#like she does not have to be a foreign correspondent but i want her in that realm

[autumnrory]

watching rory's joy at the beginning of her internship at the stanford eagle gazette and later when she worms her way back in during season 6 (which like hey whatever happened to that lol) is why i simply cannot accept a universe where she doesn't have a career in journalism

[mariacallous]

The loneliness epidemic in the United States is so bad that even federal agencies have begun to pay attention. Today, half of adult Americans report experiencing feelings of loneliness and isolation, and some of the highest rates are seen among young adults.

That’s a painful social problem—but it’s also a national security threat. I get laughed at sometimes when I try to explain this concept to old-school bureaucrats. Who can blame them? Evolving threats are a headache, so it’s easier to pretend that nothing ever changes. But consider how easy it can be to compromise the lonely and desperate.

Take Sweet Dave, as he’s come to be known among security professionals, otherwise known as David Franklin Slater, a retired U.S. Army lieutenant colonel-turned-civilian Air Force employee. Earlier this year, Slater was charged with passing on classified information to an individual—who claimed to be both a woman and Ukrainian—via email and an unnamed online messaging platform.

Documents included in the federal indictment against Sweet Dave read like a Saturday Night Live sketch: “Dear, what is shown on the screens in the special room?? It is very interesting,” the alleged Ukrainian woman is quoted as saying to Slater at one point.

“You are my secret informant love!” Slater’s beloved coos after checking in to ask about how NATO representatives travel.

Judging by these messages, Slater wants to feel special. The person he is corresponding with makes him feel like a hero, not just a retired soldier in Nebraska. Who doesn��t, at the end of the day, want to feel like a hero?

It’s easy to dismiss Slater as foolish and horny, and while he definitely seems to be both of these things, I was curious to see a fellow open-source intelligence expert unearth his Facebook likes: Here’s a guy who’s completely awash in images of unattainable fantasy women to an embarrassing level, and it follows that he would lose all common sense if approached by one online.

Sex is an old motivation for espionage, but the current rash of cases is about far more than lust. Take Air National Guard member Jack Teixeira, who leaked highly classified information to impress his fellow nerds on Discord, a social messaging platform. He, too, wanted someone to think of him as a badass.

Foreign intelligence has always preyed on the lonely and romantically vulnerable, from the West German women targeted during the Cold War by East German “Romeo” spies to the French diplomat who believed that his lover, a Chinese man, was a woman who had birthed his son.

But the internet allows a degree of connection—or the illusion of connection—that facilitates exploitation on a scale never before seen. Sometimes it doesn’t even take foreign actors. Consider the case of Anna Gabrielian and her spouse, Jamie Lee Henry, two Americans who are due for a new trial after being charged with giving classified information to Russia. (Last year’s legal proceedings against the couple ended in a mistrial.)

What does a married couple have to do with loneliness and fantasy worlds? Not much, or so I thought at first—until I reread the indictment.

Looking at the power dynamics on display in this case is revealing. Henry and Gabrielian were in a lopsided relationship, with Gabrielian submerged in a fantasy dreamworld of “sacrificing everything” for a distant, mythical Russia. And she pressured her spouse into going along with it.

Gabrielian was so far gone that she thought that she could simply email the Russian Embassy and offer them help, and that she could trust whoever reads emails from random strangers over there. (I personally think that Russian Embassy staff members likely decided they were being played and began making inquiries of their own sources that U.S. intelligence picked up on, thus ultimately exposing Gabrielian’s plan.)

Gabrielian went as far as calling her spouse a “coward” for showing hesitation about turning traitor. This was the pedestrian version of the infamous “Russia, if you’re listening” speech by former U.S. Donald Trump, this time by a woman who clearly thought that benevolent Russian benefactors would materialize and reward her courage. There doesn’t appear to be a financial motive, as is the case with many similar cases. This was a spy fantasy concocted by a woman who obviously wanted to feel important.

In yet another unfortunate case, Gordon Black, a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army, was arrested in Russia in May and accused of theft. Based on this man’s social media, he seems to have been involved with a Russian woman from Vladivostok—the city where he was nabbed by the authorities.

Based on available information, Black was in the middle of a divorce from his American wife. I’ve found pictures of him with the Russian woman in question dating as far back as June 2023. I have also found memes and comments, supposedly posted by this woman on social media, that reflect virulently violent views toward Ukrainians, anger toward NATO, and even the desire to humiliate her American boyfriend, whom she calls a slur in one memorable video.

Black was stationed in South Korea and was due to travel to a new post at Fort Cavazos, in Texas, when he decided to detour to Russia instead. According to his mother, Black did not appear to have permission to do so, and may have even been “set up”—although Black’s loneliness may have played an even bigger role.

It’s clear to an impartial observer that Black’s Russian girlfriend was bad news, yet he risked everything for her. The ardent devotion that appears in his face in one particular picture with his girlfriend is almost painful to look at.

The usual approach by both government and private actors to security training and identifying foreign threat actors is extensive, and repetitive lectures and reminders reiterate that training. But that doesn’t necessarily address the root of the problem.

Many people with access to sensitive information—like the public as a whole—are adrift both online and offline. They’re stressed, and they often don’t feel connected to other human beings. This makes them sitting ducks as far as foreign intelligence, hackers, scammers, and agenda-driven trolls go. It can also make them feel angry and resentful, willing to betray, and willing to act stupid for the sake of feeling powerful and important—and feeling seen.

In the national security world, the word “holistic” is often viewed with suspicion and seen as the purview of New Age crystal healers. But you can’t divorce human nature—and human predicaments—from digital and personal safety.

For example, I once had several diplomats act very surprised when I pointed out that not enough people are being taught that they shouldn’t use dating apps while drinking or while seriously stressed. It just hadn’t occurred to them that unwinding with a glass of wine after work and checking the apps could result in a bad outcome. These men weren’t stupid at all—they just hadn’t considered a holistic approach to using technology while holding a sensitive job.

