the terrace of your apartment building and hang out. tom would bring lunch or dinner depending on the time that he decided to visit. during that time, you two would talk about whatever would come to mind. tom did his best to avoid talking about work, but you always asked how his filming was going or if he had auditioned for anything new.

“i got the part,” he admitted. “i’m playing billy the kid.” he smiled brightly.

“I’m so happy for you, tom! you deserve it!” you hugged him.

“it’ll be announced next week. you’re the first to know, well apart from my manager.” he chuckled.

“you deserve that and more.” you smiled.

“you do too. other people should see that,” tom said. “you’re so talented and amazing and everything about you is so. . . incredible. i wish people see you the way i do.”

you were speechless.

“are you okay?” tom asked when he noticed you were quiet.

fuck. fuck. fuck FUCK he thought to himself

“you mean it?” you managed to say. you could feel yourself start to blush.

“every bit and more. i enjoy being with you and if i could be with you for the rest of my life then i would die a happy man.”

[serafiel-jacobs]

Formalities (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

Frederick Garret was at his home, reading the newspaper, hearing about the incident that happened at the Opera House, and how a stalker and Geppetto's puppet were the ones to “save the day”. That puppet sure knows where to stick his nose in things that are none of his business, and sure what was happening inside the Opera House was not his doing, but he needed to get the girl, and had his men not been there earlier, they would have been caught by the crowd that formed inside the place.

“That's kind of scary isn't it?” Blue was trying to make conversation, “I know that it was because of the crystals but the idea of another frenzy happening is terrifying”

There is a huge commotion about the two puppets being the ones to have killed those people, another distraction that works to his advantage. Most people don't seem to believe another frenzy could happen, the explanation given by the workshop union was extremely reasonable, but still, some fear it could happen again.

A series of knocks could be heard, Frederick opened the door of his home and he saw the man that he had just been expecting.

“Mr. Conrad good to see you” Then Frederick turned to look at Blue Canary, “Would you mind giving us some privacy? Stand guard just in case, you never know what could happen these days”

“I understand,” Blue said in a formal voice, he is right after all, there was a body discovered nearby just yesterday, “If you need me for anything, just give me a shout”

Both men were in a luxurious room, as Frederick's mansion has many places where one can relax in peace, the many perks of being part of an affluent family and winning up to the thousands each month because of his services.

They made small talk for a few minutes before getting straight to the point.

“The shipment of the crystals will come tomorrow, and I added some extra, as the mining team is going to have some difficulties,” Conrad said.

“What difficulties?” Frederick did not like hearing that.

“Due to that earthquake that happened recently new precautions are being taken, the mine will shut down for two weeks” Conrad gave out a sigh, “Those extra were ones we use at the union, but I made sure to make everyone believe I was using them for a project”

“Very clever” In the end, Frederick was pleased with the results, although it could have gone better in his eyes.

They made more small talk again, but Frederick had in his mind Geppetto's puppet, surely Conrad must know a little about it.

“Mr. Conrad, what do you know about Geppetto?” Frederick knows that the key to Pinocchio is to get to his father first, “I’m just curious, I have heard nothing but praise for him over the years, although from time to time I have heard certain rumors”

“I don’t know what you have heard but they are probably right” Conrad poured himself another glass, “The man has issues, specially with grief, he likes to be in denial about his family dying, and I understand, that losing family is hard but come on”

“Are you saying that because of his puppet?”

“Of course, just look at that puppet!” Conrad was glad to finally rant about Geppetto, “An exact copy of Carlo, I’m surprised he didn’t give the thing the same name, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls it Carlo behind our backs” he just knows that Geppetto learned his lesson about giving the puppets the same names, considering what happened to his wife.

Conrad starts talking about how Pinocchio is a marvel of technology, something that proves how far puppet creation can go, something that breaks all the norms and all the limits, no puppet ever created by anyone else has come even close to Pinocchio, hell not even halfway there.

“And Geppetto uses it to play happy family? What a waste”

“It is a shame” Frederick doesn’t care about puppets at all but he has to play along.

“But it has always been obvious not sure why only some have started it to point it out now” Conrad takes a sip of his drink, “That other puppet, what was its name? Yeah Romeo”

Frederick is very aware of who Romeo is or rather was. Geppetto was so overprotective, he wouldn’t let any alchemists near it, hell he wouldn’t let anyone with any association with the alchemists get close to the puppet. He even heard that not even Valentinus despite the close friendship and despite how Valentinus allowed Romeo to attend school alongside Carlo.

“That puppet was so impressive as well and what did he use it for? To give Carlo a playmate obviously” It frustrated Conrad, he is a man who values technological advancement, a man that believes machines should have a purpose, to serve, to make things easier for humans and not exist for ridiculous things like that.

“I heard a rumor that Carlo married the thing before he passed away” Conrad rolled his eyes, “I mean it was obvious that Carlo was a faggot but I didn’t think he was also that type of degenerate”

Frederick is a man of high society, Geppetto’s son was well known by everyone, even by the common people. He had that infamous reputation of being a troublemaker, but also in some circles, there was the speculation that he “enjoyed the company of men”. The boy never had a girlfriend, he was handsome yet he rejected a few girls his age. It’s not illegal to be a homosexual in Krat like in many other places yet it’s not exactly well seen by most. Neither by Frederick, humans are supposed to reproduce to advance the human race, that kind of behavior only slows down valuable progress.

Conrad gave out a sigh “But the first and biggest red flag was when Camille passed and he built that puppet”

Camille, Frederick is even more knowledgeable about her, after all, he is the one who tore her apart to find the secret of why she awoke an Ego.

—-

“You are telling me this puppet became sentient?” Frederick was having a hard time believing it, “And how exactly did that happen?”

“That’s what we want you to figure out” Paracelsus had been the one tasked with explaining to Frederick what he is duty would be.

Frederick began to read the report, a puppet maid tasked with caring for a young boy, while she was making a meal he accidentally bumped into her while playing, the boiling water would have fallen onto him but she pushed him away, getting burned in the progress. Something that was not in her programming.

“She has only been around for a few months and she bonded with the child that quickly? Actually, can puppets even bond with people?” By that time Frederick had less of an idea of how they worked.

Paracelsus gave Frederick a few notes, “Apparently the Ergo of the puppet was made from the child’s mother”

“That’s oddly specific”

“Geppetto’s wife, he made the puppet himself using her Ergo”

Interesting, “And why me and not someone else?”

“Valentinus is busy and Simon and his followers are too busy planning things behind the man’s back”

“And you?” Frederick knows that Paracelsus isn’t supposed to be doing anything important right now.

“I’m making a new weapon, and I’ve been too busy with that”

Sometimes Frederick finds it hard to believe that Paracelsus can wield a weapon, considering how meek he looks and due to his playful demeanor but he can’t deny that the weapons he has made are very effective.

“I doubt anything interesting will come out of this but I have nothing better to do at the moment”

Send. Me. Back. To. My. Child.

The puppet kept repeating that over and over again, it was annoying, he ended up destroying her voicebox so that she wouldn’t distract him any longer, but he was proven wrong when he thought nothing interesting would come out of this. It showed the true power of Ergo, it showed the powerstone of life.

Everyone was delighted by this discovery and he expected to be praised by it. Not reprimanded.

“Did you really have to take her apart like that?” Valentinus asked as he was sent to his office, “Not just the puppet’s body but her Ergo?” Frederick was rather crude in his process, not caring about the machine that he completely broke. It was all for the sake of research.

“Of course I had to you know that” Frederick was looking around Valentinus's office, maybe the cleaners don’t get paid enough because dust is already accumulating, and it’s starting to bother him just being here.

Valentinus sighs, “Geppetto is a good friend but he is furious at me and Simon”

Frederick wasn’t paying attention to the rest of what Valentinus was saying, the uncleanliness was so much that he even started cleaning the place himself.

Valentinus was a good man, he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and he knows how Frederick has his strange obsession with cleanliness maybe it’s best he leaves.

“Frederick I appreciate the help but… never mind you are dismissed”

—-

“He even built her a statue in her name, how absurd” Conrad couldn't believe it all those years ago and he still can't believe it now, “Does he not realize how weird it is for everyone else? His wife dies and he builds a puppet, then his son dies and he builds a puppet and wants to pretend that’s normal?”

“Yes I heard of that, it does seem like Geppetto has a problem when it comes to losing loved ones, denial is a powerful thing” Frederick tapped his fingers on the table, “Does the man suspect anything of the disruption crystals?”

“He has no idea, the subdirector Harvey, he did try to investigate but I covered our tracks”

Frederick raised an eyebrow at that.

“Don’t worry, the man is too trusting, he was satisfied with a normal excuse and lies about where those shipments are going” Conrad did find out who was selling the crystals to that bakery and fired them immediately, “As for the ones in the Opera House, those are crystals that were supplied for a play legally, just that some idiot must have forgotten to get rid of them properly” That wasn't their problem so not something they had to worry about.

“Hopefully that’s the case, it would be a shame if all this research got wasted for something so simple as that”

“Speaking of, how is your research going?” Conrad has been intrigued since the first time he learned, in a way he believes he and Frederick are similar, he wants to push the limits of what a machine can do, and Frederick can push the limits of what a human can do. He was sold on the idea of finding a way to prolong life.

Although truthfully Conrad has no true idea of what he is contributing to, just the surface and he certainly has no idea of all the horrible things Frederick and his followers have done.

“Better than expected and for your support I’ll make sure that once everything is set in place you get to treat yourself to the fruits of our efforts” It’s not a complete lie, unlike Simon he isn’t dumb enough to get rid of every asset he has due to paranoia but he will delay as much as he can and not give him a proper version of the power of the stone.

Frederick looked at the clock, they still had a little more time to talk.

“Sorry for bringing him up again” Frederick doesn’t want to sound too obvious of his motives, “But the reason Geppetto has been in my mind, is I’ve seen him recently”

Only a few glances here and there, as Frederick has seen Geppetto in the waiting room for a collage of his, Conrad is right, Geppetto has issues since he knows that doctor is a psychiatrist.

“Don’t blame you for thinking about him, just like Venigni everyone talks about him and mostly positive things despite not being deserved” Conrad really hates those two, “If only I could prove how incompetent he truly is”

“Mmm,” Frederick thought out loud.

“What? Is something in your mind?”

“Oh no please forgive me, just remembering when I caught a glimpse of him, he goes to the hospital for some appointments, not with me however” Frederick was smiling he had the perfect idea.

“I had no idea he was having health issues” Conrad was surprised, Geppetto looked well for his age.

Frederick put his hand on Conrad’s shoulder, “You did not hear it from me, however, Geppetto’s doctor is the last one in the hall on the 4th floor”

A little something for Conrad to investigate and put two and two together.

Meanwhile Blue was wandering around the mansion, although the place already looked like it had been given a deep cleaning she decided to clean what she could as her client likes it when she does this for him, and while doing this, she heard one of the windows of the house being open, strange, no one else is supposed to be here right now, and upon closer inspection, someone had broken inside the home, Blue wasted no time in restraining them, it was easy as this person was only carrying a knife as a weapon, a knife he tried throwing at her but she used her lantern shield to deflect it.

“What is going on here?” Frederick demanded an explanation.

Conrad wasted no time in leaving already, just mentioning that he hoped to see him soon again.

“I know you are up to something Garret!” A woman was shouting, “The papers might try to silence me but I know the truth!”

“Great a yellow journalist” Frederick waved his hand, “Miss. Cassandra call the police and get rid of her”

“Yes sir” Blue did as she was told, the woman said nothing to her, no trying to convince her of whatever she was looking for, she didn't try to warn her about anything, she just kept quiet, it was odd so Blue assumed that she truly was just a yellow journalist, her family had to deal with one of those once, they broke into their home because they wanted “proof” of an affair because her and two other sisters don't look at all like their father, obviously they all don't look like exact copies of their mother or father that's how genetics work.

Still, this is too strange, the other day someone came to the doctor's office and began to threaten him and she had to intervene, she was outside when that happened so she entered the door quickly, she couldn't hear what that was about, she did hear the word Ergo, the man also mentioned how they used to work together before; yesterday someone was following them and she had to deal with that as well. But she is the one who wanted more action in her job, so maybe this is what she gets for asking.

According to the doctor, it is because he is a public figure and many don't like how he is doing for others. He is an excellent doctor, by most considered the best in Krat, even if he can be a little weird behind closed doors.

The police came and went, taking the woman away with them and the two of them were alone again.

“Good job” Frederick was praising her, “Specially for the cleaning perhaps you are better suited for being a maid or one to stay in the household, you clearly know what spots are the ones that get truly dirty and I assure you any man would love a quality like that one in a woman”

“Um… thank you?” It looked like the doctor didn't know what he could be implying when he said that.

“The maids don't work today, so if you could help me clean the rest of this place I'd appreciate it”

Well, he is paying her extra when she cleans and she doesn't mind it at all, so she does what he tells her, the doctor does seem to have some issues with it comes to what he thinks is “dirty” but well, more things to do for her. As she cleans the place, she moves around a few things there are many shelves filled with notebooks, all completely full, she doesn’t know how he can write so much, but she accidentally drops a notebook and a small desk decoration of a horse, she goes to pick it up, she knows she shouldn't read it but curiosity gets the best of her.

—--𖦹—--

The Stone of Transmutation

The mythical stone has been set to have many properties, the one that has been more sought searched for is transmutation, more specifically to create more gold, a valuable asset in medical studies and a resource that is hard to get.

But it can do more than just that, it has the key to something even greater, but the problem always lies in others assuming the form of the stone, why is no one bothering to form one? Do they believe it will magically again its shape? Unlike them, I will not wait for the stone to appear, that is something only dreamers do, I will make the stone myself.

It just needs a vessel, a condensed vessel that has to be turned into the stone but it has to have a proper form first, and once all of the ingredients are set then the stone can finally be in my grasp.

I already have the Ergo and the crystals and soon enough my listener, the only thing left is to perfect her power. —--𖦹—--

“Miss.Cassandra” Frederick spoke behind her.

Oh no, quick, think of something.

“I accidentally dropped this while cleaning, my apologies” Blue set the notebook in place but kept the decorative horse, “I got distracted by this, how lovely, did you know that Shire horses are the biggest horse breed?”

Frederick was not amused, “Do you want it? It's only there accumulating dust on that shelf”

“Oh, I can't accept this-”

“No, no no take it, I insist” The less mess his home has the better.

“Thank you so much” Blue was smiling, she didn't get caught and she got a nice gift.

“I must leave now, I am dismissing you, I was tasked to help with a surgery, it will take many hours and this is a medical matter, you cannot be there with me”

He has to see how his experiments are going and he is always well-guarded in the labs, no need for her assistance. Not to mention how he has been working nonstop on the girl, losing sleep in the process, not even the smallest of flaws will be tolerated.

Blue simply nodded and left, she should go to the stables and see if she could help there, is that or going to that fancy ball with her family and she isn't in the mood for that.

—

Pinocchio was petting his pony, things had been really tough lately, and going to see her was a good idea to cheer him up.

He did apologize to his father about the other day, he knows that it's not his fault that his coworkers say things behind his back. His father said that it was okay, that he understood that he wasn't feeling well, and that Arlcchino showing up to torment them only made everything worse.

“Do you think I can ride her?” Gemini has always wanted to ever since Pinocchio got her.

“Of course! That's a great idea!” Pinocchio was so excited for Gemini. He carefully placed him on top of the pony and Applejack began to slowly walk around outside the stable.

“Pinocchio we need to get me a cowboy outfit as soon as possible” Gemini was enjoying himself too much.

“I keep spending my allowance on buying things for you”

“Aren't we best friends?”

“Yes but I also want to buy my own things and its not only you, Sophia is also my best friend”

“Thank you” Pinocchio heard her voice from inside.

“What are you doing now Sophia?” Pinocchio said out loud, even if he could have just used his mind, he wanted to keep Gemini in the conversation.

“Tell her I say hi!” Gemini shouted from on top of the pony.

“Gemini says hi” Pinocchio can feel his heart pounding.

“Oh just relaxing, Krat has been on my mind, hopefully, you are safe and sound” Sophia was lying in the bed of her current hotel room, her last sightseeing was a little exhausting: her gears started to sound loudly she got worried because some people were nearby questioning where that noise was coming from.

Pinocchio then starts to wonder, Sophia knows a lot about Ergo, maybe she can tell him information about those notes in the notebook he found.

“I can try to see if I can understand them,” Sophia said, “When you have time, open it and show me the page, I will see what I can do”

“Thank you” Pinocchio was grateful that no matter how far she is, Sophia always helps.

After a few more minutes, they made their way back, Pinocchio leaving the pony back at the stable, giving lots of pets to Applejack before leaving, but as they were close to the exit someone riding a horse made their way towards them.

“Good to see you again!” Blue was excited to see Pinocchio again, she got off her horse and stood next to him, “I heard about what you did at the Opera House, great job!”

Pinocchio was playing with his air, “Oh it was nothing”

“You seem to be a skilled fighter, would you mind sparring with me?” Blue had nothing better to do and sparring sounded like a great idea.

Pinocchio was carrying Misericors and he welcomed using his weapon without being in any real danger, so he agreed, both of them going into a place where the vast field was deserted.

Blue plays more defensively, her lantern shield covering from her attacks, but Pinocchio is a worthy challenger so she uses the trick of her shield, reflecting the light of the sun into Pinocchio’s eyes blinding him for a moment, and putting her rapier blade next to his chest, but not actually touching it.

“I win” Blue was smiling.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Pinocchio rubbed his eyes, it wasn't fair.

“That’s the point of the shield, to blind your opponents silly” Blue gently touched Pinocchio’s forehead with two fingers, “At least you know the trick, play around it if we ever spar again”

“Oh my, look who we found here”

Both of them turned around and saw that it was The Red Fox who said that, her brother next to her.