The same can be said about drinking in other situations where you could be left vulnerable—such as in a foreign country, or in a bar frequented by the wrong kind of people. Somehow, we all know the risk, but we rarely focus on why people take it to begin with; we rarely focus on our natural need for connection and thus have a hard time mitigating it properly.

Another man in a sensitive job was once very surprised when I wrote that it’s perfectly OK and even advisable to video chat with a potential date. “You mean I can just ask for that? What if she thinks I’m rude?” he asked. The answer to that question should be “who cares?”

Unfortunately, for lonely people—and especially men—who are already having a harder time when it comes to connecting to others, “who cares” is not enough. Being in the right frame of mind, being more confident, and feeling more settled are essential to enforcing boundaries, and people desperate for connection simply have a harder time doing that.

“Put down your phone and go outside” is cliche advice, but outside is also a great place to meet people, thus leading to a lessened sense of loneliness, thus leading to reduced stress, and thus leading to better decisions.

“Recognize when you’re unhappy or desperate” is another cliche. People laugh when I bring up the fact that staying emotionally balanced is advisable from a national security perspective. Sounds like woo-woo yoga mom talk, right? Yet the clearance process is already meant to weed out people who feel desperate—people with gambling or drug problems, for example. So shouldn’t we also be focused on making sure that people who already have clearances have access to the tools they need in order to right themselves when pressures in their lives escalate?

How many leaders instead expect their subordinates to constantly be online and available? This feeds into the loneliness epidemic too—believe me. How easy do you think it is for a person to form meaningful connections when they are forced to constantly check their phone?

With lawmakers growing more cognizant of “right to disconnect” laws that allow employees space to be offline instead of demanding constant connection, perhaps we can start thinking more broadly about what it means to disconnect, and how burnout is inadvisable. Not just because burnout is bad, which it is, but because burnout can be dangerous.

Lonely and unhappy people are a gold mine for hostile actors. The subsequent need to seek connection and validation in the wrong places is a security threat—and one that national security leaders need to be thinking about much harder.

[moonspirit]

Due to Annie’s dad coming from another country I imagine that she is likely bilingual and therefore like many people who also are bilingual can pick up different languages quick. She can also read both Marlian and Paradisian script the best out of anyone.

After the rumbling I can imagine this being useful for foreign communications and stuff but also for crosswords.

Armin always wanted to do them but struggles due to the change in language/script so they work together one it

Hello!

That's a really cool hc anon! I've actually never thought of that, but it makes sense huh - Annie's dad could very well have spoken to her in another language and she grew up speaking both his tongue and Marleyan.

I know it's common to hc Armin as the logophile of the two - he reads a lot, he knows a lot of words, he's got good language skills and great vocabulary - where Annie does gets stuck in a crossword, he pitches in to help. But if Annie's grown up bilingual with a knack for picking up other tongues quickly then languages do come easier to her as you say! Where it takes Armin some time to learn a language, she's getting it down pat in the matter of a few weeks or even months. It's definitely very helpful in foreign correspondence or even when they're making diplomatic visits.

Goddamnit - they're a power couple again T/////T !!!!

[horizon-verizon]

Dany’s bond with her dragons is unique because you can’t frame it through the pedestrian lens of a typical Targaryen dragon rider. She his their mother, their very reason for being, she breastfeed them, and she was dreaming of them even before she got the eggs. The eggs physically and emotionally healed her, they warmed in response to her emotions and influenced the child in her belly, and corresponded with her actions. The dragons nursed from her and only remained quiet in the red waste when she was in their sight. They breathe fire when she’s angry.

They hiss when she’s scared. No other Targaryen was ever a parent to their dragons, so trying to impose the rules of those dynamics onto Dany’s relationship with her dragons won’t work. Balerion and Vhagar didn’t burn anyone for trying to bond with them. The argument is that Rhaegal and Viserion are unridden so they’ll be fine to bond with others, but where dragons like Balerion, Vhagar, Meleys, Dreamfyre, etc accepted new riders, Rhaegal and Viserion even while unridden by Dany are still attached to her. When she visits them when they’re chained they scream and rattle their chains to try and get close to her. When Viserion notices Pretty Meris, his interest is piqued because he thinks it’s Dany, and then he loses interest. When Quentyn attacks Viserion, Rhaegal burns him alive. It doesn’t matter that they are unridden; no one can pull what Aemond or anyone else did by bonding them forcibly just because they’re unridden. Even Euron will die for what he does.

So Jon Snow isn’t going to steal Dany’s children from her in a flourish of triumph. Not even when he’s resurrected by blood and fire. If his stans want their boy to ride a dragon (I don’t think that will ever happen), their mother has to trust and love him and he has to swear loyalty to her and give up his “claim” for her (event though Jon has ZEO legal claim to the Iron Throne).

I feel similar; it's hard to imagine any of Dany's dragons letting anyone ride them. the first time I heard someone suggest that would happen I reflexively "gagged" and when I saw it onscreen in GoT I felt like stone. If it happens, it happens, but I'd be much more amenable to it if the rider has to go through Dany herself in some sort of way before they earn the right to actually ride one of her babies.

Jon shouldn't have a "claim", but bc of this really sexist society further having had its precedent from the Dance, he could be argued and supported to then feel or be convinced he does have one. Or have others argue such and have that spread like wildfire , which presents trouble if/when Dany ever rules Westeros bc she'd forever have a pressure to protect herself and hers for most of her reign. Rebellions here and there even with her dragons merely bc people have more feeling of righteousness both bc the history of the Dance and because she is "foreign" in a way Rhaenyra was not while also having already "lost" by having been exiled. While Jon is obviously more a Northener and a Stark by values and manner, etc, and Notherners are oftne thought more as "savages" by other Westerosi, they are still far more "familiar" than a girl raised in Essos and married off to a Dothraki who at one point would have birthed a boy with Dothraki lineage.

So yeah, if Jon expects at any point to ride one of the only dragons immediately available, he's going to have to do A LOT to show his trustworthiness and bond with Dany herself. Which could happen, but...we'll see.

[icanseethefuture333]

Can I ask you to do a little reading on Chris evans and Ana de armas bond? How they saw each other in the beginning when they first worked together in knives out and how they see each other now, what’s their bond like, what do they think of their current correspondent partners. Thank you angel !

Chris Evan's first impression of Ana De Armas:

For Chris' first impressions of Ana, he could of saw her as the embodiment of Taurus characteristics: Serene, down to earth, and tenacious. Very feminine and poised. It could of been obvious to him as well she was a foreigner and that peaked his interest? Chris wanted to learn more about her culture and what her traditions were. "You're breaking my heart here." I believe he sees her beauty and charm as something that would potentially hurt him. Or, this could mean he asked her out and she rejected him.

Channeled song:

Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John & Kiki Dee

Ana De Armas' first impression of Chris Evans:

"He is always surrounded by beautiful and luxurious women". Ana could see Chris as someone who is a playboy - Wealthy, flirtatious, and attractive. (NSFW) She could of heard things about his sex life or was curious about it 😭? She is sexually attracted to him. Ana finds Chris to be very funny as well. She finds his optimism, good sense of humor, and sunny disposition cute, charming, and infectious. She also finds him to be childish.

Current thoughts of each other:

Left is Chris. Center is their shared thoughts. Right is Ana.

So obviously... there is romantic tension between them. Chris has been trying for a while now for this relationship to happen, but Ana is just not interested. She is a wish fulfillment for him, is he manifesting her? Seems so. Ana is more focused on her career and accomplishing her goals. She sees Chris as someone who's popular and successful, but she is unsure if this is the energy she wants to be around long term. "I don't want people to say I am famous because of him, I wish to make my own success, I will not let a man take that away from me." Good for Ana, honestly 😳. Xenophobia and misogyny in the entertainment industry are also the major factors as to why she's rejecting Chris. Ana doesn't want to be accused of "sleeping her way to the top", she feels that will continue a harmful stereotypes/beliefs about hispanic/latina women. This is something Chris is not understanding and acting naive to because of his privileges. He is just focusing more on the fact he wants to be with her vs the concerns she has. "If we're happy then who cares what other people think?"

Their opinions about each other's partners:

Left is Chris. Center is their shared thoughts. Right is Ana.

"You chose him over me?!" Chris is jealous of Ana's partner. He is very opinionated about their relationship honestly, so I will just leave it at that 💀. He feels her partner is in the way.

Something sneaky is afoot... I'm getting a vision of a phone, they could be send each other like late night texts? There is a sense of not wanting to get caught. I'm getting Chris is the one overall who is reaching out to her and Ana is not having it. She doesn't wish to reveal her feelings to him. Ana doesn't like the idea of being vulnerable. There goes that Taurus energy lol. She is very stubborn. "Why would I care about his partner? I have a job to do". Ana is too busy focusing on her bag then worrying about what that man does. This could also mean she's using work as a way to avoid reality.

Channeled songs:

Creep by TLC

On The Hotline by Pretty Ricky

The Other Woman by Lana Del Rey

She Works Hard For The Money by Donna Summer

[hondacivictrucknuts]

Kamala Harris has answered the question of who she is: She is a sex crimes prosecutor.

That's always been part of her biography, but on the Call Her Daddy podcast it became clear that it's also a dominant part of her identity. If a woman or girl you cared about were raped, you would be grateful for Kamala Harris to speak with her. She would know what to say, and she would say it with conviction, and it would help.

At one point in my academic career I got interested in sexual violence, and attempted to study it with the tools of empirical economics. I.e., if a jurisdiction implements X policy, what impact does this have on the number of women who get raped there? I didn't have much success, mainly for data availability reasons; but I also discovered that this style of question was totally foreign to the people whose careers consist of studying related questions by other means. As an economist, this took a while to wrap my mind around: all these people care so much about other people making a choice they don't like (i.e. to rape), and they're avowedly uninterested in the determinants of those choices. Eventually I came to accept it.

Kamala Harris's economics policies make more sense in this light. I've noted before that nothing she talks about corresponds to any theory I know of how prices, wages, consumption, growth, inequality, migration, deficits, and so forth are connected. She just wants to help families. And for a sex crimes prosecutor, who is used to taking the existence of rapists and rape as givens to which we can only respond, it perhaps makes sense to take GDP as given and make plans to redistribute it. The only thing she can think to do for small businesses is to give them a tax break (although maybe she's just not taking credit for giving them lots of cheap migrant labor), when regulations are a bigger burden for many small businesses.

There was a collection of essays published in the 90s called Transforming a Rape Culture. The book had a strongly implied but unstated assumption that the cultural project it proposed would reduce the suffering caused by rape in our society. Also implied, but less strongly, was that the reduction would be on the intensive and not the extensive margin. While the book begat much follow-up work, none included checking to see whether it worked.

I think Kamala Harris's notion of an "opportunity economy" is similar to the idea of Transforming a Rape Culture. It certainly sounds like a good idea! There are things which could be better in fairly obvious ways with no obvious downside. It doesn't rely on any falsifiable theory of human nature or social relationships, and it's not clear how you would measure the results.

Kamala Harris having no theory of macroeconomics is not necessarily a bad thing. Her Treasury Secretary will have to get confirmed by Mitch McConnell's Senate, and she'll probably keep Jay Powell for the same reasons Biden did. McConnell can hash out fiscal policy with Hakeem Jeffries, and Harris can ask how it affects real people and then sign the bill.