“We obviously expected to see you here Blue, but it’s a pleasant surprise to see you here as well Pinocchio” Red Fox was smiling under her mask.

“What are you guys doing here?” Blue was a little confused but hoped they had come to see her.

“To see you of course,” Black Cat said but then laughed, “Just kidding client business”

“Brother don’t be rude”

“Just teasing her, nothing serious”

“Client business?” Blue had no idea what they were referring to.

Black Cat got closer to Blue and patted her shoulder “Our client thinks that your daddy is rigging those horse races”

Blue raised an eyebrow “So you guys are detectives now?”

“No, but we needed the money, can’t afford to miss the rent in our new office” Black Cat was doubtful about accepting the job but money is money.

“Plus we know that you could help us with that” Red Fox said elegantly, “We know your family is not like that and you might have the proof that”

Blue looked relieved, “My father owns the horse track but not the horses that participate, I can show you guys some of the documents”

They have strict policies to prevent things like that from happening, very restrictive rules, that's the reason no races have ever been rigged, if they suspect that there is even the slightest chance of it happening, a full investigation is launched.

“So that person just has bad luck?” Pinocchio thought that it sounded dumb to think races like that were rigged even if he didn’t know much about horses.

Black Cat now moved next to Pinocchio and pulled him in for a shoulder hug, “Look our brother is so smart”

He had expected Pinocchio to just let go of him quickly but that didn’t happen and Pinocchio pulled him for a big hug.

“Okay, I’m happy to see you too but that’s too much hugging for a day” Black Cat was getting suffocated, Pinocchio must have forgotten his strength.

“Brother don’t ruin the moment,” Red Fox said, then she turned to look at Blue, “We would be really grateful if you could help us out, we could even give you a cut of the money”

“Oh no no guys that’s too much and the doctor pays me well” Sometimes she feels the doctor has more money than he knows what to use it for, each time she is outside with him he buys so many cleaning supplies and so many notebooks as well.

“Great more for us” Black Cat was happy about that.

“Money isn’t everything” Pinocchio poked him so that he would get the message.

“Brother he is right and you know it” Red Fox has a serious tone.

Black Cat looked away for a second, his sister left her family because of him, they are true siblings, but the Volfe’s refused to accept that, accept that their father had an affair, she could have just left him, abandoned him like everyone else had done until that point, but she refused, she left a life of luxury for him.

“Sorry, looks like I’m not as funny as I thought”

“You are right about that” Gemini chirped from his cage.

“What did you say you dumb cricket?!” Black Cat shouted and huffed.

“Dude, you are beefing with a cricket, calm down” Blue was teasing him now.

“Hey, Gemini is more than a cricket he is my friend!” Pinocchio knows that they are joking but he has to remind them.

“Would love to keep chatting but Pinocchio we have to leave, it’s getting late” Gemini knows that they got too carried away, and twilight is starting to be seen in the sky.

Pinocchio waved them all goodbye, saying that he hoped to see them again soon.

“You know I would love to properly hang out with him one day” Red Fox gave out a sigh, “Invite him to eat or something along those lines”

“He can eat?” Blue may know Pinocchio but he doesn’t know him that well, but they explain to her that they heard it from Pinocchio that he can.

“Wow, he is more special than I thought” Blue wondered how else Pinocchio is different if only she knew all the crazy details.

“So Blue how are things with doc?” Black Cat was playing with his weapon, feeling bored.

“Everything is going swell, a little more exciting recently”

“Mmm really? The doctor is the center of a lot of attention so I can see it” Red Fox waved her hand so that her brother would stop playing with his weapon, “Everyone always sings praises about him”

Black Cat stopped “Yeah, I heard he is bisexual but with his hands”

Red Fox facepalmed, she couldn’t believe him sometimes.

“…yes the doctor is ambidextrous” Blue has seen him get tired of writing with one hand and switching to the other, he writes a lot of stuff in general, she knows that he is a also researcher so it must be because of that.

“I do wish I had another client”

“Are you still concerned about it not being too exciting?” Red Fox was ready to give a speech about how that’s not the point of being a stalker.

“No, I just feel like he isn’t the kind of person he says he is” After today she definitely has a weird feeling around him.

“I see” Red Fox got serious again, “Sorry to ruin the chat, but if you could help us out”

“Oh right! Follow me guys”

——

The house phone was ringing and Venigni felt like he was going to have a panic attack. Each time that phone rings he feels dread, Pulcinella is the one to answer all phone calls because he can’t do it.

That monster is out there again, worse is that the last body that was found was placed in his parent's graves. He is taunting him, treating this as some sort of game, worse is that because of where they were found rumors and gossip started, rumors about his parents.

Pulcinella answers the phone and it’s not him, but Venigni feels as if he is going crazy like he isn’t safe in his own home. Because Arlecchino knows where he lives and he can just break in like he did all those years ago, he can-

“Master Venigni”

Pulcinella snapped him out of his trance.

“Yes?” Venigni is someone who can talk and talk for hours but at this moment just saying those simple words is too much.

“If this is too much for you, perhaps it would be best if the young master-”

“No no no, please let's not involve Pinocchio anymore in this” Venigni knows how Pinocchio was already put in danger, his rational brain knows how capable the boy is but at this moment his emotions are running too high and he is afraid that he would be hurt.

Pulcinella stays quiet for a few moments, it pains him to see him like this and he would rather avoid causing him more stress, however, a letter that arrived in the mail is of utmost importance.

“You remember Miss. Belle correctly?”

“Yes, I remember her” Venigni was starting to compose himself, “How could I forget her? I think she left an impression on all of us”

Pulcinella handed him the letter; Belle talked about the decoded message Pinocchio gave her a while back, how that led her to more clues and left her to this.

“It came with this cryptic vessel”

Belle trusts Venigni and she knows his capabilities, that’s why she sends this to him, stressful as this is, he won’t allow Arlecchino to keep getting away with this or anyone else for that matter.

Venigni deciphers it quickly, which leads him to more clues, this will take a while, this is a massive web he is willing to untangle, this time he won’t be a coward and talk be game, he will do something about this before it’s too late.

[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

[retvenkos]

to dance among the stars | c.b.

Bridgerton - Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, fluff requested by @musicallisto

tw: talk of marriage

word count: 1.4k

prompt: “Dance with me?”

A/N: I started writing.... forgot i had a prompt to fit in... decided to just keep going and hope for the best.  i feel like that meme “it’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

Summary: (Y/n) hated dances and balls, but if there was anyone who could change their mind, it would be Colin Bridgerton.

(Y/n) laughed into the clear night air, throwing her head back in blissful happiness, unaware of the way that Colin Bridgerton looked at her - as though his whole life was in her smile. A clement wind greeted the two on their stroll, allowing the music from the nearby ball to drift toward them, a sound much more soft and inviting now that there was distance between the two and the dance floor.

“You, Colin, will be the death of me,” (Y/n) said, her words like a happy sigh, a gentle ending to her enjoyment of his presence.

“The death of you? I thought I heroically saved you from having to entertain suitors all evening,” he teased, straightening his jacket dramatically, as though they were in one of (Y/n)’s novels - the kind with epic romances and gruesome battles. (Y/n) scoffed, swatting him on the shoulder. “I am your knight in shining armor, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes—” Colin chuckled, earning a smile “—but I saved you from your mother. She’s been looking for a project now that Daphne’s entertaining the prince, is she not?”

“My mother is always looking for something.” Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I won’t be properly saved until I marry some girl from the ton.”

“Oh.” Colin’s words ushered in an awkward lapse of silence that had both of them turning away from each other, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. They slowed their walk to a stop, and the breeze drifted between them, as though pushing them apart.

It was silly that something like a wayward comment could reduce them to silence, but the future lay within that statement - a future fast approaching and terrifying in its weight. The ton was designed for marriage. Here, at these balls and parties, both of them were supposed to find someone to marry - to bind themselves to another for the rest of their lives.

Another couple walked past the two and (Y/n) watched them go, disappearing into the evening - perhaps to dance among the stars.

“Well... is there someone who’s caught your eye?” (Y/n) fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. Colin had always been a flirt, and his romantic tendencies had always been something (Y/n) both admired and teased, and yet to know if his heart truly lied with one of them was the very thing she wanted least. Being out here with Colin - away from everyone else and anything that might stand between them - was the only thing that made the ton worthwhile. All else paled in comparison to these moments seemingly stolen from the flow of time, where they were two souls together, walking the same path for a brief while, hearts close enough to touch.

To have them be taken away would be too much of a heartache. Worse than anything she could fathom.

Colin looked at (Y/n) with his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, (Y/n) took hold of the conversation once more.

“Perhaps Marina Thompson? She was quite popular before she fell ill. Will you be the one to ask for her hand, at the end of the season?”

“Miss Thompson is a fine girl, but... no.” (Y/n) looked up abruptly and met Colin’s blinking stare. Even when baffled there was something light about him - kind and caring - it tugged on her heart more than she cared to admit. “I would much rather wait than make a hasty match.”

“Hasty?” (Y/n) stifled a laugh, the mature word - not at all like the Colin she knew - bringing humor back into the conversation. Colin was forcing down a blush, his cheeks warming in color, like roses beneath his skin.

“I just mean I want to love my wife before we get married, instead of having to force feelings after the fact.”

(Y/n) smiled, taking a step closer to lock arms with Colin once more. “I hope you get to.”

The two resumed their walk, never going too far from the festivities to be considered improper, but managing to stay well away from anyone else. Colin admired the way that (Y/n) looked under the night sky - her beauty something wholly unique to her, and yet perfectly matched to the darkening sky. In the light of her eyes lay all the beauty of the cosmos, and in her smile lay all the thrills of the world. All the universe was captured in her essence, and Colin knew that all of his longing for travel could be satiated with a single touch; a kiss from (Y/n) could carry all of the wonders of the world, and no matter how many times he visited her touch, he would never lose his wanderlust.

(Y/n) fixed him with a look, as though they could sense that his thoughts rested with them.

Colin cleared his throat. It was one thing to care for (Y/n) - it was quite another to admit he had fallen in love. “What about you? Surely you’ve found a suitor who is the least bit exciting?”

“They think themselves exciting, if that is answer enough,” (Y/n) sighed, looking at Colin through the corner of her eye. “But truly Colin, having to entertain them is the worst part about these dances.”

"Even worse than dancing? I know you avoid getting out on the floor like it’s the plague.”

“Because when you’re on the dance floor, you’re trapped! That’s when entertaining suitors is at its worst.” Colin chuckled at (Y/n)’s words. “If I had a choice, I would come to these balls and the only man I would dance with is you.”

“Me?”

(Y/n) nodded.

Colin paused and they drew to a halt so he could better marvel at the woman before him. “If you had your choice in the matter, wouldn’t you rather avoid the dance floor altogether?” 

“No,” (Y/n) said, dipping her head with a look that said she had spoken too much but was too fond of what she said, and not keen on taking it back. “I suppose I would like to dance with you.”

You’d dance with me?”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, I know you enjoy it.” 

And around them, the world was hushed. The voices and sounds of the nearby ball were drowned out by the thumping of their hearts. Colin looked at (Y/n) and saw them so clearly, he was almost taken aback. How could one be so beautiful that their existence shamed a sky full of stars?

“Dance with me, then?”

He spoke before he acted, but it wasn’t long before his hand was outstretched, waiting for (Y/n) to take it.

“Right here?” But her hand was already resting in his, her smile bright and warm. "There's no music."

"Then come a few steps this way." Colin pulled her a few paces closer to the ball.��(Y/n) chuckled as Colin tugged on her arm, guiding them nearer. He put a finger on his lips to shush her, causing (Y/n) to roll her eyes, smiling all the while. The soft lilt of music was slightly louder, here, but still distant enough that they had to be silent to hear the beat. Colin took a step closer, and although there were still enough space between them and enough bystanders around for their actions to be considered proper, there was an intimacy in the moment to make (Y/n)’s cheeks heat up.

"Is it loud enough for you to hear?” Colin whispered.

"It's perfect."

Adjusting his hand in hers, Colin led (Y/n) into a dance, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as lovestruck. His entire being was in awe of her as they spun around each other, like the moon in orbit of the earth. There was something heavenly in (Y/n)’s eyes, and when the song ended, the light in them did not fade.

“I love you,” Colin breathed, the words falling out of his mouth before he had the time to realize he had said them. It was the purest of admissions, one he hadn’t planned or even dreamed of admitting until the very moment he said it. “I-I love you,” he repeated, as though he needed to affirm the truth.

“Colin, I love you, too.” And all the world was in their smile, once again, all of the universe seemingly wrapped up in their blissful words. 

Colin let out a laugh that was almost a joyful sigh, and in his eyes were stars - constellations that burned brighter than the sun. He took (Y/n)’s gloved hand and kissed it, wishing it could be something more.

“Perhaps you will dance with me more often, then.”

“At every ball we attend.”

  -- taglist: @findmeintheafterglow, @prttybitchin​ // message me if you want to be added!

[meat-pvppet]

A Chemist Past His Due (TW for Gun Violence and Gore)

If you were to describe today, it would be a train wreck. More than that actually. A disaster. 

Yes, that's how the man would describe it. The rainy night weighed heavy on the chemist's eyelids, the building silent and empty-- well, mostly. 

Hank Hyde replays the day over and over in his weary head, packing up his things from his office--or what was previously his office-- as a terse thin line played on his lips. He mumbled to himself as he looked over the office that was no longer for him to use, and a mix of frustration and shame settled into his stomach.

He couldn't believe the indignity of it all! He was fired. Just before he could finish his magnum opus. A sour taste develops in his mouth as he thinks of those indignant spoiled twins; to make him work day and night...for nothing, it felt unfair. And yet...he feels he could have finished it sooner. Faster. Maybe if he had finished the serum, Hank could've kept the job. Maybe if he had finished fast enough, Radigan would be in Hyde's position--not like he thought the man deserved it, but considering how the Mann brothers are...maybe, maybe...but he relents. Now is too late to muse over what could have been.

With a sigh, he takes up all his personal belongings and heads to the laboratory. As he walked, he brought his left hand up to his face, burnt and gnarled from clumsy spills at around this time of night. Had he really sacrificed so many precious seconds of his own life to extend the life of two feuding brothers? And for what? Money? Hank didn't want to think about it, pressure just behind his eyes building as a headache started to settle in. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's probably not that bad to be fired from Mann Co. Someone else should be interested in his project, surely. Who wouldn't want to live forever? 

The man pauses for just a second at that thought.

One beat. Two. Three...

Would being able to live forever really be something one would want? What about those around them? Those they love? They'd be forced to watch them all wither away, so what was the point of it all?

...Five. Six-

Hank coughs, that's quite enough philosophical internal monologs...

And with that, Hyde continues his trek to the laboratory.Busting through the sterile white double doors, he walks straight to his unfinished masterpiece. A grin crept its way up his features as he came upon it. It was none other than a glinting amber liquid, shining in its clear vial as the chemist inspects it for visual imperfections. Lovely and clear still. Wonderful. He mused over his creation for a moment. The serum, in theory, works by stimulating rapid cell reproduction, keeping one’s body from aging and eliminating the risk of organ failure. A marvellous concept really. A comfortable warmth settle in his chest, pride flowing freely into his blood as he packed the vial away.

Who cared if he was now unemployed? He has his current research and work. He can show some other big shots the miracle elixir he's made. He'd be able to squeeze funding out of any power hungry son of a bitch to develop whatever he wanted. This thought cheers him up significantly, already making up a plan to market himself and his work as he happily tucks away several other suspiciously vialed liquids. He had bought them himself with the money that was given to him so it was, by all accounts, his (and even if it wasn't, were those dimwit brothers going to care?). 

He worked his ass off for that job. He was working on the serum, mostly on his own seeing as he did not trust those around him. And if he did, he would dare say that fat pigs would fly. By all accounts, he deserved to keep the work and research he has poured years of his life into. A bit before Radigan Conagher was on board. Not to say he was in bad terms with the man, no. There was a mutual understanding; they were working for the brothers, working to the same miracle. Radigan had worked just as hard as Hank did, yet the latter of the two was being kicked off the project. It still pisses him off. Obviously it would. 

Hank tries not to let it dampen his mood as he carefully, methodically arranged the fragile vials in a bag. Wouldn't want them to break and mix together into something completely unusable, he thinks.

Satisfied with how he has packed his things, he checks the time on his worn watch. He looks disapprovingly down at its face as it reads '12:50 AM'. He probably should get going...

With a roll of his shoulder and a pop of his spine, he grabs what he's packed and starts for the exit. Looking down the staircase, he stares daggers into the steps as if they would become any easier to climb all the way down. He was carrying some pretty hefty and fragile luggage, plus he was rather tired, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. He didn't have the patience to appreciate such obstacle at 12:54 AM after getting fired.

With a drag of his feet, he goes down the winding stairwell. "You do, because you must" says a distant memory. That damned phrase--it always gets him into things he didn't want to do. But he must. So he does.

And so, Hank Hyde has a rather tiresome climb down the staircase, careful as he carries his precious belongings. Down. Down. Down...

And the crisp air of the night spray wakes him up. Finally outside, he sets his bags down and huffs just a bit. A little roll of his shoulders and neck, then it's time to get back to taking everything away from his ungrateful ex-employer. It was a long way to go until he gets back to the private clinic that he called home. He checks how hard the rain was pouring down. A pleasant, soft, and chilling drip hits his skin as he holds his hand out. He think he could probably do without an umbrella as he took to his bags and started a careful jog. 

It was refreshing. The rain, cool on his skin as it beats softly against him. It reminds him that he is, in fact, alive. That he was there, in the moment. Sure, the moment was that of Hank Hyde running through the light drizzle with heavy bags on either sides of his stoat frame after getting fired from the most luxurious job he's had until then. It did not change the feeling though. The feeling that he is very much there and real. 

Hank thrives there. In the now. No worries of the past or future. Just, what was happening now. And what WAS happening now is a brisk walk home to a stiff bed that he would disappear in if he could. God he's tired.