[yamayuandadu]

I was wondering, why did the Greeks associate Nanaya with Artemis? I keep reading about an "Artemis-Nanaia", but Nanaya doesn't really seem that similar to Artemis. Is there something that I'm missing?

Paul-Alain Beaulieu covered this in Nabû and Apollo: The Two Faces of Seleucid Religious Policy. Similarly as Nabu = Apollo, this seems to boil down to Seleucid royal ideology. The Seleucid dynasty considered Zeus, Apollo and Artemis their tutelary deities, and typically the local cults which were to receive royal patronage had to be equated with one of these. Zeus had the obvious parallel in Marduk, Nabu was his son so he got to be Apollo, and Nanaya was female and associated with Nabu which was a close enough match to warrant the Artemis equation. I fail to see any closer similarity, and I suspect it's down to chance that the Greeks picked her over Tashmetum. Joan Goodnick Westenholz argued a factor might have been depictions of Nanaya with a bow (source), but these are late and while it is not impossible they are a strictly Mesopotamian development, with Nanaya being representedin a way well documented for Ishtar earlier on, it might as well be the result of the Seleucid policy resulting in the borrowing of iconography of their favored deities from coins and the like for local ones. I might be wrong but I think the only Greco-Roman author to offer a different take on Nanaya is Appian of Alexandria, assuming that is who he means by "Aphrodite of Elymais" (there was a temple of Nanaya in Susa in late antiquity, but I'm pretty sure she didn't even appear in theophoric names there for most of her history). Nanaya's generally non-astral character does not make her perfect match, but this feels more justified than many Greek assertions that foreign deities correspond to Aphrodite. I would boldly suggest it's more justified than the Ishtar = Aphrodite claims, seeing as Nanaya generally lacked a warlike aspect, and Aphrodite was not exactly a deity commonly invoked by kings during campaigns, a mainstay of Ishtar devotion through solid 2000 years. The Greek-Mesopotamian interactions under the Seleucids, as well as the state of Mesopotamian religion in this period, are discussed in some detail in Julia Krul's The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk, if you want more historical context. On the matter of Greek familiarity with Mesopotamian deities see Beyond Ereškigal? Mesopotamian Magic Traditions in the Papyri Graecae Magicae by Daniel Schwemer.

The presumably Seleucid Nanaya-Artemis connection left a trace in the further history of Nanaya, but that's a topic for another time; I will be working on a related wiki article next month so feel free to ask about that if it's of interest to you though. As a final curiosity it's worth noting equations between Nanaya and foreign deities were not exactly common in the Bronze Age: the recently discovered Amorite-Akkadian bilingual has her as the counterpart of Pidray (otherwise only known from Ugarit but presumably originally linked to Aleppo), and Frans Wiggermann maintains an equation between her and Elamite Narundi was a thing, but he doesn't cite a source and also by the time it would've occurred Narundi was only worshiped in Mesopotamia anyway.

[xenokattz]

The remaining letters from the draft of "The Pearl I Carry in my Heart." While I enjoyed writing Big Brother M'Baku, the tone didn't fit the story as it developed. Also, I ended up disliking how the letters made it seem like Shuri & Namor were both dragged into falling in love when my goal was for them to do it all by themselves like grown-ups.

~*~

King M'Baku of the Jabari,

I am unused to correspondence with a friendly nation. Wakanda will be Talokan's first official ally and we will be yours. Henceforth, our communication will reflect this new relationship. However, threaten me again and I will ensure there is nothing left of the Jabari to bury you.

Now, let us begin anew.

I have consulted my advisors regarding a summit but they are not in agreement about the necessity, length, or wisdom of meeting at the surface for a prolonged period of time.

I have attached their requirements and goals for this meeting. If they are met, my advisors may be moved to change their mind. I can, of course, simply order a contingent to go to Wakanda but as I understand it, forced alliances are weak. Talokan will not be made weak.

I also suggest a more neutral meeting place such as the [westcoast of Africa/some sort of island] that is foreign to us both and thus a disadvantage to us both. I understand this will delay the summit but that is a risk I am willing to take for the sake of success.

I would like clarification on an item in your initial correspondence: marriage between myself and the Black Panther. Is this a literal marriage or a figurative one? While it would strengthen the alliance in the eyes of my people, I find it difficult to believe you could enforce such a thing on Princess Shuri. I do not force myself on the unwilling. I would like to hear from her regarding this matter.

Ajaw K'uk'ulkan

~*~

Ajaw K'uk'ulkan,

I regret to inform you that the Black Panther is unavailable for the foreseeable future. I will, of course, inform her of your response. It is up to her whether or not she will contact you.

M'Baku of the Jabari, King of Wakanda

~*~

K'uk'ulkan,

The marriage was my idea. If you do not desire it, it does not need to happen.

Shuri

~*~

[UNSENT]

Princess

It is good to hear —

I hope this message finds you—

I am sorry for your—

Nevermind, erase everything. Do not send it.

Begin a new message for King M'Baku

~*~

King M'Baku of the Jabari

The most recent iteration of the summit is acceptable. We will meet at the dates outlined in Wakanda. Our representatives are free to correspond until then. I look forward to the greatness our two nations will achieve.

Ajaw K'uk'ulkan

~*~

Ajaw K'uk'ulkan

Since this marriage might actually happen, Hanuman help us all, I feel it is both my duty and obligation as a king and a friend to tell you to be soft with Shuri. I say this not because I doubt her abilities or her strength; she is one of the strongest, most capable people I have met. In another fight between the two of you, I have no doubt of the outcome. She will win and you will die. But killing you will kill something in her that is as precious and rare as vibranium itself.