Familiar buildings pass him by as he comes upon his workshop of sorts. "Hyde Pharmaceutical" the sign greeted, the Rod of Asclepius just underneath. Finally, he breathes. He stands on the porch, out of the rain and out of the cold. He unlocks the door and enters, breathing in the familiar scent of cleaning solution and old paper. 

The storefront was simple, with glass cabinets filled with various medicines from vitamins to ointments to pills of all uses. In front of him, a counter with a glass window, showcasing more products. Atop it was a scale, papers, pens, and a small cash register, while behind it was another large glass cabinet and a locked door. He unlocks the counter shutters and settles his bags down to study the table. Nice and tidy as usual, not even a bit of dust left on the counter. Not a thing out of place.

With a slight quirk of his lip, he takes up his bags again and comes up to another door. Unlocking it reveals the short staircase up to his study that doubled as his bedroom. Quickly, like a thief in the night, he dashed up the steps.

It was dark in the room, but he was familiar enough with it to find his place within the shadows. Desks of various apparatuses, vials, papers, and books line the left wall to greet him. His writing desk, with his chair still pushed in, sat with its side to the window. A bed lies on the opposite side of the desks. A soft blanket contrasts the rigid mattress. 

The air is heavy with old paper and iron. A tired sigh is all that breaks the silence as he settles his baggage by the door. He rolls his shoulders and his neck, pops his spine, and stretches his arms. He can finally rest, perhaps make some tea for himself...if bills allowed him. He could probably ponder over having a bath--

Knock...knock...knock--

A groan falls from his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose, irritated. Who in their right mind was at his door at this time of night.

"Who is it?!", he calls from up the stairs as he comes down. "Whatever you want, it better be an emer--"

BANG! BANG!

Shock and a pause. His ears are ringing. A sharp white hot burning pain punches through two different points in his abdomen. Hank stumbles back a bit, his hands flailing to put pressure on one point. He lets out a hiss as moisture starts to seep through his shirt. Blood falls from his lips. His eyes fall upon an unfamiliar men, dressed in a black hat and matching coats. He can't quite see their faces due to the lowlight of the night, but he can make out the red ribbon on the man's hat. He stumbles back, and hits the wall. It feels like hell. Those lousy brothers, he thinks, the audacity of those two is astounding. More blood. 

Ah, wait a moment. Voices...

"--Mann didn't want you slippin' away, Hyde!" The man had a cocksure grin on his face as he pocketed his pistol. 

"Nothing personal, doc, but a job's a job, and I'm not gonna slip up like last time!"

The shadow of a man laughed as he walked out of the door. "Redmond Mann send their regards."

Bastard. The lot of them.

Hank's legs seem to give once they leave, body moving to sliding against the wall to sit on the wooden flooring. Shit, he hissed to no one. He has at least a minute or two before he dies of blood loss. His head is reeling, trying to find something that could help from his position. He has bandages upstairs but the internal damage is too far gone for him to take care of it himself, and help isn't coming at...he checks his watch, splattered with blood. 1:34 AM. 

He doesn't have a lot of options here. Hissing, he tries to clamber up the steps. If he's going to die, he should at least try to prolong his time until then. Blood is sticky and warm on his cold hands as he tries to stand upright, still holding onto one of his wounds. His body protests the movement, but he has to push on. Sticky burgundy handprints start to line the wall as he goes up the seemingly never ending stairs, mumbling expletives and threats down at his feet as if they were going to move faster. 

Once he finally reaches his study again, he stumbles past the bags he left on the floor, sitting on his bed before his legs give out under him. He looks down to assess the damage. His shirt was soaked and there are two points of entry. Right lumbar. Right inguinal. The bullets are still lodged deep in his body and he's losing a lot of blood, making the man uncomfortably chilly at his core. Reaching for the bed side table, he pulls out a medical kit. He doesn't have much time left until he falls unconscious from the blood loss.

Unbuttoning the now ruined shirt, he quickly took bandages and started wrapping them around his lower half. His body protests the movement, the pain seemingly renewed, as he hisses at the empty night air. "You do, because you must" the memory now screams as tears prick his eyes. 

He must try. Stay awake, just for a little while longer, he thought. His bed seems to creak as he tries to lean back and relax. His head is heavy as his mind wanders to the sheets. They are stained with dark vermillion, sticky and ruined. Everything around him, dirtied with his own blood. Red trail from the stairwell, to his bed. Disgusting.  He would start cleaning if his body didn't punish him for moving ever so slightly. The blood dripping from his lips seems to stick to his tongue. 

God, the metallic taste is overwhelming. 

But he needs to keep his eyes open. Black starts to dot his vision. The claws of sleep tries to take it's hold on him. He's so tempted to just rest, sink into his soft, ruined sheets. 

Unconsciously, he shifts and lays with a fuumf of the sheet, eyes to the ceiling. If he remembered to lock the door, perhaps he wouldn't be in such a pathetic position...or perhaps the door would've been part of the casualties. Blinking once, twice, thrice...he tries to breath, tries to calm his heart. He's shaking from the cold and the pain as his consciousness starts to slip from under him. He could hear a far away tap, tap, tap of heels on wood as sleep finally wins him over.

One beat...Two...Three...Fou...r...Fi...v...

Hank gasps awake, choking on air. He's panicking, throat burning and heart practically pounding out of his chest. His thoughts are racing much too fast. Was all of that a nightmare? A figment of his imagination?

As he looks around he finds the very real messy dry blood trail from stairs to bed is present, real. He feels for his stomach and finds the coarse texture of bandages wrapped around his abdomen. There was dried blood all over the sheets under him. This made no sense to the chemist. How is he still--

"Good evening, Doctor Hyde. Finally awake I see." an unfamiliar feminine voice calls from his desks. Nearly jumping out of his own skin, Hank turns to the woman, blowing smoke out of the window to her side. She seems to be wearing a dark dress that reached all the way down to her feet. Her hair was neatly tied into a sophisticated bun. Dark, save for her greying bangs. 

"Who--" 

"It will save much more time if you do not question who I am. It does not concern you. What you ought to be concerned about is the effectiveness of your serum."

The man blinks at the strange woman as she takes a drag of her cigarette. His serum? Hyde pauses for a moment until realization hits him upside the back of his head. His serum.

"So it worked...", Hyde let it sink in. It worked. A quiet chuckle bubbles out of his throat, quickly evolving into something strange and giddy. Pride warms his body, a glint of pure wild determination in his eyes. He was more than elated at this development. So his work wasn't for nothing! What a breakthrough! The man couldn't wait to share this with colleagues, show them that his research has been proven and that his serum worked-- 

"So it did, Doctor Hyde."

His attention snaps back to the woman, who pinches her cigarette between her slender fingers carefully. Her face is lit by nothing but the dim moon and the burning tobacco stick in her hands. She seems to be pleased.

"Now, I would like to propose to you an offer", she turns in her seat to face him with what seems to be a smile. 

[bye-bye-miss-american-pie]

Unpopular opinions on MCU and its fandom ;)

Ahhh this is a hard one! Friendly reminder to take my opinions with a grain of salt. (Edit: this turned out to be long)

On the MCU: Phase Four was a mistake. When the MCU was just about Infinity Stones and the OG Avengers, it was easier to keep a coherent universe and avoid plot holes. Most of the times the problems were just “Where were the Avengers during this world-ending crisis in this stand-alone movie?” or “Why didn’t they use this in that movie?” But now, the world-building of the MCU has become too complicated for directors/writers to create new movies that both offer something new and follow in-universe rules. The Blip. Thanos. Time travel. The legacy of Stark Industries and the Avengers. Post-Endgame MCU isn’t just “the modern-day world with superheroes in it” anymore, but somehow Marvel always ignores this! Yes, we want to see more Peter Parker and Doctor Strange and Thor; and yes, there are still events from the comics (like Secret Wars) that they can adapt, but these stories don’t necessarily have to be limited to a singular universe! It’s not a good thing for the MCU to become like the current state of Marvel comics— complicated and full of retcons and character changes. The Eternals and Shang Chi should have been individual movies separate from the MCU. Far From Home should’ve been the epilogue that ended the main narrative of the Infinity Saga, with the Guardians and maybe Thor getting sequel movies to end their character arcs. (That is not to say TLAT was a good movie) I think Disney forgot that Marvel is a brand, not like, a never-ending ever-branching linear story. You can make an Ironheart series in which Tony Stark is still alive to interact with Riri. You can reboot Spider-Man and people will always come to see it. See what I mean? The connectedness of Marvel movies used to give them charm and character, but now that same quality has become a restriction, and it's ruining many potentially great characters and stories.

(TL;DR: Phase Four bad.)

On the fandom: I think there's been so much discourse and opinions on the MCU fandom that nothing I say will be unpopular. But if I have to say something, it would be that people are too harsh on the fans that choose to only like a certain period in MCU history. There's no shame in only being invested in 2012!Avengers or Phase 1-2. Fans that don't care about/like the new projects are not any less of a fan than those who do.

Well that was long, and if you are still reading this, you have the patience of a saint and I love you. Thanks for the ask anon! 💛

Prompts

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: One World, One People (1x06)

Oof, okay, so I obviously enjoyed watching this, but I do have some things I would like to discuss.

Cons:

The biggest one is honestly about Isaiah. I understand that this is a superhero show, and there's some cheesiness baked into the very concept of it. I like the idea of a triumphant ending for our heroes, where amends are made and everyone is brought some measure of peace. BUT, I feel like a more nuanced, more true to reality ending here with Isaiah might have been different. Maybe he gives a tip of the hat to Sam, says he's happy he's found his peace, but he still doesn't agree with his choices. See, the thing is, some people who have been hurt by systems want that system to acknowledge its mistake, to apologize, to make amends. That's what Sam is pushing for. He believes we can do better, and all that. And that's a wonderful perspective. But other people who have been hurt by systems might not want anything to do with that system ever again. At the end, when Sam sets up the part of the museum for Isaiah, he says "now everyone will know what you did for this country," and Isaiah seemed pleased and touched by this. But I couldn't help but think... he was forced into doing those things, and then punished for doing them. If he'd decided he didn't want acknowledgment, didn't want to be linked to the idea of American heroism... I couldn't blame him for that. It might have added more nuance to the ending. Sam could have even said that it's okay if he and Isaiah don't agree on the best way forward, they still have mutual respect, or whatever.

As a white lady, maybe I'm off base. I'm just really curious at what the reaction is going to be. All through watching this show I kept saying to myself that an ending where Sam takes up the shield and becomes Captain America can't stand on its own. There's got to be nuance. There's got to be some good justification for it. And as I'll talk about in a moment, I think they've done an okay job... but I also wouldn't be surprised to find some people enormously dissatisfied with this conclusion. Steve Rogers handed the shield to Sam, yes. But should we forget what he did before handing it over? Well, he walked away from the government and was on the run because he didn't respect their choices. Just some food for thought.

I also just want to say: ????? to that ending for John Walker? It was so bizarre to see the light banter moment between him and Bucky after Walker had quoted Lincoln. Like... that felt so out of place. And now he's being made into an American agent? I don't understand that random lady's role in events. I don't know if I'm supposed to think it's sinister and creepy as fuck that John still has a uniform, and even the suggestion of authority (I do think it's creepy as fuck, for the record), or if I'm supposed to be... pleased that he got a new job? Just, tonally, the stuff with Walker in this finale was all over the place. He didn't seem to really matter, and yet he was still there, and the episode didn't seem able to reckon with his presence.

Oh, also, I can totally respect a bit of ham-fisted politic in a show like this. It's really the only way to do it. But Karli saying that Lamar didn't matter, and John saying "you think Lemar's life didn't matter?" was, perhaps, a little on the nose. I'm not sure I like the BLM mouthpiece being blond haired blue eyed John Walker, especially when Lemar's death, at least as a narrative function, only happened to allow John to get sad and angry about it. Where's his wing in the museum, huh?

Also Sharon Carter, she's my girl or whatever, but I gotta admit she was kind of boring to me in this whole series. I wanted more from her. The reveal that she was the Power Broker had me shrugging. I wanted to be more shocked, but she was so clearly telegraphed as being fishy from minute one. The fact is, we haven't had enough time with this character to figure out who she actually is as a person, yet. I don't understand her, and that's a shame.

Pros:

That was a long "cons" section, especially for an episode that kept me riveted the whole way through!

First off, the action was exciting and different and had so many classic "superhero moments" while not totally abandoning a more grounded feel. Sam holding the car up was such a Moment. Also the "that's Black Falcon!" "No, that's Captain America" moment was so cheesy but exactly the right kind of cheesy, you know? We got to see everyone being a bad-ass, crowds applauding, Sam's fantastic entrance with the new suit, the wings, the shield... damn. It was all cool in the way the best Marvel products need to be.

So, Sam taking the shield. I think it works because of his speech to the politicians. Specifically calling out the power they have, and the people they have in the room with them when they make the decisions that will affect so many people. There's this wonderful moment when one of the politicians asks a legitimate question: what about people who came back after the snap to find someone else living in their house? It's so complicated. And as the show ends, we're not given a simple answer. Sam merely points out the miracle of having everyone fighting the same fight for once. These rich and powerful people have had no idea how impossible it can be, and now they're getting a taste of that. There might just be the power of equalizing in all of this.

And most important to me? The government didn't hand Sam the shield. Sam took it and took ownership of it on his own terms. Think back to the legacy of Steve and the shield, honestly. Yes, he was given it by the government, but then he stole it when he ran away, then he gave it up, then Tony gave it back to him... it's a lot more complicated than it might first appear. Nobody's going to argue that the shield was Steve's to give, and he gave it to Sam, and Sam took it for his own. That made it work for me, as a direct contrast to the way in which John Walker got his hands on it.

Karli's death was inevitable and tragic. While I never cared all that much for her character as an individual, she worked quite well as a symbol. Sam points this out in his speech as well. Hasn't anyone stopped to wonder why people believed in this cause so much they were willing to die for it? That matters. It means something. And more will follow. I appreciate that the show ends on an ambiguous note. The people in power are still the people in power. And yes, their decision has been postponed. They've decided not to relocate people and replace the borders immediately. But what is the long-term solution? How does the world begin to heal? Well, we don't know. We don't get to see that.

If anyone got short shrift in this finale it was Bucky, but I'm honestly okay with that for a couple of reasons. One, this is Sam's show and I'm happy that it stayed that way. And two, we saw Bucky's emotional arc come to a head in last week's episode. The work isn't done, but he knows what the work is that he has to do, and we see him start to do that. He gives the journal up to his therapist. A way of letting go of his guilt, but also of saying goodbye to Steve in a way that can give him some actual closure. He confesses to his friend Yuri what really happened to his son.

And more than all of that, he shows up to hang out with Sam and his family. He brings cake. He goofs off with the kids. He hugs his friend, his partner, Sam Wilson. I can see Bucky coming to peace with some things. Coming into his own. It breaks my heart that we don't get to see more of that play out on screen. The show had to make a choice about whose story to prioritize, and in my opinion it made the right choice. This was a show about Sam's journey and Sam's decision here at the end was the capstone of that.

That scene at the end, though... the kids hanging off of Bucky's metal arm was such a poignant image for me, because this man is a killing machine, was designed to be so, but has remade himself into something else, and this moment really showcased that. Also, that gay-ass ending of Sam and Bucky looking out over the water together and then strolling away, Sam's arm around Bucky? Thank you for my life, Disney, I guess. And we got Bucky calling Sam "Cap," and his obvious admiration and pride in him for his speech... I just love them, y'all. I really do.

I wouldn't say anything about this show broke the mold or made me really excited about Marvel again. I enjoyed it, because I already liked Sam and Bucky, and I got to spend more time with them. I was nervous about how they were going to navigate certain political stickiness, and honestly I think they did... an okayish job. I could have wished for them to go even further, but they didn't take the easy way out, in my opinion.

I hope they make more of this someday. Regardless, I'm not ready to say goodbye to Sam Wilson or Bucky Barnes, so I hope we get to see Captain America and the White Wolf grace our screens again in some project or other!

8.5/10

[multisfabulis]

Love’s Descent into Madness

Dethronement (Chapter 3/3)

Word Count: 3627

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, decapitation, and major character death

Happy holidays!

I hope everyone likes the ending because writing this was suffering. Winter decided to come early this year and I absolutely hate the cold so a lot of this was written with numb fingers. The past few days have also been tiring and, because I wanted to get this out before Christmas, I had to pull an all-nighter to finish this and rewrite it to make it look pretty so this was a sleep-deprived fic.

Okay, so I have some things I need to explain:

First off, that line about Ayano needing to apply herself more to her schoolwork was actually a reference to a piece of fanart I saw of Saeru (in disguise as Kenjirou) helping Ayano with her homework and subtly taking digs at her the whole time. I just thought of it while I was writing that paragraph and thought it'd be a neat reference. I can't find the Tweet but I'm hoping someone has a link to it!

Second off, that instance of Kenjirou almost ruining Saeru's plan is a bit of foreshadowing to another Kagepro fic I'm in the works of writing. It may not be the next Kagepro fic I write but it IS coming.

Thirdly, the whole meaning behind Azami not being able to die but still being killed. I know it sounds like the "People die when they are killed" meme but let me explain. I needed to think of a way Azami could still die but without anyone telling me "She's immortal, she can't die" so the way I went about it is, the Queen Snake was what let her be immortal. Because that was the snake that, in my fic, marked her as a god, she couldn't die. Once she gave that snake to Marry, she lost her god status, bringing her down to our level. However, because she was still a Gorgon, I made it so that she couldn't die by natural causes, I.E. starvation, sleep deprivation, etc. She was now an immortal mortal, meaning she couldn't die from natural causes BUT she could now be killed. I don't know if this makes a lot of sense but this is the best way I can describe it.