Shuri is, at heart, a creator but lately, because the world is cruel, she has had very little to do with the former and far too much of the latter. I would have her create again. I would have her happy. You will see when Shuri is joyful, she is strongest. You will want that strength when you must inevitably deal with the rest of the world.

Therefore, regardless of the certainty of this marriage, you will court her, God-King of Talokan. You will shower her with gifts, ones that she actually wants. You will dance with her. You will give her biosensitive energy cells, walks on the beach with ice cream, and whatever else she desires from a suitor. Use your supposed extensive spy network to research what that means these days. You owe her that much.

M'Baku of the Jabari, King of Wakanda

PS: To be clear, I meant that I am Shuri's friend.

~*~

[UNSENT]

King M'Baku of the Jabari,

I thank you for your wisdom. I admire Princess Shuri for all the reasons you have written. She is a powerful opponent, a brilliant scientist, and kinder than anyone I have met in five hundred years. Talokan is blessed to have her as a queen.

It is unfortunate that the spectre of our battle and the losses incurred will never leave us. Nor should it, for the lessons we have all learned from it are sacred. Despite this, I swear on the lives of my people that I will treat Princess Shuri with honour and respect. Had things been different, I would have her enveloped in softness and wanting for nothing. I would have ensured she knew only joy. While I have no way of knowing whether she will find this joy in our union, I will do everything in my power to make certain she will not know any more sorrow.

Ajaw K'uk'ulkan

[psablog]

PSA: Be conscious of biased algorithms!

By: SUMMER

I recently read “A Sea of Data: Apophenia and Pattern (Mis-)Recognition”, a chapter in the book Duty Free Art by Hito Steyerl. She discusses the growing issue that data analysts face in a world where there is an overwhelming amount of data to go through - how to differentiate between signal and noise. She argues, “Vision loses importance and is replaced by filtering, decrypting, and pattern recognition”.

I thought that her idea applied to us as media consumers and social media users on an everyday scale in a similar way. We’re being hit with so much information at all times that our brains sometimes go on autopilot, constantly deciding what’s worth paying attention to and what has to go. On social media, we end up curating a stream of content that perfectly caters to our interests and shows us what we believe is important - that’s us separating signal from noise.

Who does social media actually care about? Steyerl references a mythical Ancient Greek story in which “affluent male locals” produced actual speech, while “women, children, slaves, and foreigners” were just noise - annoying and irrelevant. I thought of our last Digital Humanities class, where we talked about how social media platforms function and whose interests they prioritize. While we do have some control over what we want to see on our feeds, we concluded that biased algorithms maintain feeds that are dominated by people who are white, able-bodied, conventionally attractive, etc. Some of my classmates noted how marginalized communities, like LGBTQ+ folks, are being censored and shadow-banned on social media. It sounds an awful lot like a modern-day equivalent of that Ancient Greek story.

TikTok users speak out about their posts being wrongly shadowbanned and flagged for violating Community Guidelines.

Not to burst your bubble... “Dirty data” is a term that Steyerl uses, which can mean inaccurate and inconsistent data, but should also be understood as “real data” that “documents the struggle of real people with a bureaucracy that exploits the uneven distribution and implementation of digital technology”. What she means by this is that entire groups of people are ignored - “not taken into account” - because these digital and social structures simply do not work in their favor. We're at fault here, too - the downside of having that control over curating our feeds is that we tend to trap ourselves in a bubble. We make connections that reinforce our existing worldviews and cry “dirty data!” at the stuff that doesn’t fit the mold that we’re comfortable with. Organizations like Logic are recognizing this issue and making plans to use their platform to amplify the voices of typically silenced groups of people, like trans and Indigenous writers. Action like this is important in broadening our perspectives and making room for content outside of the bubbles that we and our biased algorithms have worked together to create.

Data vs. reality What are the dangers of relying too heavily on these algorithms to analyze data? To what extent do the patterns they find correspond to actual reality? In the chapter, Steyerl talks about automated apophenia: computers perceiving connections in data where there aren’t any. She prompts us to consider the real-life consequences of making decisions based on these phantom patterns. In recent years, tenant screening technology used in selling and renting homes has been threatening housing equality due to its programmed bias. This article from Curbed explains how the problem boils down to tech experts designing these systems “in a vacuum”, without any knowledge on civil rights or social implications. The NSA’s SKYNET program that Steyerl references in his chapter is the same type of issue on a larger, deadlier scale.

I won’t deny how important technology is for our everyday functioning, but it isn’t perfect or limitless by any means. Supposedly objective and fact-based algorithms often become reflections of our own human biases. But if we’re the ones who wrote them, then we can be the ones to recognize their flaws and work towards fixing them!

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

CIVIL WAR - Spectacle and Responsibility

THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS, GRAPHIC WAR TIME PHOTOGRAPHY AND THEMES/IMAGES OF TERRIBLE SUFFERING AND SUICIDE - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Civil War is a film by Alex Gardiner, writer/director of Ex Machina 28 Days Later and Annihilation. It covers a group of war photographers travelling from New York to Washington D.C. during a new American civil war. Aiming to get an interview with the Authoritarian president on his third term, the group takes a road trip across a divided nation.

This has, in part, been hyped as more of an action-heavy film. It isn't. This is very much a love letter to war photographers, and correspondents, with a serious message on the divisions occurring across the West.

Watching it, I'm left with a certain impression, which can be summed up as a question. What does it mean to be a war reporter?