Finally, the ending. It only occurred to me when I was writing the build-up to it that I wanted to make it a sort of dark twist on Kagepro's themes of moving on after a loved one's death. Saeru decides to move on after Azami's death but he regarded her as dead years ago and was the one to kill her. I don't know if it worked the way I wanted it to but I tried my best.

I'm happy this didn't take that long unlike another past project of mine and I hope everyone who's read this enjoyed it!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     The never-ending world, or the Daze as it was now called, had undergone many changes over the years. It was only natural since it was ordered to swallow up any unfortunate souls that were unlucky enough to die on August 15th and the world needed to accommodate for its ever increasing number of occupants. Yet there were some things that never changed, no matter how much time had passed. Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

     He was in very familiar territory. Casually strolling through the dark woods revealed a large clearing where a small decrepit house stood. The moon’s radiance acted as if it were a spotlight, shining down upon it to let him know she was here. It may be an inferior replica but there was no mistaking it. Saeru was home.

     It had been several years since his departure from the Daze. The rest of his siblings were gone, having ventured out to the real world in their human vessels and he couldn’t blame them for leaving. Who’d want to stay in a place where the only company you had was a good-for-nothing has-been of a queen? That’s why he followed the example his four siblings set and escaped when the opportunity presented itself. He really wanted to thank them when he had the chance.

     The body he left in was a person by the name of Tateyama Kenjirou. A hardworking teacher and devoted family man, he and Saeru met when he and his wife were caught in a landslide. Saeru promised to bring her back if the man allowed him to reside in his body and he accepted his terms of the bargain. That was how their unlikely partnership began, union between human and snake.

     It felt simply amazing to have a body to control. While it had taken him some time to adapt and familiarize himself with human behavior, he nevertheless reveled in it. No longer was he a snake relegated to devising plans. He had the means to carry them out himself and no one would be none the wiser. At least, that’s what he believed before a certain idiotic girl proved him wrong.

     He had to give her some credit. Not only did she figure out most of his plan just by reading her father’s research but she learned of his existence all due to a small yet sloppy mistake. If she only applied that amount of effort into her schoolwork, then she wouldn’t have been as stupid as she led herself to believe. There was, however, one thing she didn’t take into account.

     She thought killing herself would stop him from going after everyone. What she didn’t think about was the advantage her death would give him. One less person to worry about ruining his plan and she left behind a perfectly traumatized helper. The damn brat was like putty in his hands; a few convincing threats to his precious “family” and a deal with the devil was made.

     But then the dear old professor kept butting into his business. There were several times over the past two years where he came out because he wanted to spend some “quality time” with the remainder of his family. There was one instance he could recall in which his plan was almost thwarted but Saeru was able to take back the reins. It was too easy to pull the wool over his partner’s eyes and trick him into thinking he was dreaming. It wasn’t like he was lying to him, he was just using the information he knew about humans to his benefit.

     Today was when his plan was truly enacted. All the necessary people had arrived, including his traitorous sibling. Konoha, as they were now called, seemed to have forgotten what the humans did to their real family all those years ago and had allied with them. Their compassion for them had its perks, though. It only took one well-aimed bullet to strike them down, leaving them open for a permanent takeover.

     The resulting bloodbath was nothing short of marvelous. Having a body, especially one such as his, meant much more fun and creative ways to play with his toys. Spines breaking as they hit concrete walls and organs hitting the floor with a wet slap was like music to his ears. He even ripped out a pathetic shut-in’s throat with his bare hands just because he could and it was oh so enjoyable to hear him choke on his own blood. Too bad it was over all too soon.

     The crybaby brat was left as the sole survivor. He knew what she was capable of and she was the essential component. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling a small sort of kinship with her, which he found funny. He was, in a way, her subject and she his queen but it felt as if they were equals. Perhaps, if he had her powers, he too could rewind time to the point he would’ve taken a different path. To spend more time with the one he loved above all else… That was a dream best left in the past.

     He decided to leave her be so she’d be able to mourn her losses. He needed to use the little time he had to take care of unfinished business. He fled from the scene by going through the portal she created in the midst of her despair.

     He found himself in what seemed to be a white void. The floor beneath him rippled when his feet touched the surface and he realized he was standing on water. His reflection stared back at him when he cast his eyes downward. The body his sibling graciously gifted to him allowed him to change it however he wanted and he liked the changes he made. A vessel specifically tailored just for him was such a wonderful thing and it was a shame to have to give it up.

     A pair of small black horns stuck out of long dark hair tied into a braid. Black scales painted the edges of his face and eyes, trailing down his neck before concealing themselves under the layers of clothes. He kept his red eyes and fangs from when he was a snake so he’d still be recognizable. Blood coated his hands and stained the only article of pristine white clothing he wore, which he hoped would intimidate his prey. She’d never see this coming.

     Finding an exit out of the void was simple. All he had to do was take a step and he was in an entirely different place. There were an endless amount of stairs and corridors leading to doors, most of what he could see on fire. The heat was surprisingly pleasant as he wandered around the seemingly limitless labyrinth. It was then he spotted a tangle of black hair with a sliver of red hastily entering one of the doors. With a rush of adrenaline running through his veins, he ran towards the door. It had been so long since he played his favorite game of cat and mouse.

     He chased her through many areas of the Daze. One was of a ruined city where the setting sun gave way too many shadows for her to hide in. Another was of an urban landscape, not unlike a major street intersection, where there were dozens of blood splatters decorating the asphalt. It was after he cut across a nighttime city he arrived at his destination.

     Mother was inside. The house she and her wretched human “family” lived and laughed in for the few years they stayed there. It was fitting for her and him to settle their issues in the same place their troubles began. She’ll regret leaving behind the ones that truly loved her.

     He walked up to the house. Overgrown grass crept over the foundation and ivy crawled all along the flaky walls. There were broken shards of glass inside the windows, which would make it hard for trespassers to sneak in without alerting anyone. Parts of the roof had collapsed inward and the front door was hanging on by a thread. Mother’s really let the place go, hasn’t she?

     He stopped just before the door. How did he want to approach this? She had to know he was here so there was no need in being stealthy. He then did the next best thing, which was to kick the door down till he was inside. He smashed through it, reducing it to mere splinters. That was easy.

     The room he was in now was the same room he proposed the idea of creating this world to Mother. It was empty, save for a few pieces of overturned furniture scattered about the place and debris from the roof. Moonlight shone down from above, illuminating the room, though it wasn’t necessary. He could see perfectly well in the dark, despite the limitations of his “human” body.

     There were two doors that stood in front of him. Beyond them were bedrooms, one being that brat Shion’s and the other Mother’s. It was a coin toss as to which room she was hiding in and he hated wasting time with trivial matters like this. Besides, even if he did end up picking the wrong choice, she wouldn’t get away undetected. His hearing was almost as good as hers and she knew that.

     An idea sprang into his mind to try luring her out. He stood at the wall separating the two rooms, wound up his fist, and punched it. The sheer power in the hit caused a crater to form in the wall as dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. He heard something fall from behind the left door and a sharp intake of breath. The corners of his mouth curved up as he tried to fight back a laugh. There she was.

     Keeping his excitement in check, he pushed open the door. Inside the room were the remains of a bed with two nightstands on either side of it and an empty window over to the right. He didn’t need the light coming in from a hole in the ceiling to see her. Mother sat in a corner of the room, her whole body shaking.

     She hadn’t changed at all. She still had the same cascade of raven hair tied up with a red ribbon, the same black dress. The same red eyes resembling his own were now staring at him in pure fear. It must’ve been quite the shock for her to see Saeru walking around and being able to express his moods in a more effective way. She’d finally know how much and how deep his feelings ran.

     “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mother?” he asked, putting on a fake smile.

     When she didn’t respond, he continued on with, “Nothing to say to me? Not even a welcome home? I know the last time we talked was years ago but I thought you’d still have some love in your heart for me. But I guess not.”

     She still hadn’t said anything. He was getting rather annoyed at the silent treatment, even if it did bring him a modicum of amusement. Does she really think staying quiet in this situation will save her? Well, he had a way of making her talk and he deserved to brag about his accomplishments.

     “If you can’t already tell, I paid a visit to the real world,” he said, noting the sudden pique of interest. “It’s changed so much since our time out there. I’ve met so many interesting people during my trip, including the kids my siblings are inhabiting the bodies of. I even got the chance to meet your successor, what was her name again? Ah, right, Marry.”

     He saw the quick flash of anger across her face as she asked, “What did you do to her?”

     “You can rest easy,” he replied, his temper beginning to flare up. “I haven’t laid a finger on that crybaby brat’s head. She’s all right, physically, at least.”

     It was then her eyes wandered down to his blood-soaked hands. Gone was the anger as horror came to replace it at the grisly sight. He wondered when she’d notice that and he was pleased to know her reaction was how he predicted it to be. Her imagination had to be running wild with all the ways that blood got on his hands. The temptation of telling her his gruesome acts was there but this was more fun.

     “Her mind, though, must be forever scarred,” he said with a dissonant smile. “I imagine her heart shattered to pieces after I killed her friends.”

     “Why are you doing this?!” she demanded, her teary eyes full of fury. “Why must you hurt me so?”

     All the fun he was having at her expense evaporated. Was she being serious? Did she really have the gall to ask why he was doing all this? Maybe it was time to remind her of the fault she held in this.

     “I think the better question is, why did you choose them over us? Why did you abandon us?” He crouched down and rested his cheek on his hand.

     “What are you talking about? I never abandoned you or your siblings! I tried my best to have the two most important things in my life get along without any issue.” She gestured to him with her hand. “You were the only one who had a problem with it!”

     His eyes narrowing, he asked in indignation, “How could you expect me to not have a problem with it? How could you forget all the pain, all the suffering, all the torment the humans dealt on to you? How could you run off with that man and bear his child after everything they’ve done to you?”

     It was at this point she stood up. He did as well, noticing the hard glint of stubbornness in her eyes. He already knew what was coming and he didn’t want to hear the same old, tired speech.

     “Tsukihiko was different. He was kind to me, he cared for me.” She put a hand on her chest, where her heart was. “He loved me. He was treated the same way I was so---”

     “So you thought you and him were the same? Please,” he interrupted, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the thought. “You and that man were never the same and you know why? He was but a mere mortal and you a god. You will never belong with the humans, no matter how much you try and forget that fact.”

     “What do you want from me? An apology, is that it?” she asked, exasperated. He wanted much more than empty platitudes.

     “What I want is for you to understand exactly how much you’ve hurt me.” He took a couple steps toward her, causing dust to rain down on top of him. “You refused to heed my warnings, took that brat’s side over mine, and you tried to leave me behind in this world. Who does that to someone they once claimed to love? Someone whose only crime was loving them?

     “You’ve become the very thing you’ve never wanted to be.” He locked eyes with her and gave voice to all the pain and scorn he felt. “You’re a monster.”

     It was as if he stabbed her through the gut with a knife. Tears spilled over as she fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. It was bad enough for the humans to call her that when they knew nothing about her. It must’ve been like a betrayal to hear that come from someone she once considered to be her closest friend. Still, he got a dark sense of satisfaction seeing her break down. It served her right to feel only a fraction of the pain he’s dealt with for years.

     “And yet--” he paused as she looked up at him-- “despite everything you did to me, I still love you. I was created to serve you and be with you for however long you wanted but I grew to genuinely love you. How could I not?”

     She withdrew further into the corner after he stepped closer. The question he wanted, needed to ask leapt into his mind. A simple yes or no question and whatever her answer was would determine what he’d do next.

     “It’s because of my love for you I ask,” he began, paying close attention to her face, “if you still hold some fondness for the humans. Do you still love your family?”

     Without any hesitance in her voice, she replied with, “Of course I do. I’ll always love them. Tsukihiko, Shion, Marry…I love them all from the bottom of my heart.”

     That was the answer he feared to hear. Her saying that proved to him she was too far gone and needed to be put out of her misery. They took everything away from her, from her happiness to her sanity. It’s because he loved her he’d be willing to give her the sweet release she deserved.

     He started walking towards her. She tried to crawl away from him but found herself cornered with no means of escape. A wicked grin split across his face as he came into the moon’s silvery ray of light. He stopped just short of her, towering above her small, trembling form.

     “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, scared for her life. “Whatever it is, I can’t die.”

     “Oh, Mother…” He knelt down in front of her and cupped her cheeks. Her scales were smooth to the touch as he wiped away her tears. “You’re right in that you can’t die. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed.”

     His smile growing ever larger, he said, “You lost your immortality the moment you passed on your crown.”

     Her eyes widened in horror as his hands slid down to her neck. He could feel her pulse thudding against his palms, his slender fingers wrapped around her throat. She softly whimpered and he leaned in close. He whispered into her ear his final words before her denouement.

     “Goodnight, Mother.”

     It wasn’t hard to crush her windpipe. Her nails dug into his arms in a desperate attempt to fight back but he merely brushed them off. He knew she was close to death when her eyes started to roll to the back of her head. Then he had an idea to end this in something more similar to his style.

     Her skin began to tear apart as he pulled her head up like a weed. The sound of her neck breaking echoed in the empty house. He finally ripped her head off her shoulders, blood pouring out of the stump as he stood up. Her body slumped onto the floor, the moon’s light reflected off the crimson pool.

     Mother’s bright red eyes were now dull and lifeless. Her mouth lolled open and what little saliva she had trickled out of the corners. He could see just a sliver of her vertebrae sticking out of the bottom of her neck. He untied the ribbon holding her hair up, wiped the spit away with his sleeve, and shut her eyes. Her dark tresses felt soft on his skin as he touched their foreheads together.

     “We’ll be together forever, right, Mother?” he said with a depraved smile before crazed laughter spilled out of his mouth like a stream.

     It was only a matter of waiting now before time was reset. How far back it’d go, he didn’t know. Even if it was as far back to the beginning, he’d remember the events of this loop an do them again. He’d do them again and again to his heart’s content and no one would be able to stop him.

     The only thing he wouldn’t commit again was his act of matricide. It was a one time thing and it was done to give him “closure” or whatever the humans called it. Mother warped into someone he didn’t recognize and he needed to accept that the person he knew had died a long time ago. At least he’ll always have his memories of her kept close to his heart.

     It was time to look forward and move ahead to the future. Whatever the next summers brought, he was sure to enjoy every last bit.

[lightoftruth]

The Walt Disney Corporation has been allegedly holding extensive critical race theory training for employees.

Internal documents obtained by Christopher Rufo, a senior fellow at Manhattan Institute, show Disney launching a “diversity and inclusion” program called “Reimagine Tomorrow.” The trainings discuss the leftist ideas of “systemic racism,” “white privilege,” “white fragility,” “white saviors,” “microaggressions,” and “antiracism.” The subtitle of the booklet guide reads: “Allyship for Race Consciousness.”

Disney, which owns ABC, ESPN, Touchstone Pictures, Marvel, Lucasfilm, and other major media companies, instructed employees to “take ownership of educating yourself about structural anti-Black racism” as well as “not rely on your Black colleagues to educate you,” which would be “emotionally taxing.”

“When America’s storied places of joy and refuge from the cares of the world turn themselves into partisan actors and political indoctrination factories, the harm to our social fabric is immeasurable,” Stanley Kurtz, a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center, told The Federalist. “Disney is dividing the country it once helped to inspire, inviting entirely justified blowback from the vast number of Americans it now derogates, disregards, and caricatures. I thought politicized baseball was the unkindest cut of all, but now this. As Disney and other woke corporations plunge America into the bitterest cultural conflict in memory, they deserve to feel shame, not pride.”

The  training modules centralize the notion of “anti-racism” — the idea that Americans must acknowledge their country is systemically racist and eradicate any semblance of a colorblind society. The company told employees they must also “work through feelings of guilt, shame, and defensiveness to understand what is beneath them and what needs to be healed,” harping on the notion of implicit bias. The phrase “All Lives Matter” was communicated as derogatory, and so was the phrase “I don’t see color.”

One module in the training titled “What Can I Do About Racism?” instructed staff to denounce the idea of “equality” and instead favor “equity.” The corporation crafted a “21-Day Racial Equity and Social Justice Challenge” that was followed by a “white privilege checklist.” The checklist claims a variety of statements, if affirmed, indicate a person’s “privilege.” This includes some of the following statements:

I am white.

I have never tried to hide my sexuality.

I am a man.

I have never felt poor.

I went to summer camp.

I have never had an addiction.

Below is the full document Rufo obtained from a Disney whistleblower:

In addition to other modules, employees were provided several outside resources. This included a guide titled “75 Things White People Can Do For Racial Justice” that claims readers should support “defund[ing] the police” and “decolonize your bookshelf.”

The guide also claims employees should read The New York Times’s inaccurate and divisive “1619 Project” by Nikole Hannah-Jones. Streaming service Hulu, owned by Disney, is streaming a docuseries on Hannah-Jones’s work. The company described the “1619 Project” as “a landmark undertaking …of the brutal racism that endures in so many aspects of American life today.”

Dr. James A. Lindsay, the founder of New Discourses and the author of “Cynical Theories: How Activist Scholarship Made Everything about Race, Gender, and Identity—and Why This Harms Everybody,” told The Federalist that Americans “have to stop being shocked” about critical race theory trainings.

“This is happening pretty much everywhere,” Lindsay said. “What’s happening at Disney, while it looks very extreme, is actually quite typical. We see almost exactly the same kinds of things playing out in terms of what these trainings are made up of and what they include. The picture that has to come across somehow is these aren’t isolated incidents. This is government agencies. This is churches. This is virtually every university. This is many if not most school districts.”

Further dividing its employees by race and sex, Disney crafted “affinity groups” for minority employees to join. The groups are titled “Hola” for latino individuals, “Compass” for asians, and “Wakanda” for blacks. The objective of the groups is to provide “culturally-authentic insights” for employees and encourage “diversity,” “inclusion,” “belonging,” “identity,” and “allyship.” There is no group provided for all individuals to join.

Employees told Rufo the corporation sends “almost daily memos” on such issues and that Disney is “completely ideologically one-sided.” Numerous employees concurred and one claimed the corporate environment is “very stifled.”

“It’s been very stifling to feel like everyone keeps talking about having open dialogue and compassionate conversations, but when it comes down to it, I know if I said one thing that was truthful, based on data, or even just based on my own personal experience, it would actually be rather unwelcomed,” a Christian and conservative employee said.

In a video obtained by Rufo, Executive Chairman Bob Iger allegedly said Disney will not “shy away from politics” and “should be taking a stand” on identity politics issues. Iger also allegedly said the films “Dumbo,” “Aladdin,” and “Fantasia” are “racist content.” The company fired “The Mandalorian” actress Gina Carano in February for not displaying allegiance to identity politics while continuing to do business with a genocidal Communist China.

HD Editor’s Note: Why Is This News Biblically Relevant?

When Jesus’ disciples came to Him and asked, “What shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?” Jesus explained to them that one of the signs that would precede His coming would be “nations” rising against “nations.”

The word “nations” found in this verse (Matthew 24:7) is from the Greek word “ethnos,” where we get our English word for “ethnicity.” Therefore, this verse can also be read that “ethnicity shall rise against ethnicity” in the last days.

Racism is not new. However, what is new to our generation is the fabricated racism taught in schools, espoused by the media, and canceled by ‘culture.’ This stoking of division will, in the not too distant future, lead to genuine widespread racism. Racism is a sin. Creating division and hatred is a sin (Prov. 6:16-19, Luke 11:17, 1 John 2:9). All of these things are deeply rooted in a rebellion against God, His Word, and His design.

[loreleywrites]

The Gateshead Engine

If you bought the itch.io game bundle for racial justice and inequality a month ago, one of the games it contains is a single-player ttrpg called The Gateshead Engine by Adam Roy (Follow the link to buy and play yourself!)

The basis of the game is simple: It is Victorian England, and you have been commissioned to built a steampunk mech. You flip cards from a tarot deck to give you situations for your diary entries, and you can finish...basically whenever you want.

I enjoyed it greatly, and wanted to publicly share my game. Content warning for a bit of body horror and minor surgical stuff at the end? It’s not like, explicit though. Anyway, I haven’t stretched my horror muscles in a while, and I love how this game started vs where it ended. Hope y’all enjoy!

Starting Questions:

—Who are you, and why did you agree to build the Engine?

I am Loreley Weisel, German thermodynamicist on the brink of bankruptcy. Europe is corrupt, and my will careens towards destruction.

—Who is your patron, and what, if anything, do you know about them? Why did they tell you they wanted the Engine?

My patron is an English aristocrat, Thomas Boroughshire III. All I know is that he has deep pockets and a fascination for thermophysics. He wants my Engine as a mechanical marvel, a party trick for a boy with too many years behind him.

—What is your community like? What do they value and what do they fear?

The community is wealthy. Large estates line a well-kept road. Dogs are bred. Horses are shoed. Foxes are hunted. Gardens beg for release from their clipped restraints. The air itself is made of brick. They value stability, power (or the projection of it), and greed.

—What will the Engine do when it’s completed, and what will it change? (This may shift during play; for now, decide what you think the answer is when you agree to build the Engine.)

My Engine is a herald of death. The aristocracy will be beaten into submission, and England will follow France in the march towards the guillotine.

My Engine:

Diary:

Monday, April 26, 1880—

I do not belong here, in this kingdom, in this estate, in this…garage. Hope’s Paradise is far from the largest house in this community, and His Highness can barely provide enough space for me to work. He does not respect me, nor does his staff. Dinners will be cold on nights I work late. There will be no hot water when I go to draw a bath. They do not want me here.

Fitting enough; I do not wish to dwell here any longer than I have to.

The neighbors are no better. Squire Duncannon of Blah Blah Blah invites me to speak German whenever he harasses me with what he calls conversation, but refuses to use the tongue himself. His wife has never uttered a word beyond her scowl. When I pass by Covington Place, the children stop and watch, twittering among themselves. I wonder what the Duke and Duchess have told them about me. I would not know, for I have never been allowed inside their gates.

England will burn, and this wretched grove of greed will be the tinder.

Wednesday, April 28, 1880—

That godforsaken child has entered my workshop again. Grease smeared all across the floor. Handprints of coal dust cover every box and bench. Every fire hazard should come at the cost of a finger. The little brat will have nubs by week’s end.

Friday, April 30, 1880—

Saturday, May 1

A song. Melancholic, but strong. Thunderous, but ephemeral.

How many hours have slipped by tonight? Dream grips my mind like a starving urchin with hardtack. Maybe these gears and pipes are singing me a lullaby.

Oh for heaven’s sake it’s half two. To sleep with me.

Tuesday, May 4, 1880—

Fucking Third of Family horseshit-brained fool. Every thief with deep pockets thinks themselves a scientist just because they bought opium from one once. I know how to build my Engine. Fuck off with this talk about gas compression. My math is sound, and changing one element means redesigning the entire boiler system.

His Highness has been placated with some minor aesthetic downgrades that better cater to his asinine tastes. For now.

Wednesday, May 5, 1880—

Fucking Third of Family horseshit-brained fool. If it weren’t for the coal dust handprints, I’d think he was the child ransacking my workshop with relentless fervor. Instead, he has simply decided to rearrange my supplies to the garage entrance. My ankle will heal in a few days, but I cannot work on my Engine until it mends. Time is money, and he has more money than I have time.

Sunday, May 9, 1880—

The ankle works.

Monday, May 10, 1880—

His Highness invited his dearest, most important friends to dine in his atrociously cultivated garden. The Wells boy snuck off and found me in my workshop. I have never met another child like him. His curiosity is insatiable, and he knows more about thermodynamics than most learned men I’ve met.

He asked me a question I could not answer: “If this machine is meant for war, how can you fight a navy with it?”

I suppose this will be a larger problem when the revolution hatches from England and threatens the mainland. For now, I must keep focused on this single-minded task. If we make it that far, I will find an answer.

…Perhaps I am naïve and misguided.

Wednesday, May 12, 1880—

The entire community has decided to roll their porcine asses to the south of France for holiday. Such a shame I contracted a bit of a cough and elected to stay here to recover. The travel would have been much too hard on my delicate frame.

Two weeks of uninterrupted work begins tonight.

Friday, May 14, 1880—

For. Fuck’s. Sake.

Her Highness fainted at the pier moments before they were to board a ferry across the Channel. Feared she had come down with the same pestilence I had contracted. Now the entire extended Boroughshire rabble is returning posthaste.

The quiet? Gone. Their need for attention? Only I can sate it. My Engine? Still incomplete, and will be for some time.

If I drown myself in enough whiskey, the mystery of my death should keep their tiny minds occupied for at least a week.

I intend to refill my lamps and work as long as I can tonight. May their arrival home tomorrow wake me at noon for all I care.

Saturday, May 15, 1880—

I was awoken at nine in the morning. Forty minutes of unrestful rest.

Tuesday, May 17 18, 1880—

Knocked the fucking lamp looking for my pen. Lucky I didn’t burn this entire estate to ash.

…Perhaps unlucky.

He even haunts my dreams, touching my Engine and reducing it to rust at the moment that should have been my victory. What Hell of idiocy have I gotten myself into? Fucking aristocrats standing in the way of their own downfall by sheer incompetence. Back to sleep with me.

Tuesday, May 18, 1880 (again)—

I’ve read a number of fascinating papers that I received in the mail today. While I admit I know little of the burgeoning field of electrical engineering, the work being done in the States is fascinating. I intend to take a short trip into London to seek more research (And get a right stein of beer; this house and its occupants are worthless.)

Friday, May 21, 1880 (London)—

I have been granted access to ~~Royal~~ archives. Despite my distaste for locking knowledge away from the public, I am nonetheless grateful for this opportunity. All the kingdom’s brightest minds (what few there are) have recorded years of research on every possible thread of science.

Galvanic principles are fascinating to me. To think, all these thousands of years, we have had electricity inside us! Thoughts percolate, but I do not yet know to what end.

I shall return to the cursed Golden Land in the countryside tomorrow. Between my notes and a few papers, I have been allowed to abscond with, I am reinvigorated with hope for my work.

Saturday, May 22, 1880—

I should extricate and boil every last one of their tongues!

The entire community’s patriarchs were waiting in the living room of Hope’s Paradise (Clearly not my hope.)  Word got out of my project, and every cock-waggling primitive decided that this was a matter that required ending their holiday early. While their offspring splash in the Mediterranean, their sagging eyes are now fixed on that fucking garage.

I don’t know who is merely curious, who else feels inadequate enough to lie about their scientific credentials, or who wants to break my Engine merely because I’m a woman. Too many men in my workshop. Had I less restraint, an axe may have been all I needed to solve this annoyance.

Hopefully the dullards bore sooner than later. I may need to beat Mr. Duncannon with a German dictionary regardless.

Tuesday, June 8, 1880—

Between the constant need to shun nosy men from my workshop and the actual work itself, I have not had the constitution to keep my diary.

But today…ah, today! The control platform appears to be totally functional! I have toiled too long to have failure spring from my fingertips. Rotational velocities are stable, cranks and gears are greased and mobile, the Gatling guns are…gatling.

For the first time since I began my work here, I feel like I have accomplished something great. The aristocracy’s days are numbered.

Monday, June 14, 1880—

Work continues to sap my focus. Boiler…not cooperating. I fear I will lose all the work I’ve done on it due to some unforeseen flaw. A redesign at this stage would be costly, but so would continuing with a faulty boiler. Either way, I’m taking tomorrow off from work to clear my head.

Thursday, June 17, 1880—

Time off has proved productive. I finally finished reading the documents on loan from the ~~Royal~~ archives, and there is a fascinating bit of research by a man by the name of Frankenstein. His work on galvanic sciences from earlier this century are far beyond anything I’ve found from English archives in the last decade. This even only seems to be his initial work; perhaps I can track down his true masterpieces of intellect. Maybe I don’t even need to redesign a boiler…

One blight on my day over lunch: that coal-handed bastard child has returned. I think it’s Constance.

Wednesday, Jun 23, 1880—

The Andersons down the way lost one of their bitches last night. She was a beautiful hound, but her memory will live on in my diary. I wanted some hands-on experience with Frankenstein’s work, so I was able to procure the corpse for a small fee (to His Highness who is paying my bills).

Wondrous! Such are the things I learned. A body, made of muscle, controlled by electricity. I suspect I may need to seek out an anatomist or some other scholar of the biological sciences to continue this research.

My mind is alight with so many ideas…

Wednesday, June 30, 1880—

June ends and takes the boiler with it. My Engine shall have a grand new design. Thomas has been placated by promises of surprise. “The most groundbreaking work in thermodynamics!” I lied. His is a mind easily led astray by spectacle.

Sunday, July 4, 1880—

Constable came round today. Mr. Duncannon hasn’t been seen in three days. He left for an important business meeting in Paris, but missed his boat. Coach is missing too. It’s all very curious. I did everything I could to keep that sniveling pig out of my workshop. Given the way his nose recoiled into his skull, it seems the stench of grease and ozone was enough.

In more academic news, I received notice that more of Victor Frankenstein’s research papers are being released from an archive in Switzerland. I should have them by week’s end. My excitement radiates like the sun.

Friday, July 9, 1880—

Wolfgang. Heinrich. Fuchs.

At my forsaken door. With my forsaken research papers.

How the fuck did he find out I was working on galvanism? Who is he still connected to? Which one of my friends betrayed me (besides him)?

He was in this fucking house asking me fucking questions about my fucking work. Fuck him. He better not stick around. After what he took from me…fuck.

Tuesday, July 13, 1880—

Chaos reigns.

Wolfgang has shacked up with the Andersons. He swings by almost daily. When I’m not actually busy, I try to look it.

Constance has gotten her hands into the coal again (I haven’t disposed of it for appearance’s sake.)

The Duncannons are planning a funeral for…whatever his name was. I don’t think I ever bothered to remember anything about him other than when he would finally leave this hellish corner of England.

Thomas has been migrating in and out of Hope’s Paradise. Something about a trade deal in India. It sounds very important for a man who makes riches off the backs of foreigners.

I could use a big stein at a small biergarten.

Sunday, July 18, 1880—

Widow Duncannon speaks! Her first words spoken to me in the months I’ve resided her are accusations that I have something to do with the death of her husband and his driver. Utter nonsense. The police found the driver at the bottom of a pint in a pub last week. The way gossip echoes around these families, however, I won’t be surprised if they begin to turn on me.

My work must accelerate.

Thursday, July 22nd, 1880—

Widow Duncannon, Duchess Byron. Mrs. Boroughshire. All the Andersons. None of them will speak to me. They glare if they see me, so I try to keep to my room and my workshop as much as possible. I’m lucky Her Highness is so subservient to Thomas. This house would be unbearable if she had any willpower over it.

Tuesday, July 27, 1880—

Celebrations are in order! I have poured over work by Golgi, Frankenstein, and Schwann. Every guide I could find on electrical engineering. Trial after trial, failure after failure. And yet…

And yet.

It’s not that I have hope my Engine will work, it’s that I have knowledge that it will. My designs are so clear to me. My protypes are all working as planned. The path to revolution has been laid out before me. Now it is up to me to walk it.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the end.

Wednesday, July 28, 1880—

Coal hands. Inside my workshop. Inside. My. Workshop. And this time, ha! This time, I have a culprit.

I made it very clear to Constance that she will not be loitering in my laboratory anymore.

Saturday, August 7, 1880—

What have I become?

Why did I begin building my Engine? Something about a war? Who can say. Time marchers onward. My Engine will march with time. Every experiment has made it clearer to me that I have stumbled upon the greatest discovery of this era.

No one celebrates with me. Not Thomas. Not Her Highness. Not Constance, nor the boys, Timothy and Franklin. Even Wolfgang is silent (at last).

The neighbors have stopped visiting. I wave when I pass them by, but they just sneer and hurry past. Finally, I can work in peace and silence. Finally my genius can become reality. Finally all of Europe will know what Loreley Weisel is capable of.

I have become the herald of great change, a conduit of the very building blocks of existence.

Tuesday, August 10, 1880—

A toast to the Duke and Duchess! May their patronage live forever in my greatest work! Soon I hope to bring the Andersons into this project as well.

Wednesday, August 18, 1880—

The Engine lives! The support of this community has been invaluable as the final construction has occurred. Everyone has poured their hearts into my work, and it’s truly a masterpiece that could not have been built alone.

My galvanic calibrations have been finalized. My circuits have been tested. It is nearing time for me to put all of myself into my work. I will see success.

Saturday, August 21, 1880—

The loneliness is getting to me. Not even the dogs bark anymore. I talk to my Engine, but its flesh is silent.

Monday, August 23, 1880—

The constable returned. With six policemen. He had questions about His Highness and the Duke and Duchess and Widow Duncannon. I told him the truth: I could help him find them.

I cooperated.

I have a surplus.

Wednesday, August 25, 1880—

Why shouldn’t I? It worked for them. Shouldn’t it work for me? All the principles are the same. They’re muscle. I’m muscle. They’re electric. I’m electric. Why shouldn’t I be in control?

Thursday, August 26, 1880—

Wolfgang, that bastard! He said he knew everything that I had been up to. That is outrageous! He knows nothing!

I have destroyed my room in rage. Fucking Fuchs! What does he think he knows? Who has he told? I should have killed him. Why didn’t I kill him? He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve my creation. He covets it. He wants it for himself. I know it. He got me kicked out of university, he got me run out of Germany. He is jealous. Jealous! He knows I’m better. He knows I’m smarter. He wants what I have, my Engine, my child. He can’t have it. He can’t. He won’t. Where did he go? Fucking Wolfgang I will fucking kill him. He knows nothing. He’s bluffing. He just wants my success. My genius. He is nothing. He will be nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He nothing. Nothing. nothing nothing nothing noth

Sunday, August 29, 1880—

This will be the final entry to my diary. The morning air is heavy with the musk of summer. It’s strange to me how calm I am given what I am about to do.

My Engine has come so far from its days as a sketch on a piece of parchment. Veins of red pulse behind the metal. Sinew, steel, and lightning working in harmony. Every stitch and every suture as perfect as the one before it. So many died for its creation, and so many more will die when I am finished today.

I expected my hand to shake more as I inked the incision lines across my skin. I expected my mind to be foggier as I tried to remember every nerve that would need work. Even the pain I am about to endure has not shaken my resolve.

I am uncertain what the scientific community will think of my work. Of the sacrifices I made. But I have proven a radical truth: All the money in the world does not stop one from being built from the same parts as another. And that’s all we are: Animals with organs and muscles and electricity surging through us. If machines can harness that energy, why can’t we? If new machines can be invented, why not new humans?

All I can hope for now is that my composure holds through the entire procedure. Once I am integrated into my Engine, I will command a mind and body unseen by man. Unparalleled by any of God’s creation. Magnificent in its genius. My genius.

Today I will change humanity forever.

[nekoannie-chan]

Lover’s game

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant Female! Reader

Word count: 1111 words.

Summary: Memories of some moments from your relationship with Steve minutes before your wedding.

Warnings: A little angst.

A/N: This is my entry to the @cockslut-padalecki​‘s Lisa’s Back to the Movies Writing Challenge with the song:

“Take my breath away – Top Gun- Berlin”.

Flashbacks are in italic.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog. 

Tags: @sinceimetyou​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @navybrat817​ @realfbi​ @angrythingstarlight​ @pandaxnienke​

Watching every motion

In my foolish lover's game On this endless ocean Finally lovers know no shame Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn around and say

 Steve held his breath while the tie was settling in, he couldn't deny that he was very nervous, he had finally arrived on the day of the wedding, during the last few weeks he had taken care of anything that could ruin the day, and he wasn't going to let anything bad happen on such an important date for you. You had lived so many things, you had to separate at different times.