BELIEVE IT

"Dave Scherman and I took off from Dachau to go look for the war front which seemed a mirage of cleanliness and humanity. The sight of the blue and white striped tatters shrouding the bestial death of the hundreds of starved and maimed men and women had left us gulping for air and for violence, and if Munich, the birthplace of this horror was falling we’d like to help." - Lee Miller

Lee Miller was a photographer for a women's magazine in the 1930s and 1940s. She originally started as a model for Vogue magazine, but was able to get herself a position as a photographer as the Second World War progressed and Miller's male colleagues were shipped off to the the armed services. The magazine worked closely with the government to put out information, and content, that could help women during the war - and Miller was eventually drafted as one of four war official correspondents in the US army during the Normandy invasion during 1944. Miller's photographs focused on many aspects of the war, such as women who were German collaborators, but some of her most impactful were from the liberation of camps such as Buchenwald and Dachau. Images that reportedly haunted her for the rest of her life.

By documenting the atrocities in newspapers, and dispatches, ordinary citizens across the world were able to discover atrocities and pressure their representatives to ensure such acts could never occur again. The subsequent Nuremberg Trials, and creation of the Geneva Conventions, were a direct result of the atrocities committed during the war.

In Civil War, Lee Smith (Kirsten Dunst) is the grizzled war photographer, having covered conflicts across Africa and the Middle East. She wants to use her photography as a way to inform the world of conflicts, and help prevent them, but has ultimately failed in her own home, the United States of America. When we meet her in Civil War, she is a distant and terse figure. A disillusioned figure whose dreams of preventing conflict have died, now haunted by the images of her foreign assignments transplanted into her own country as the protections brought in at the end of the second world war eroded away.

What's in an image?

“I cried when I saw her running... If I don’t help her — if something happened and she died — I think I’d kill myself after that.” - Huỳnh Công Út The Terror of War is a photograph by Huỳnh Công Út in 1972, during the Vietnam War. During the war, a South Vietnamese napalm attack hit Trảng Bàng village. Many villagers were forced to flee, with Phan Thị Kim Phúc having to strip to avoid burning alive in Napalm jelly. The fleeing children were caught on camera by Út, against the backdrop of their destroyed home and the indifference of the soldiers around them. Út had to fight Associated Press to get the photo published, given the full frontal nudity, but when it was pushed through it became a defining image for a generation. The Vietnam war was one of the first televised conflict, with war photographers, and film crews, providing an important on-the-ground perspective that was often lacking from more tightly controlled press outfits in both World Wars. It was also widely unpopular with the US public, who were being drafted to fight in another overseas war, which they had little stake in. Many of the popular protest movements across the US, in universities, in music and popular culture were based around the Vietnam War - with images such as The Terror of War acting as a lightning rod to ignite popular public opposition to the war inside the US and beyond. After taking his photo, Út was able to get Kim Phúc, and others, to the safety of a hospital. When doctors refused to treat her due to the severity of her burns, Út flashed his press pass at them and threatened to name their hospital as the hospital that let her die. Kim Phúc was treated, and has remained lifelong friends with Út ever since - leading international efforts to provide medical and psychological aid to children from warzones. She has an affectionate nickname for Út - Uncle.

In Civil War, Lee Smith is matched by Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson), a veteran New York Times reporter and her mentor - joining their trip on his own path but providing her with a warmer, emotional support. Sammy is the heart of the old-school of journalism. He is the kind of journalist that would get the story, and do what he could to save those in need. He's older, wiser, and has a sense of responsibility towards Lee - seeing how her job, and attitude, has made her miserable and has caused her to repress her accumulated trauma.

Post-War Postmodernism

"Death and grief knock on the door of almost every house in Gaza... I thought this picture may reach all decision makers and the world and I hoped it would be a reason to stop the killing, strikes and destruction Gaza has seen." - Mohammed Jad Salem

The conflict in Gaza has been raging since last October, with no true end in sight. Palestinian photojournalists, such as Mohammed Jad Salem, have been on the receiving end of the violence. Not just in the images that have been captured, but physically targeted by the IDF. Under international law, journalists are protected by Article 79 of the Geneva Convention of 1949, established after the Second World War and updated with this Article in a 1977 revision: 1. Journalists engaged in dangerous professional missions in areas of armed conflict shall be considered as civilians within the meaning of Article 50, paragraph 1  2. They shall be protected as such under the Conventions and this Protocol, provided that they take no action adversely affecting their status as civilians, and without prejudice to the right of war correspondents accredited to the armed forces to the status provided for in Article 4 A (4) of the Third Convention.

The Gazan war has claimed the lives of 105 journalists and support workers. Some photographs you will have seen are taken by now deceased photojournalists. With the exception of journalists embedded into IDF units, Israel does not let foreign reporters into Gaza. It does not let surviving reporters out either, unless in a body bag.

As many in South America already know, some countries are more equal than others when it comes to international law. The gamification of international law. Treating conventions as problems to be solved, puzzles to be reduced to components, to justify atrocities. This is the state of many of the world's countries have come to in the 21st century - a Post-War Postmodernism for the information age. A jaded, cynical, approach to the world which reflects the initial state of many of the Civil War characters.