Take my breath away Take my breath away

 Steve was sure he hadn't seen you while the STRIKE team was chasing them, suggesting Natasha go to your apartment, although he really needed to know if you were also HYDRA and you'd only used it, the last thing if it was true, it would leave him devastated. 

You grumped when the bell rang again insistently. Who bothered you in your holiday week? Besides, you were having a dream, which you'd like to put into practice with Steve later. 

When you opened the door, you kept your eyes squinting and your face was noisy. 

"Steve? Nat? What are you doing here? Why are you covered with dust? Were you playing in the mud or what happened to you?” 

They both saw each other and then saw you. 

"Can we come in?” Steve asked suspiciously. 

You set aside to let them through, you sighed, surely your holiday week was over and you were going to have to help them, even though you first needed to know what was going on. 

After they told you everything, you were stunned, you'd never suspected the team you belonged to. You even understood that Project Insight had a different aim. 

"How do we know you don't belong to HYDRA?” Natasha questioned. 

"First, I didn't know my team was, second, I wasn't there when you were attacked, actually I didn't even know about Fury until you told me and third, I knew project Insight was something completely different from what you're telling me.”

 Watching I keep waiting Still anticipating love Never hesitating to become the fated ones Turning and returning To some secret place to hide Watching in slow motion As you turn to me and say

 "Steve, are you ready?” Bucky questioned, taking him out of his self-absorption. 

“W-what? Sure, it's about time, isn't it?” Steve replied. 

James only shook his head trying not to laugh, and then he pulled his friend, it was better to hurry to prevent him from fleeing because of panic in the last minute. 

You saw your reflection in the mirror again and laughed a little as you remembered how you had met, you still remembered with satisfaction your ex-boyfriend's face when he found out about your relationship with Steve.

  Take my breath away

 That day, the training had ended in a fight, you and Rollins had started arguing, he still didn't want to accept that you had already ended your relationship and he claimed you'd had a date with someone else.

 "STOP ARGUING! YOU'RE ADULTS, ACT LIKE ONE!” Brock shouted annoyed. You ignored him and you kept arguing, yet you shut up when you saw Fury come in followed by Steve. At that time you were informed that the missions would be done along with him. 

"Hi, I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N," you introduced yourself once Nick left.

 Through the hourglass I saw you In time you slipped away When the mirror crashed I called you And turned to hear you say If only for today I am unafraid

 Natasha put the necklace on you and then hugged you. 

"You're beautiful, but it's time to go, in a few minutes you'll become Mrs Rogers.” 

"I hope nothing interrupts this moment...” 

“Are you hesitating?”  

"No, not at all, I'd just be terrified that something would happen or Steve would regret it," you replied. 

"He won't, you've been through a lot, but if you don't want to get married, I'll go tell them...“

You and Natasha had been friends since you entered the Organization, even considered yourselves sisters even if biologically you weren't. 

"I never said I wasn't getting married, I'm just nervous," you interrupted her. “It was very difficult when we had to flee, I was terrified that he would be sent to the Raft and me to a Mutant Detention Center.” 

"You two deserve to be happy," Nat said.

 Take my breath away Take my breath away

 You heard noises in the living room while you were in the kitchen, you took the sharpest knife, even though you had an arm hurt by the last mission you'd gone to, you wouldn't hesitate to defend yourself if necessary, not to say that you would also use your powers.

 "S-Steve? Why did you come in through the window and not through the door? "You inquired at the same time that you put the knife down. 

"They're watching you, they're looking for me, and I can't get in through the front door.” 

"What did you do?” 

"I didn't sign the Accords and there were some problems with Bucky...," he shut up, took your hand and looked you right in the eye. “Did you sign the Accords?” 

"No, I just refuse to do it.” 

"We have to get out of here without being seen, I have to take you to a safe place before they take you as a hostage.” 

"How are we going to get going?” You said they're watching my house.” 

"But not the roof.” 

You opened your eyes as big as you could, what Steve proposed sounded too dangerous to you.

"A-Are you sure? I remind you that I have a hurt arm and despite having powers I do not think I can survive from a fall from the roof...” 

"Doll, I will make sure that nothing bad happens to you, just take as fast as you can the important things and we will run away, what do you think?” 

You nodded, you went all the way to the bedroom and kept some things, and then he helped you up the roof. 

"Walk slowly and carefully, there is nothing to fear," he whispered. 

You were trying to take firm steps, however, it seemed impossible, probably only a few seconds passed, but it seemed like an eternity to you. When you finally got to the shelter, he told you everything that had happened, for safety he was going to leave you there, he didn't want anything bad to happen to you.

 Watching every motion In this foolish lover's game Haunted by the notion Somewhere there's a love in flames Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn my way and say

 "Little sis’ if you want we can run away, hide and no one will find us," Natasha joked as you walked towards the entrance. 

"It sounds tempting, but I'll decline the invitation, Steve's waiting for me.” 

Nat nodded, you stopped right at the entrance and helped you position the veil the right way.  

At the altar Steve was already waiting for you with a big smile, finally, the dream you had had for a few years was coming true and nothing was going to stop it. 

The ceremony began, you blinked a lot making a great effort not to cry, and it seemed implausible that this day had finally arrived, your dream was being fulfilled. 

After you accept to become a wife and husband, you kiss.

 Take my breath away Take my breath away Take my breath away Take my breath away

[popculturebuffet]

Jingle Belle: A Very Special Jingle Belle Special or A goofy holiday comic and a long tired rant about the animation industry

Ho ho ho and merry Christmas as we reach the final stretch of Christmas reviews and it’s all Christmas all the time for the rest of the week for obvious reasons. So we’re starting off by wrapping up Jingle Belle for the season with one more comission. While it’s from my usual client, It’s via patreon as for 5 bucks a month you can get a review a month of your choice. But since that hasn’t taken hold just yet, and won’t till next month, he asked to swap it for this month and here we are.  Not much to cover though this is the very comic where Jing hopped publishers from Oni Press to Dark Horse. The whys I genuinely do not know and at the time, I just know it’s weird to talk about Dark Horse these days. Their not dead nor entirely irrelvant, Resident Alien, which I really want to check out as it has a really engaging premise, is getting a tv show that I also want to check out as while i’m not sure if it’ll be good, it’s still Alan Tudyk playing an alien who can barely pass for human and it hilariously shows. Whenever that streams i’m not missing a second of that and we all know it. And Umbrella Academy, started during bigger days for the company, is one of netflix’s hottest shows and one of many shows on my to do list I haven’t gotten to because I procastinate like no one else and as taking an entire month to get to the newest loud house shows to the point another one popped up, it bites me in the ass a lot. Point is their not GONE in relevance.. but at the same time they’ve lost the huge tide of liscences they road in on. Except for the Joss Whedon stuff, Marvel’s pretty much taken EVERYTHING from them via various deals: Star Wars, Conan and now Alien. Their still standing and makes good art books and clearly given Resident Alien good content, they’ve lasted this long their not going anywhere, it’s just really weird to think about. I will however give them huge credit for giving out tons of comics in early quarantine, and being easily the most generous company next to marvel. I.e. one of the few that actually gave out full collections. 

But yeah at the time this was probably a safe move as Dark Horse had a love of one shots and likely a larger budget. Hence why from here on out the stories are in living color, and have a slightly diffrent art style to boot. Granted the character would shift artists but now it’s got a clear more cartoony art style I like a lot better courtsey of Jose Garabaldi. So yeah with christmas on our heels, let’s ring a ding jing, it’s A Very Special Jingle Belle Special. 

We won’t be covering the backup for this one though it is quite good, it’s just not what kev asked or paid for. 

We open on a parade!

While batman foils the joker’s poisioning scheme, Santa rides on a float proudly and   Jing is hanging out on the back grumpy. It’s a great introduction for new readers showing Santa being big and jolly and what you expect while Jing grumps in the back with a “Sheesh, Daddy”. That’s how you establish a character well in only a few panels. IT’s really great is what i’m saying. Some teens pop up but don’t belivie her about being Santa’s daughter and when going to a christmas shop to try and find figures of her, the owner claims he dosen’t.. and well violence insues. You’ve met jing right?  Anyways Jing is understandably a wee bit absolutely livid the world dosen’t know about her. Her parents sure but her? Nope. And it’s easy to see why: She’s the daughter of the world’s most famous man.. but despite all the holiday lore and junk she’s just the part he likes to hide from people.. or that’s how it feels. While he ducks it, she even gives him a nice save fatty it’s clear that even if she brought it up to rile him a bit.. she does feel on some level like he likes to tuck her away and hide her because he’s ashamed and because she’s not perfect. Granted she does act out and stuff, but she’s still his kid and i’ts still gotta sting. Though she has the perfect idea to fix this: A christmas special. Santa suggests just doing good deeds but Jing is right: her idea is better. Mostly because, as cyncial as this is.. more people are going to pay attention to a good holiday special than a celebrity’s kid doing charity and for far longer. A good christmas special just sticks in the brain and sticks with you forever. It’s why Santa Claus is Coming to Town and A Charlie Brown Christmas have lasted decades or why my list of best chirstmas specials is pretty weighty. They just stick with you so while this can’t possibly end well.. her plan is actually a really good one this time. 

So Jing takes her friends off the line to help her animate it, stop motion styles and they remind her of her LAST christmas special. 

I mean I’m a sucker for any refrence to Star Wars Holiday Special. You’d think after several decades of jokes at it’s expense, with tons of youtubers, many of whom are dead to me but that’s besides the point, tackling the thing without it getting stale, that we’d eventually grow tired of mocking it but .. no. It’s a bottomless well of what they were thinking. The only question left is why isn’t it on Disney Plus.. I mean.. you made a second one as an affectionate parody and in lego. Kids are going to know about this now. Just put the thing up. Even edited down or just some clips. You put Rise of Skywalker up there, you’ve proven your threshold for shame when it comes to this franchise is vast. Just person up and do it.  But Jing’s learned her lesson.. stop motion only and to follow the bouncing formula to sucess. So in the special which sadly isn’t all stop motion and is just drawn to resemble the specials, probably for the best but still, Jing and her animal pals are sneaking into a town where christmas was banned! Meeting the chirstmas legion of doom.. well okay that’s what i’m calling them. Burgermeister Budweiser! Bungle the Abominable Snow Monster! Frost Master and Heat BLister! The Frost Fakir.. wait the what?

........

I mean where do I even begin? I know this was during the war on terror, I know that.. but still I expect better from Paul Dini for a crosses the line twice joke than “hey let’s just make bin laden into an ice wizard!”. I mean South Park made fun of him too, but they went all out with a looney tunes homage. Put effort in. And even years after he died the lonely island did this beautiful thing in the film pop star: never stop stoppin, which you should watch seriously watch it it’s underated. 

Point is you can do better and if you don’t have room to do better then just.. don’t. You could’ve put in a t-rex in a top hat and monocle.  That would’ve genuinely been better... because it’s better than everything ever btu that’s besides the point. There’s also one last addition to the rogue’s gallery thank god. 

He hates her too. Now that gag is actually reallyf ucking funny. What’s also funny is how she solves things. By singing a nice and frinedly song about friendship to reform the villians.. or rather lure them over a bridge to get eaten by her orca friend. 

So Jing after showing it to her dad heads to market it with him trying to warn her netoworks haven’t aired this kind of thing in years. But she faces the greatest threat to all of television: network executives, who keep offering advices and basically change the thing all together for stupid reasons and think cartoons should only be for kids despite it wokring in the past. Aka the hells animators STILL go through. I think Paul was projecting just a wee bit with this one. Given again IT HASN’T CHANGED since then, I can’t blame him. Seriously Harvey Beaks was canceled, among MANY ohter nick shows including rise of the tmnt just because it wasn’t an instant hit, Cartoon Network and warner keep trying to make dumbed down remakes of great shows, and Disney, among other networks, is fairly homophobic and while finally allowing some gay on the network this year had to be fought and outright refused it on ducktales for no adquate reason, caring more about monney and the bible belt than doing the right thing. So yeah as you can tell this bit got to me a bit and was hard to read because it. hasn’t. changed. 16 years and not a lot has changed other than more women are getting a chance. And granted the “kids are our only audiencce argument” isn’t as strong and several shows are powered by other demographics it’s still an issue and still the reason several good shows have gotten the boot and why the jeph loeb era of marvel animation was terrible. Because guys like him thought it should JUST be for kids and the lowest common demoninator of htem. You can be clever and be for kids dammit. 

I apologize slightly for that it’s just something that’s been on my mind as shows dwindle and with ducktales gone the standard forbearaers for children’s animation are all pretty fresh faced. It’s just a lot to take in and i’ts been on my mind a lot. 

Back to the actual story the result is a pretty purtrid cutesy special.. Jing reacts how you’d expect, destroying the tapes covertly with a herd of musk ox and destroying the tape. But they find the 70′s special and we end on that which is pretty funny. The only thing I really don’t like here is the ending. The rest of this special is really good: it’s clever , has some good satire and some really funny jokes especially that hook one. The ending just feels a bit weak.. like yes Jing wanted to be noticed but it’s not really an unsympathetic motive and while she does some shady stuff the villians still basically win by airing her terrible holiday special all over again. It’s just not satisfying.  But yeah overall another pretty decent holiday comic with some good jokes. I”ll probably see Jing again next year, and it was fun getting to dip into these comics. THeir not my faviorites, but their still pretty decent and if the complete collection ends up on sale on comixology or you see it in a bookstore and you think it’d be up your ally i’d buy it. Again not my faviorite thing ever, but still enjoyable enough. Coming up this week of holiday cheer: ducks, more ducks, superheroes, and a best of list. 

Until next time: Courage. 

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 10th after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

1 Cor 12:2-11; Luke 18:9-14

St Luke says that Jesus “told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others”. (Lk 18:9) Hence today’s Gospel addresses itself to us in at least three respects: to those who trust in themselves; to those who consider themselves to be righteous; and to those who despise others. Unfortunately, these are not necessarily three distinct groups of people but rather, like the Pharisee in the parable, all three aspects can be (and often are) concurrent in one individual.

Our merciful Saviour, in telling us this parable, therefore, desires to teach you and me to please God truly, through humility of heart – through the offering of a heart that is, like his own Sacred Heart, “meek and humble” (cf Mt 11:29) For that is why the Lord God has become Man, so that we might love Christ, and so, as his friend, desire to imitate him and become like him. So, “for us men and for our salvation”, as we say in the Creed, God chose to show his greatness and power by humbling himself, becoming Man, and dying in a humiliating and shameful manner, by crucifixion. Thus St Augustine says: “On every side the humility of the good master is being assiduously impressed upon us, seeing that our very salvation in Christ consists in the humility of Christ. There would have been no salvation for us, after all, if Christ had not been prepared to humble himself for our sakes”.

The humility of God in the Incarnation and in the Passion is only possible for the true God. The idols, the false gods, that St Paul references in today’s epistle, being at best false projections of human ideals, and at worse, demons, are full of pride: lofty; aloof from human suffering and need; lacking in empathy with the human condition. Such idols St Paul describes as “dumb” because they do not speak. God, the true God, however, speaks his Word, and in so doing he creates all that is for the love of mankind, and then, moreover, God speaks his Word into creation to save mankind. As Pope Benedict XVI has said: “The Son himself is the Word, the Logos: the eternal word became small – small enough to fit into a manger. He became a child, so that the word could be grasped by us”, so that we might share in the divine life through grace, through the humble instrumentality of the Sacraments which are extensions of the Incarnation in our lives. Hence St Augustine says: “the pride of man [is] exposed and cured through the humility of God”.

Catholic tradition, particularly through certain devotional practices that are dear to the Dominican Order, such as the Holy Rosary and the Angelus, loves to contemplate and marvel at the humility of God in becoming Man. For from the incarnate Word we learn humility, we learn to be grateful, we learn to love. Focussing on the humility of the incarnate Lord is thus an antidote to those three aspects that today’s Gospel parable addresses, namely, those who trust in themselves; to those who consider themselves to be righteous; and to those who despise others. Thus St Augustine says: “In order then that men might not disdain to imitate a humble man, God himself became humble – even human pride could not refuse to follow in the steps of God!” If we wish to follow the Master, therefore, then we must first of all follow him in his humility.

What does it mean to be humble? In English we sometimes refer to a man who might have been somewhat exalted as “down to earth”. This is a lovely paraphrase of humilitas, for the Latin word for humble is related to the Latin word humus, meaning ‘the earth’. One who is humble is thus one who remembers that he is made from the dust of the earth, who is thus dependent on God for all that he is, and for all the good things he has, and for all the good he does. For God formed Adam from the earth - and his name, adamah in Hebrew means ‘the ground’ or ‘the earth’. Human beings, therefore, are creatures of the earth, and so the one who is grounded, who is down to earth, who is humble, remembers the limitations of his human nature. Hence St Thomas Aquinas says: “Humility means seeing ourselves as God sees us: knowing every good we have comes from Him as pure gift”.

No one who considers their earthly origins, dependent on the Creator who breathes into him the breath of life, the life-giving breath of the Holy Spirit himself, could pridefully trust merely in himself or in human efforts. For man to trust in himself alone, without any recourse or reference to God, is thus shown to be not merely ingratitude but also foolishness. As St Paul says: “What have you that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?” (1 Cor 4:7)

In today’s epistle, therefore, St Paul lists the many gifts of the Holy Spirit that enrich the Church and enable us to live as Christian disciples. The Pharisee in today’s Gospel also enunciates gifts from God which enabled him to keep the Law of God, and perform good acts of religion. Often our focus is on what we do: we can prophesy, or we can preach, or teach, or catechise; or we have stayed chaste, or have moderated our food and drink; or we have prayed everyday, or gone to Sunday Mass as we should, or done our religious duties. Each of these acts are good and fitting. However, St Paul repeatedly refers to the spiritual gifts that “are inspired by one and the same Spirit” (1 Cor 12:11) because his focus isn’t so much what we do, but how we do these good things. We act not by our own steam, as it were, but by the very divine breath of God. Therefore St James says: “Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. Every good endowment and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (1:17). Therefore, if we are indeed righteous, and if we should consider ourselves to be righteous, as the Pharisee indeed was, then, we must also consider, in humility, that our good acts do not come from us alone but find their origin and completion in God’s grace. Thus the Council of Trent taught: “a Christian should never rely on himself or glory in himself instead of in the Lord, whose goodness towards all men is such that he wants his own gifts to be their merits.” The proud man, therefore, takes pride in his own glory, but the humble gives all glory to God and boasts of God’s mercies. So St Augustine says: “if humility does not precede and accompany and follow every good work we do, and if it is not set before us to look upon, and beside us to lean upon, and behind us to fence us in, pride will take from our hand any good deed we do while we are in the very act of taking pleasure in it”!

The third aspect concerns those who despise others. St Thomas points out that the proud man characteristically looks down on others because he wants to dominate, to think himself superior to others, to exalt himself to an excellence he does not possess. In Latin, therefore, the word for ‘pride’ is superbia, meaning to place oneself over others, which is what the Pharisee does in the parable. He says: “God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.” (Lk 18:11b) Externally, it looks as though he is giving glory to God, and thanking God for his gifts, but the Lord exposes his prideful heart because, in fact, he despises others and looks down at them. This should serve as a warning to us: for the Pharisee is doing ostensibly good things: he is praying in the Temple, as he should. He is thanking God for his gifts, as he should. And, he is doing righteous things in accordance with the Law, as he should.

But all these external ritual acts are not enough. These might be enough for an idol, for a false god, but as the true God says to the prophet Samuel: “the Lord sees not as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Sam 16:7) Indeed, Scripture says that “the word of God is living and active… discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Heb 4:12) Thus, Christ, the incarnate Word, teaches us by this parable to pay attention to our intentions, to our inmost thoughts and motivations. Given that these are often hidden even from our own selves, so we ought to be careful in judging others, and in despising them, even those whom we might know to be manifest sinners in gravely sinful situations. By all means, preach the Gospel of salvation and call others to repentance; “convince, rebuke, and exhort, [but] be unfailing in patience and in teaching”, as St Paul said (2 Tim 4:2). And, as I said last Sunday, pray and do penance for the conversion of sinners, bearing witness to others by your charity and virtue. But never despise them, nor consider yourself to be superior, nor look down on them – unless it is from the Cross, as our humble and loving Saviour did.

And, finally, a word concerning our own sinful selves: Do not be swift to judge yourself, condemn yourself, be harsh to yourself, or hate yourself because of your sins. St Francis de Sales observed that this impatience with our own sinfulness and weakness can often arise not because one loves God nor loves virtue, but it may be due to pride: we cannot stand to see our imperfections and hate being seen to be imperfect. Rather, turn to God, and say in all truth and humility: “God, be merciful to me a sinner!” And then trust in God’s grace to act in your life, in his good time, according to his wisdom, and for his own glory. For God, in his Providence, has humbled himself for our salvation. So, likewise, through humbly submitting to God’s Providence and mercy, we shall be cured of pride and be exalted with Him.

[lavenderafro]

Patriarchy is the single most life-threatening social disease assaulting the male body and spirit in our nation. Yet most men do not use the word “patriarchy” in everyday life. 

Most men never think about patriarchy—what it means, how it is created and sustained. Many men in our nation would not be able to spell the word or pronounce it correctly. 

The word “patriarchy” just is not a part of their normal everyday thought or speech. Men who have heard and know the word usually associate it with women’s liberation, with feminism, and therefore dismiss it as irrelevant to their own experiences. 

I have been standing at podiums talking about patriarchy for more than thirty years. It is a word I use daily, and men who hear me use it often ask me what I mean by it.

Nothing discounts the old antifeminist projection of men as all-powerful more than their basic ignorance of a major facet of the political system that shapes and informs male identity and sense of self from birth until death. 

I often use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe the interlocking political systems that are the foundation of our nation’s politics.

 Of these systems the one that we all learn the most about growing up is the system of patriarchy, even if we never know the word, because patriarchal gender roles are assigned to us as children and we are given continual guidance about the ways we can best fulfill these roles.

Patriarchy is a political-social system that insists that males are inherently dominating, superior to everything and everyone deemed weak, especially females, and endowed with the right to dominate and rule over the weak and to maintain that dominance through various forms of psychological terrorism and violence. 

When my older brother and I were born with a year separating us in age, patriarchy determined how we would each be regarded by our parents. Both our parents believed in patriarchy; they had been taught patriarchal thinking through religion. 

At church they had learned that God created man to rule the world and everything in it and that it was the work of women to help men perform these tasks, to obey, and to always assume a subordinate role in relation to a powerful man. 

They were taught that God was male. 

These teachings were reinforced in every institution they encountered– schools, courthouses, clubs, sports arenas, as well as churches. Embracing patriarchal thinking, like everyone else around them, they taught it to their children because it seemed like a “natural” way to organize life.

As their daughter I was taught that it was my role to serve, to be weak, to be free from the burden of thinking, to caretake and nurture others. 

My brother was taught that it was his role to be served; to provide; to be strong; to think, strategize, and plan; and to refuse to caretake or nurture others. 

I was taught that it was not proper for a female to be violent, that it was “unnatural.” 

My brother was taught hat his value would be determined by his will to do violence (albeit in appropriate settings). 

He was taught that for a boy, enjoying violence was a good thing (albeit in appropriate settings). He was taught that a boy should not express feelings. I was taught that girls could and should express feelings, or at least some of them. 

When I responded with rage at being denied a toy, I was taught as a girl in a patriarchal household that rage was not an appropriate feminine feeling, that it should be not only not be expressed but be eradicated. 

When my brother responded with rage at being denied a toy, he was taught as a boy in a patriarchal household that his ability to express rage was good but that he had to learn the best setting to unleash his hostility.

 It was not good for him to use his rage to oppose the wishes of his parents, but later, when he grew up, he was taught that rage was permitted and that allowing rage to provoke him to violence would help him protect home and nation.

We lived in farm country, isolated from other people. Our sense of gender roles was learned from our parents, from the ways we saw them behave. 

My brother and I remember our confusion about gender. In reality I was stronger and more violent than my brother, which we learned quickly was bad. And he was a gentle, peaceful boy, which we learned was really bad. 

Although we were often confused, we knew one fact for certain: we could not be and act the way we wanted to, doing what we felt like. It was clear to us that our behavior had to follow a predetermined, gendered script. 

We both learned the word “patriarchy” in our adult life, when we learned that the script that had determined what we should be, the identities we should make, was based on patriarchal values and beliefs about gender.

I was always more interested in challenging patriarchy than my brother was because it was the system that was always leaving me out of things that I wanted to be part of. In our family life of the fifties, marbles were a boy’s game. My brother had inherited his marbles from men in the family; he had a tin box to keep them in. 

All sizes and shapes, marvelously colored, they were to my eye the most beautiful objects. We played together with them, often with me aggressively clinging to the marble I liked best, refusing to share. When Dad was at work, our stay-at-home mom was quite content to see us playing marbles together. 

Yet Dad, looking at our play from a patriarchal perspective, was disturbed by what he saw. His daughter, aggressive and competitive, was a better player than his son. 

His son was passive; the boy did not really seem to care who won and was willing to give over marbles on demand. Dad decided that this play had to end, that both my brother and I needed to learn a lesson about appropriate gender roles. 

One evening my brother was given permission by Dad to bring out the tin of marbles. I announced my desire to play and was told by my brother that “girls did not play with marbles,” that it was a boy’s game. This made no sense to my four- or five-year-old mind, and I insisted on my right to play by picking up marbles and shooting them. 

Dad intervened to tell me to stop. I did not listen. His voice grew louder and louder. Then suddenly he snatched me up, broke a board from our screen door, and began to beat me with it, telling me, “You’re just a little girl. 

When I tell you to do something, I mean for you to do it.” He beat me and he beat me, wanting me to acknowledge that I understood what I had done. His rage, his violence captured everyone’s attention. Our family sat spellbound, rapt before the pornography of patriarchal violence. 

After this beating I was banished—forced to stay alone in the dark. Mama came into the bedroom to soothe the pain, telling me in her soft southern voice, “I tried to warn you. You need to accept that you are just a little girl and girls can’t do what boys do.” In service to patriarchy her task was to reinforce that Dad had done the right thing by, putting me in my place, by restoring the natural social order.

I remember this traumatic event so well because it was a story told again and again within our family. No one cared that the constant retelling might trigger post-traumatic stress; the retelling was necessary to reinforce both the message and the remembered state of absolute powerlessness. 

The recollection of this brutal whipping of a little-girl daughter by a big strong man, served as more than just a reminder to me of my gendered place, it was a reminder to everyone watching/remembering, to all my siblings, male and female, and to our grown-woman mother that our patriarchal father was the ruler in our household. 

We were to remember that if we did not obey his rules, we would be punished, punished even unto death. 

This is the way we were experientially schooled in the art of patriarchy.

There is nothing unique or even exceptional about this experience. Listen to the voices of wounded grown children raised in patriarchal homes and you will hear different versions with the same underlying theme, the use of violence to reinforce our indoctrination and acceptance of patriarchy.

 In How Can I Get Through to You? family therapist Terrence Real tells how his sons were initiated into patriarchal thinking even as their parents worked to create a loving home in which antipatriarchal values prevailed. 

He tells of how his young son Alexander enjoyed dressing as Barbie until boys playing with his older brother witnessed his Barbie persona and let him know by their gaze and their shocked, disapproving silence that his behavior was unacceptable:

“Without a shred of malevolence, the stare my son received transmitted a message. You are not to do this. And the medium that message was broadcast in was a potent emotion: shame. 

At three, Alexander was learning the rules. 

A ten second wordless transaction was powerful enough to dissuade my son from that instant forward from what had been a favorite activity. I call such moments of induction the “normal traumatization” of boys.”

To indoctrinate boys into the rules of patriarchy, we force them to feel pain and to deny their feelings.

My stories took place in the fifties; the stories Real tells are recent. They all underscore the tyranny of patriarchal thinking, the power of patriarchal culture to hold us captive. 

Real is one of the most enlightened thinkers on the subject of patriarchal masculinity in our nation, and yet he lets readers know that he is not able to keep his boys out of patriarchy’s reach. They suffer its assaults, as do all boys and girls, to a greater or lesser degree. 

No doubt by creating a loving home that is not patriarchal, Real at least offers his boys a choice: they can choose to be themselves or they can choose conformity with patriarchal roles. 

Real uses the phrase “psychological patriarchy” to describe the patriarchal thinking common to females and males. 

Despite the contemporary visionary feminist thinking that makes clear that a patriarchal thinker need not be a male, most folks continue to see men as the problem of patriarchy. This is simply not the case. Women can be as wedded to patriarchal thinking and action as men.

Psychotherapist John Bradshaw’s clear-sighted definition of patriarchy in Creating Love is a useful one: “The dictionary defines ‘patriarchy’ as a ‘social organization marked by the supremacy of the father in the clan or family in both domestic and religious functions’.” 

Patriarchy is characterized by male domination and power. 

He states further that “patriarchal rules still govern most of the world’s religious, school systems, and family systems.” 

Describing the most damaging of these rules, Bradshaw lists “blind obedience—the foundation upon which patriarchy stands; the repression of all emotions except fear; the destruction of individual willpower; and the repression of thinking whenever it departs from the authority figure’s way of thinking.” 

Patriarchal thinking shapes the values of our culture. 

We are socialized into this system, females as well as males. Most of us learned patriarchal attitudes in our family of origin, and they were usually taught to us by our mothers. These attitudes were reinforced in schools and religious institutions.

The contemporary presence of female-headed house holds has led many people to assume that children in these households are not learning patriarchal values because no male is present. They assume that men are the sole teachers of patriarchal thinking. 

Yet many female-headed households endorse and promote patriarchal thinking with far greater passion than two-parent households. Because they do not have an experiential reality to challenge false fantasies of gender roles, women in such households are far more likely to idealize the patriarchal male role and patriarchal men than are women who live with patriarchal men every day.

 We need to highlight the role women play in perpetuating and sustaining patriarchal culture so that we will recognize patriarchy as a system women and men support equally, even if men receive more rewards from that system. Dismantling and changing patriarchal culture is work that men and women must do together.

Clearly we cannot dismantle a system as long as we engage in collective denial about its impact on our lives. 

Patriarchy requires male dominance by any means necessary, hence it supports, promotes, and condones sexist violence. We hear the most about sexist violence in public discourses about rape and abuse by domestic partners. 

But the most common forms of patriarchal violence are those that take place in the home between patriarchal parents and children. The point of such violence is usually to reinforce a dominator model, in which the authority figure is deemed ruler over those without power and given the right to maintain that rule through practices of subjugation, subordination, and submission.

Keeping males and females from telling the truth about what happens to them in families is one way patriarchal culture is maintained. A great majority of individuals enforce an unspoken rule in the culture as a whole that demands we keep the secrets of patriarchy, thereby protecting the rule of the father. 

This rule of silence is upheld when the culture refuses everyone easy access even to the word “patriarchy.” Most children do not learn what to call this system of institutionalized gender roles, so rarely do we name it in everyday speech. This silence promotes denial. 

And how can we organize to challenge and change a system that cannot be named?

It is no accident that feminists began to use the word “patriarchy” to replace the more commonly used “male chauvanism” and “sexism.” 

These courageous voices wanted men and women to become more aware of the way patriarchy affects us all. In popular culture the word itself was hardly used during the heyday of contemporary feminism. 

Antimale activists were no more eager than their sexist male counterparts to emphasize the system of patriarchy and the way it works. 

For to do so would have automatically exposed the notion that men were all-powerful and women powerless, that all men were oppressive and women always and only victims. 

By placing the blame for the perpetuation of sexism solely on men, these women could maintain their own allegiance to patriarchy, their own lust for power. They masked their longing to be dominators by taking on the mantle of victimhood.

Like many visionary radical feminists I challenged the misguided notion, put forward by women who were simply fed up with male exploitation and oppression, that men were “the enemy.” 

As early as 1984 I included a chapter with the title “Men: Comrades in Struggle” in my book Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center urging advocates of feminist politics to challenge any rhetoric which placed the sole blame for perpetuating patriarchy and male domination onto men:

“Separatist ideology encourages women to ignore the negative impact of sexism on male personhood. It stresses polarization between the sexes.

 According to Joy Justice, separatists believe that there are “two basic perspectives” on the issue of naming the victims of sexism: “There is the perspective that men oppress women. And there is the perspective that people are people, and we are all hurt by rigid sex roles.”…Both perspectives accurately describe our predica ment. Men do oppress women. 

People are hurt by rigid sexist role patterns, These two realities coexist. 

Male oppression of women cannot be excused by the recognition that there are ways men are hurt by rigid sexist roles. Feminist activists should acknowledge that hurt, and work to change it—it exists. 

It does not erase or lessen male responsibility for supporting and perpetuating their power under patriarchy to exploit and oppress women in a manner far more grievous than the serious psychological stress and emotional pain caused by male conformity to rigid sexist role patterns.”

Throughout this essay I stressed that feminist advocates collude in the pain of men wounded by patriarchy when they falsely represent men as always and only powerful, as always and only gaining privileges from their blind obedience to patriarchy. I emphasized that patriarchal ideology brainwashes men to believe that their domination of women is beneficial when it is not:

“Often feminist activists affirm this logic when we should be constantly naming these acts as expressions of perverted power relations, general lack of control of one’s actions, emotional powerlessness, extreme irrationality, and in many cases, outright insanity. 

Passive male absorption of sexist ideology enables men to falsely interpret this disturbed behavior positively. As long as men are brainwashed to equate violent domination and abuse of women with privilege, they will have no understanding of the damage done to themselves or to others, and no motivation to change. 

Patriarchy demands of men that they become and remain emotional cripples. Since it is a system that denies men full access to their freedom of will, it is difficult for any man of any class to rebel against patriarchy, to be disloyal to the patriarchal parent, be that parent female or male.”

The man who has been my primary bond for more than twelve years was traumatized by the patriarchal dynamics in his family of origin. When I met him he was in his twenties.

 While his formative years had been spent in the company of a violent, alcoholic dad, his circumstances changed when he was twelve and he began to live alone with his mother.

 In the early years of our relationship he talked openly about his hostility and rage toward his abusingn dad. He was not interested in forgiving him or understanding the circumstances that had shaped and influenced his dad’s life, either in his childhood or in his working life as a military man. In the early years of our relationship he was extremely critical of male domination of women and children. 

Although he did not use the word “patriarchy,” he understood its meaning and he opposed it. His gentle, quiet manner often led folks to ignore him, counting him among the weak and the powerless. 

By the age of thirty he began to assume a more macho persona, embracing the dominator model that he had once critiqued. Donning the mantle of patriarch, he gained greater respect and visibility. More women were drawn to him. He was noticed more in public spheres. His criticism of male domination ceased. And indeed he begin to mouth patriarchal rhetoric, saying the kind of sexist stuff that would have appalled him in the past.

These changes in his thinking and behavior were triggered by his desire to be accepted and affirmed in a patriarchal workplace and rationalized by his desire to get ahead. 

His story is not unusual. Boys brutalized and victimized by patriarchy more often than not become patriarchal, embodying the abusive patriarchal masculinity that they once clearly recognized as evil. 

Few men brutally abused as boys in the name of patriarchal maleness courageously resist the brainwashing and remain true to themselves. Most males conform to patriarchy in one way or another.

Indeed, radical feminist critique of patriarchy has practically been silenced in our culture. It has become a subcultural discourse available only to well-educated elites. Even in those circles, using the word “patriarchy” is regarded as passé. 