Old World Blues

In Civil War, there is a parallel drawn between characters who represent the old world of photojournalism and the new. Sammy is representative of the older school of journalism. The attitude of using images to help change the world for the better. He has previously acted as mentor for Lee but, as we meet them, Lee's attitude has shifted to a more jaded mindset. Lee's work hasn't been able to stop the actions destroying the nation. "Once you start asking yourself those questions, you can’t stop. So we don’t ask. We record so other people ask. Want to be a journalist, that’s the job." - Lee Jessie Cullen is young and impressionable, but has a specific attitude towards her work - seeing it almost in a reductive means to get the perfect photo. Cullen makes a fumbling admission to Lee about two of her heroes having the same name, Lee Miller and Lee Smith, which is quickly brushed aside by Smith. Cullen is green. She's new, very hungry, and she slowly gains more experience during their road trip. She has a strong technical knowledge of her film kit, impressing even Lee. She is engrossed in the technical side of getting the perfect shot instead of thinking that there's a bigger picture to her work, like using photography to change the world. Something that Lee, underneath the cynicism, is hiding. "Every time I survived a war-zone, I thought I was sending a warning home, “Don’t do this.” But here we are." - Lee This is reflected in the downtime interactions with Lee, where Cullen acts to remind Lee of the joys in life, and is a counterpoint to Lee's hidden idealistic nature. Cullen has no pretention on changing the world through her work, she just needs the best shot. Cullen is growing up in a world turned upside down. To her, risking literally everything to be the best at her craft is the dream. As Lee influences Lee in perfecting the craft, Cullen is influencing Lee on the effective meaningless of her ideals. This comes to a head in the middle, to end, of the film where an encounter with soldiers disposing of corpses leads to the death of Sammy. This is the dying of the old, empathetic, journalism of old that Lee has aspired to. The soldiers are effectively white nationalists who proceed to quiz the group on where they're from - killing the foreign reporters and dumping them into the mass grave filled with civilians. There is a scene earlier in the film where Cullen asks if Lee will take a photo if Cullen dies. Lee blows it off with a "what do you think?". As Lee looks at a photo she's taken of Sammy's corpse, she decides to delete what is a newspaper-worthy shot. Rejecting the photo, she holds her ideals closer than before, the ideals that Sammy strived for. The humanity behind the image. As the remaining crew move towards the White House, and the defeat of the President to the Western Forces, Cullen becomes ever more brazen in her attempts to get more photos. She has gained a gung-ho confidence, having to be pulled back behind cover by soldiers to avoid her getting shot. Lee struggles in this section of the film. She clearly sees the inhumanity of what is going on. No longer the confident, cool, operator she is fully embracing her suppressed trauma - struggling under the pressure. As the soldiers sweep the White House, Cullen makes a bold attempt at a shot, only to be pushed away be Lee who takes several bullets to the chest. As the soldiers race to capture the President, Cullen takes a look back at Lee and, instead of helping her, turns back to her task and joins the soldiers with the newly captured President. As the Western Forces soldiers shoot the President, there is no empathy present. Just Cullen getting her perfect shots. Her baptism of fire ending in the death of her old mentors and their ideals.

Cullen isn't burdened by the idea that a photograph can change the world. To her that's just an ideal from a quaint bygone age. An age where a photograph can be used as a positive force for social good no longer exists for her. Instead it's just a trophy. There's little difference between her and the soldier - they're both shooting their prize. It's just that one is holding a gun, and one is holding a camera. "There is no version of this that is a mistake. I know, because I’m it. Joel and Sammy are it." - Lee "It’s my choice." - Jessie

The Cost of Capturing an Image

Civil War isn't a film about a hyper-realistic conflict. Alex Garland has explicitly set that out himself in interviews. Any critique on "California and Texas wouldn't align" is a waste of time arguing against - it's not the focus of Garland's attention. Instead Civil War asks questions of what we expect from photojournalism, and the corrosive polarisation of politics that has lead to the destruction of post-war protections, and attitudes.

What is photojournalism for? Is it to warn of the dangers of conflict, to help leaders prevent them in future and to better humanity? The Lee Miller and Huỳnh Công Út approach to inform, educate and entertain humanity?

Is it just to reach the peak of technical perfection - to get the best shot for the bragging rights, and the glory? The Paparazzi, pay-per-click, Public Relations approach? A means to promote your brand, and display the trophy of "my team is winning"?

What is the cost of each image? In financial, and human, terms - when you choose the action of recording instead of intervening?

In an age of blink-and-miss-it news articles, where graphic images of dead children on beaches and bombed hospitals are plastered front-and-centre, is the image being taken to inform and educate, or a reductive means to draw the most attention in a landscape of click-bait articles that require newspapers to have the most attention grabbing stories to even survive. In a world of us vs them, can you still connect to each other with a universal common humanity? How is the post-war consensus being dismantled? Modern conflicts, such as in Gaza, have seen a significant number of journalists killed by the IDF. Reporters, attempting to bring to light brutality against those desperately in need, are murdered and claimed to be part of the "other team". Meanwhile the real perpetrator is allowed to continue running the country in the Knesset, despite deliberately allowing the very organisation which conducted the October 7th attacks money and resources to stymie the cause of Palestinian independence. The atrocities documented by Lee Miller and other brave reporters in the 1940s were the crucible which forged the Geneva Conventions, and helped secure the protection of journalists in future wars across the globe. It is concerning that in Israel, in Gaza, that those that fought to secure those protections are letting clear violations slide. The United States continues to supply the Israelis with weapons and billions of US taxpayers dollars, despite claiming to abhor violence. Actions speak louder than words. Now, as then, students are now standing up for the rights of those affected by US backed wars in foreign lands. Against the hypocrisy of their elders who claim to uphold a post-war system of international relations, but who are actively undermining that freedom with their actions.

If we allow our democratic institutions to ignore the values, and ideals, which glue society and our international relations together then we too will end up like Cullen. Willing participants in a red team blue team game that only exists because we give it legitimacy.

The message of Civil War therefore is clear: If we cannot relate to each other through a common humanity and come together to resolve our issues, then we are doomed to see the world through a conflict of false binaries that are designed to divide us.

Sources:

Lee Miller Archive - https://images.leemiller.co.uk/

Lee Miller: Witness to the Concentration Camps and the Fall of the Third Reich | The National WWII Museum | New Orleans (nationalww2museum.org) Photographer Lee Miller's Second World War | Imperial War Museums (iwm.org.uk) 'Napalm Girl' photographer Nick Ut looks back at a career that included war's carnage and Hollywood's red carpets - Los Angeles Times (latimes.com)

‘Accidental Napalm’ turns 50: the generation-defining image capturing the futility of the Vietnam war (theconversation.com)

Palestinian Photojournalists Document Gaza’s Carnage (rollingstone.com)

IHL Treaties - Additional Protocol (I) to the Geneva Conventions, 1977 - Article 79 (icrc.org)

More than 100 journalists killed in six months in Gaza – where is the international community? | RSF

[theplanetofthesnapes]

Under the Weather

Summary: You’re in the order, staying at 13 Grimmauld place and manage to catch wizard flu. Snape ends up taking care of you.