Often in my lectures when I use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe our nation’s political system, audiences laugh. No one has ever explained why accurately naming this system is funny. 

The laughter is itself a weapon of patriarchal terrorism. It functions as a disclaimer, discounting the significance of what is being named. It suggests that the words themselves are problematic and not the system they describe. I interpret this laughter as the audience’s way of showing discomfort with being asked to ally themselves with an antipatriarchal disobedient critique. This laughter reminds me that if I dare to challenge patriarchy openly, I risk not being taken seriously.

Citizens in this nation fear challenging patriarchy even as they lack overt awareness that they are fearful, so deeply embedded in our collective unconscious are the rules of patriarchy. 

I often tell audiences that if we were to go door-to-door asking if we should end male violence against women, most people would give their unequivocal support. 

Then if you told them we can only stop male violence against women by ending male domination, by eradicating patriarchy, they would begin to hesitate, to change their position. Despite the many gains of contemporary feminist movement—greater equality for women in the workforce, more tolerance for the relinquishing of rigid gender roles—patriarchy as a system remains intact, and many people continue to believe that it is needed if humans are to survive as a species. 

This belief seems ironic, given that patriarchal methods of organizing nations, especially the insistence on violence as a means of social control, has actually led to the slaughter of millions of people on the planet.

Until we can collectively acknowledge the damage patriarchy causes and the suffering it creates, we cannot address male pain. We cannot demand for men the right to be whole, to be givers and sustainers of life. Obviously some patriarchal men are reliable and even benevolent caretakers and providers, but still they are imprisoned by a system that undermines their mental health.

Patriarchy promotes insanity. It is at the root of the psychological ills troubling men in our nation. Nevertheless there is no mass concern for the plight of men. In Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man, Susan Faludi includes very little discussion of patriarchy:

“Ask feminists to diagnose men’s problems and you will often get a very clear explanation: men are in crisis because women are properly challenging male dominance. Women are asking men to share the public reins and men can’t bear it. Ask antifeminists and you will get a diagnosis that is, in one respect, similar. 

Men are troubled, many conservative pundits say, because women have gone far beyond their demands for equal treatment and are now trying to take power and control away from men…The underlying message: men cannot be men, only eunuchs, if they are not in control. 

Both the feminist and antifeminist views are rooted in a peculiarly modern American perception that to be a man means to be at the controls and at all times to feel yourself in control.”

Faludi never interrogates the notion of control. She never considers that the notion that men were somehow in control, in power, and satisfied with their lives before contemporary feminist movement is false.

Patriarchy as a system has denied males access to full emotional well-being, which is not the same as feeling rewarded, successful, or powerful because of one’s capacity to assert control over others. 

To truly address male pain and male crisis we must as a nation be willing to expose the harsh reality that patriarchy has damaged men in the past and continues to damage them in the present. If patriarchy were truly rewarding to men, the violence and addiction in family life that is so all-pervasive would not exist. 

This violence was not created by feminism. If patriarchy were rewarding, the overwhelming dissatisfaction most men feel in their work lives—a dissatisfaction extensively documented in the work of Studs Terkel and echoed in Faludi’s treatise—would not exist. 

In many ways Stiffed was yet another betrayal of American men because Faludi spends so much time trying not to challenge patriarchy that she fails to highlight the necessity of ending patriarchy if we are to liberate men. Rather she writes:

“Instead of wondering why men resist women’s struggle for a freer and healthier life, I began to wonder why men refrain from engaging in their own struggle. Why, despite a crescendo of random tantrums, have they offered no methodical, reasoned response to their predicament: Given the untenable and insulting nature of the demands placed on men to prove themselves in our culture, why don’t men revolt?…Why haven’t men responded to the series of betrayals in their own lives—to the failures of their fathers to make good on their promises–with some thing coequal to feminism?”

Note that Faludi does not dare risk either the ire of feminist females by suggesting that men can find salvation in feminist movement or rejection by potential male readers who are solidly antifeminist by suggesting that they have something to gain from engaging feminism. 

So far in our nation visionary feminist movement is the only struggle for justice that emphasizes the need to end patriarchy. 

No mass body of women has challenged patriarchy and neither has any group of men come together to lead the struggle.

 The crisis facing men is not the crisis of masculinity, it is the crisis of patriarchal masculinity. Until we make this distinction clear, men will continue to fear that any critique of patriarchy represents a threat. 

Distinguishing political patriarchy, which he sees as largely committed to ending sexism, therapist Terrence Real makes clear that the patriarchy damaging us all is embedded in our psyches:

“Psychological patriarchy is the dynamic between those qualities deemed “masculine” and “feminine” in which half of our human traits are exalted while the other half is devalued. Both men and women participate in this tortured value system. 

Psychological patriarchy is a “dance of contempt,” a perverse form of connection that replaces true intimacy with complex, covert layers of dominance and submission, collusion and manipulation. It is the unacknowledged paradigm of relationships that has suffused Western civilization generation after generation, deforming both sexes, and destroying the passionate bond between them.”

By highlighting psychological patriarchy, we see that everyone is implicated and we are freed from the misperception that men are the enemy. 

To end patriarchy we must challenge both its psychological and its concrete manifestations in daily life.

 There are folks who are able to critique patriarchy but unable to act in an antipatriarchal manner.

To end male pain, to respond effectively to male crisis, we have to name the problem. We have to both acknowledge that the problem is patriarchy and work to end patriarchy. 

Terrence Real offers this valuable insight: “The reclamation of wholeness is a process even more fraught for men than it has been for women, more difficult and more profoundly threatening to the culture at large.”

If men are to reclaim them essential goodness of male being, if they are to regain the space of openheartedness and emotional expressiveness that is the foundation of well-being, we must envision alternatives to patriarchal masculinity. We must all change.

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter V

Prisoner’s Dilemma

Full story is on Ao3 here.

“...and we're expected to reach 4 percent growth this quarter,” the chief officer of finance droned on, “with a goal of ten percent growth at the end of the year. The Asian markets are causing immense growth, and our acquisition of Mallet Fisheries has opened us to the European markets, particularly among with herring and cod”

Your head nodded, and you were failing the to fight the urge to doze off, when you felt your knee being squeezed. You jerked, and looked to your right, to a apologetically smiling Fredrick. Hastily, you checked around at the other men and women at the mahogany table, to see if anyone else had noticed. Thankfully, they seemed all engrossed at the woman at the podium.

“Unfortunately, we may not reach our projected growth this year, due to unforeseen circumstances regarding mechanical issues with our ships, and especially the sinking of the Phantom.” You felt heat creep up your neck and face, you knew exactly what they were talking about. (The Phantom was one of the larger ships the company owned, to think Vergil could have single-handedly taken it down...wow, you were impressed).

“But nevertheless,” she continued, “We've been personally assured that the cause of these malfunctions have been taken care of, and we should not face anymore issues.” You grimaced, and then quickly checked if anyone else had seen your reaction, but even Fredrick hadn't seen anything, thank God.

“And with that,” she said, “I leave the last words to our wonderful owner.” A round of polite clapping followed as your father walked up up to podium, a big grin on his face. He adjusted his reading glasses, as he checked his notes. “As you know, my Father started this business as a small humble fleet of boats, set on the east coast, and was very happy at how it grew and prospered. When he passed it down to me, he told me, 'Son, this is your family legacy. Take care of it as if it was your own child. Nurture it, support it, watch it grow and succeed. And one day, you will see it grow up more than you could have ever hoped.'” He smiled and looked up. “When my father handed me the company, it was large, a dominant fishing fleet that covered the east coast. And several decades later, we've managed to make our family business fully live up to it's name. Mundus is the Latin word for 'The World', and I am proud to see the the company I've worked hard to build has truly lived to it's name. Mundus Ltd has truly become a worldwide company.”

He looked straight at you “Which is why I'm happy to announce that as of today, I'll be letting my daughter, and future son-in-law slowly take over the business.” Surprised murmurings came from the suits, which your father quickly quieted down. “Now don't worry, this transitional period will be at least five years, and possibly a whole decade, to make it as smooth as possible, and I'll be in charge up until the very end. No one's job is at risk. All I ask is that you would treat them as hospitably as you can, help them learn the ropes of this business, and by the time my daughter is ready to take the reins, you'll barely notice the difference. Does anyone have any questions, for me or for our future leaders?”

Thankfully, the boardroom was full of people who were thinking exactly like you, and wanting to get out, asap, so no hands were raised. “Well, that about wraps this meeting up, thank you all for attending, we'll meet up in a few weeks time.” Your father said, as the board members attempted to not look to eager to leave the room. You attempted to do the same, but unfortunately, your dad intercepted you, “I know it's a lot of pressure, to live up to this responsibility, but I'm sure with just a few years of training, you'll be ready to take over your legacy. After all, it's in the blood, right?” He laughed as he placed his hand on your shoulder, “Let's go out for a business lunch, I can show you the basics”

You wanted to decline, but Fredrick saved the day. “Sorry sir, but we've already planned our lunch together,” which you father seemingly was fine with.

“Have fun, you lovebirds!” he called out as you left the building, causing you to blush immensely.

*****

You sat in the booth, poking at your salad. You'd at first been happy that Fredrick had 'rescued' you from the attentions of your father, but now you were regretting it, since your fiance was a bit nervous, a bit distant. He kept glancing at his phone, like he was expecting a call, and it was getting a bit annoying.

“So, you expecting someone?” you attempted to ask nonchalantly, after his sixth checkup.

He sighed apologetically, “I'm sorry, my dad is expecting me home soon, he has business dealings with a Japanese engineering firm he wants me to be a part of, but we're not sure when they will show up, their flight might be a bit early. He paused, took a drink of his water, and stiffened, “which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What does this have to do with me?” you asked, somewhat nervously.

He sighed, as if he really didn't want this conversation. “It looks like my father wants me to head with the engineering team back to Japan to oversee the construction and operation of the new fish processing plant.”

You were relieved. It wasn't something bad at all, he was just nervous about the 'promotion' “Oh that's great! It's wonderful that you're father trusts you with such an important task. I'm sure you'll do great at it.”

He grimaced, “Yeah... that's the problem. I'll be out of the country for nearly ten and half months...”

You mentally calculated... you'd been engaged for a month, and in that time you'd seen Fredrick a grand total of... four days. That would leave...

“You'll only have a half a month to get ready before the wedding?!”

“Yeah, I know, I brought this up with my dad, but he said that this couldn't wait.... this was the perfect opportunity to get my feet wet in the business, and that I'd be a fool to miss this,” he said sheepishly.

“But the planning... I thought we were going to do this together!”

“We can, I won't be in the middle of nowhere, I'll have 24/7 internet access.”

“That won't help me with contacting vendors, caterers, and convention areas... it won't help me choose flowers or who to invite and who's persona non grata to the ceremony,” you protested.

Your fiance gritted his teeth as his head “Look, my father said that was usually the reserve of the ladies, and you're getting a top notch wedding planner, so how hard could it be? By the time I come back, the only thing we'll need is the tuxedo fitting, and we'll be good to go.”

“How hard could it be!?” you wanted to scream, but you couldn't start a scene in public. Besides, he had a point, how many months had he gone without seeing you while you were busy on you studies? He deserved this chance to make something of himself, even if it put more of a burden on you. It wouldn't be fair to him to deny him this, not when you were comfortable at home, no expectations... just arrange a wedding, and learn how your father's business ran. Still, you had hoped that both of you would be able to do this as a team....

“Alright, I guess. I mean, I won't deny that I'm disappointed...but do you really want this?”

He placed his hand on yours, and smiled apologetically. “Yes, although I wish it was at any other time of my life. It's a shame how life likes to throw curve balls at us. Now,” he said as he waved a passing waiter for the check, “Let me drive you home, and I'll get you my future contact info.”

*****

Fredrick pulled into your driveway, and hurriedly got out to open the door for you. He was always so gentlemanly about it, and even when it occasionally annoyed you, you couldn't bear to tell him to stop.

“We've arrived, milady” he joked as he escorted you to your front door. As you went through your keys to get the correct one, you paused. Your fiance had not been to your place since the aquarium was set up, and hadn't been told about Vergil. In fact, aside from your father and 'Doctor' Griffon, you were pretty sure no one knew about the merman.

What was strange was that you weren't worried about what Fredrick would think of Vergil, it was more of what Vergil would Fredrick. Would he see him as an intruder? What nonsense! In the past month, with your daily conversations, you'd told him many things about yourself, your family (although you had wisley steered away from talking about your father) friends, and... your fiance. What had Vergil called him? Ah, yes, 'Future Bondmate'. Merfolk seemed to have the romantic terms for everything. Surely he would be understanding enough that he would see Fredrick was no threat.

“Having trouble, honey?” Fredrick's voice intruded into your thoughts.

“I'm sorry, between all the keys from the estate, it's always hard to find the right one.” You fingered each key on the ring. One for your father's place, one for the warehouse on the estate, one to you mother's... and of course, one to Fredrick's place. Not to mention the ones to the private dock where you and your father kept your boats.

“Ah, here it is” you pulled it out in victory, and you inserted the key, and turned. “Now I must warn you, my place is a bit different since you last came over...” but by then it was too late, your fiance had inadvertently pushed you aside to get a better look at the aquarium. Could you really blame him? He didn't quite share the same fascination of the oceans as you, but only a curmudgeon would fail to appreciate the beauty of such an extravagant aquarium. He marveled at the coral, the rocks, the fish...

But not Vergil.

The merman was nowhere to be seen. You panicked for a brief moment, worried that Vergil had attempted an escape, and was currently stuck or hurt. But then you saw just a flicker of movement, from behind one of the farther rocks, nearly imperceptible to anyone who didn't know there was something there in the first place. Vergil, cautious as ever (and could you blame him?) had obviously heard a stranger, and decided retreat was the wisest course of action. “Amazing, your father really has outdone himself this time.” He observed a school of angelfish swim past. “It will be a bit of a hassle to move it to my place after the wedding...”

“Wait” you interrupted, jokingly “Who's to say I'm moving in with you?”

“I need to be close to my business, and close to the airport should I need to make an emergency trip to one of the factories.” he said, straight faced.

You realized he wasn't joking, and you protested “But this is my place, my home... we haven't even discussed our living arrangements yet.”

He seemed to have grasped quickly what you were talking about. “Sorry, I really shouldn't have assumed....Look, we don't have to move in all the way, you can keep this place as your home, live at my place part time, it's not really going to be that far, just a half hour drive if the traffic is good. We can even-” he was interrupted by a incessant buzzing, and he grabbed his phone, looking at message. “Aw damn, looks like their flight has arrived.” He began walking to the door, with you following. “Look, I'll try to call you every night, you work out all the arrangements, and I'll say yes to everything and anything you want. I want this to be the day you always dreamed about.” He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, before opening the front door, and running to his car. He pulled out at an alarming rate of speed, waving to you the entire time. You reciprocated, smiling and waving all the while until he was out of sight. Only then did your arm slowly fall down, and your smile fade.

Slowly closing the door, you trudged inside, before flopping down on the couch. It was only early afternoon, and yet you were exhausted. You were could only deal with so much personal interaction for so long without starting to break down. And now you were expected to take care of every single detail of this wedding. And it was going to be big wedding, you knew that. It would have been nice if the workload had been sha-

“So that is your bondmate to be?”  Vergil's inner voice gently prodded you from your anxiety inducing thoughts. You looked back at the aquarium glass, where he floated silently. Only now did you notice that his once pale tale was now speckled with blue scales, and his fins now had more of a blueish tint to them, unrelated to the lights of the aquarium.

“Yeah, that's Fredrick,” you waited for his judgement, no doubt negative, as Vergil had a very low opinion of humans in general.

“He seems like a good man” he responded, and you smiled. Perhaps he wasn't the curmudgeon you thought he was.

“But you do not love him.”

You did a double take, “Wait, what do you mean?”

He kept his eyes on you, but not in a judgmental way, “The way you talk to him, the physical gestures, the way you smile...” you thought about how he was watching you smile, and you felt bubbly inside, before shoving it back down.  “You do not hate him, nor dislike him, but as a bondmate....” he hesitated before continuing on “he is not what you wish for the rest of your life. Which perplexes me, why do you go through with this?”

You thought about the first part. Vergil was correct, while you and Fredrick were good friends, almost best friends, you couldn't really take it to the next level. But the wedding... once you were married, things would work out.

“It's more complicated than that, Vergil. Humans don't always marry for love, it's actually a relatively new concept, especially among upper classes. We usually married to bind families together, whether property, land, or power. Hopefully, love was added benefit.”

“Strange” the merman mused, “Perhaps it is due to humans and their need for possessions has superseded other concerns. We merfolk do not have such concerns, and as such, we value our connections, with out family, friends, our... bondmates. To create such a connection” he said seriously, and you realized this was the first you'd heard about mer culture, “is a life long commitment, one that has power that is.... inexplicable” You hesitated, worried at that you would bring up bad memories, “Vergil...do you...have a bondmate?”

He was taken aback, and he backed up for a tense moment, “No.... I was a bit of an oddity, I preferred to go my way for the past few years. Perhaps in a few years... if ...” his eyes seemed to dim, and he looked like he was staring at nothing.

“Vergil,” you said softly, and the alertness returned, but not to the same exact level as before, “The offer is still on the table, if you want to leave, I'll get you to the ocean.” You had expected him to either happily take the offer, or return to his angry state and denial. You didn't expect a small, sad smile.

“The offer is appreciated whether you place it on a table or in the aquarium, but I must decline...for now.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, at any time, I'll do it. I don't want you to be a prisoner here.”

“We seem to have that in common...” he chuckled without mirth, causing you to cock your head in confusion. “You do not wish to see me a prisoner of this cage and I...” he paused, “I do not wish to see you a prisoner of expectations....”

And with that, he (rapidly) swam away, leaving you flummoxed, confused, and suddenly rather disconcerted.