Warning: mentions of sickness and throwing up so if that affects you don’t read.

I wake up with a pounding head and a sore throat. Oh great this is just what I need right now, to get sick.

I’d been working with the order for a few months now ever since I got suspicions that there was something a miss going on in the ministry. I worked in the foreign correspondence department and I’d heard Fudge mention that there were a group of rogue wizards that believed Harry Potter and they were making a plan to defeat Voldemort. He laughed at the idea but I felt I needed to join them. I managed to find out Kingsley Shacklebolt was part of this group of rogues and I approached him offering my services.

The order welcomed me with open arms and I was happy to be a part of it, so now I spend all my waking time (and sleeping time) here too. Today I was supposed to go to Hungary with Sirius to seek out some werewolves living there and convince them to join us but my body has other ideas. I move to get up and everything aches, I’m going to have to tell him I can’t go.

I trudge downstairs and into the kitchen Remus, Sirius and Severus are in there chatting and look up at me as I walk in. “Oh wow you look terrible lass” Sirius said concerned.

“I feel terrible, I think I caught that wizarding flu from Umbridge in that meeting on Tuesday. She sat right next to me and was coughing and sneezing the whole time. I wish she’d stuck to the rules she gives the students at hogwarts and kept her distance from me like she wants the students to from each other” I laughed weakly.

“Why don’t you go back to bed y/n, I will go to Hungary with Sirius I have just come back from my own mission so I don’t have anything else I need to be doing right now. You get some rest and maybe you can join me in Scotland next week.” Lupin said kindly.

I opened my mouth to argue but honestly all I wanted to do is curl up in bed with a cup of tea. “Okay” I agreed and go to put the kettle on.

“Let me do that Y/L/N, I’ll bring it up to your room” I turn around shocked by who that voiced belonged to, it couldn’t be Severus Snape could it. To my surprise that’s just who it was, looking at me with that same emotionless expression he always does. I must not have heard him correctly surely he must have said something else.

“You don’t have to..” I start, looking to Sirius and Remus who looked equally shocked by Severus’ kind offer.

“Hush now, get some rest. Let me make the tea, go on upstairs.” He dismissed me like I was one of his students after class.

I left the kitchen grateful but confused. Me and Severus Snape have not really had much communication the time I’ve been here, he only stays here for meetings and generally doesn’t stick around to socialise. I mean I always smile and say hi when I see him and make small talk about the weather or something but the only real conversation I’d had with him was when we’d argued in the last meeting about how to handle the giant situation. Oh well, I’m not gonna complain I really did feel like hell right now.

I got in to bed and closed my eyes. After a few minutes I heard a small knock at the door “come in” I croak.

Snape walks in with a tray that contains tea and a strange green potion vial that I’ve never seen before. “Here, I brought you a potion that should make you feel better, it’s a concoction of a flu remedy and a sleeping draft. It’s perfectly safe don’t worry.” He states as he places the tray next to me on the bedside table.

“Thank you” I say weakly as I sit up. I take the tea and start to drink it.

“Let me know if you need anything else, I will be in the study.” He says as he quietly leaves.

I wake up to a quiet rap at the door, I check the time I’ve been asleep for 5 hours. I sit up and immediately regret it, I feel worse than before it really must be the flu, my head is spinning. Snape opens the door a crack then sees that I’m awake and opens it wider and walks in. “ I just wanted to see how you were doing”.

I can’t focus on what he’s saying the room just keeps spinning. I jumped up and run to the bathroom, he follows me and just in time I reach the toilet to throw up. I groan thinking about how I probably just got sick in my hair then realise there’s someone behind me holding it back.

“Are you done or are you going to vomit again?” Severus says gently. My words don’t answer his question as another wave of nausea washes over me. I should be embarrassed he’s here and tell him to leave but I can’t find the strength to.

After what seemed like an eternity the uneasy feeling in my stomach settled and I stood up carefully. I walked over to the sink and cleaned my teeth. I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked terrible, my hair all over the place and my face was pale.

“I’m sorry you had to see that” I chuckle weakly. “You shouldn’t have followed me in here”.

“I’m a professor at hogwarts, I have to have a strong stomach to work around children all the time. They often take those puking pastilles created by the Weasley twins to get out of my class, compared to some of them that was nothing. Besides anything I can do to help I will”.

“I need to go and lie down” I say starting to feel a little dizzy. He said nothing and just helped me to my room in silence.

Once I was in bed he said “I’ll be back in a moment, I’ll get you something that should help with the sickness” and he walks out the room.

I close my eyes hoping it’ll help but it doesn’t and I open them again once he comes back in. He hands me a yellow vial which I drink without questioning it because if it kills me then at least it’ll put me out of my misery. “Why are you being so nice to me, you never have before?”

He chuckles “I’m not nice to anyone, that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re probably the only person around here that actually treats me like a human being and not something they’ve wiped off the bottom of their shoe.”

“Oh” I say, I didn’t know what to say because thinking about it no one does treat Snape with any kind of respect in the order. “I’m sorry they don’t treat you with respect. If you want I can say something to them” I try to smile at him but I feel too crappy I think I end up just grimacing.

“No I’m used to it, it’s been the same since we were all in Hogwarts. But anyway let’s not talk about me, you need to get some rest to feel better. Is there anything else you need, do you need anything to reduce a fever?” He says but doesn’t wait for my answer he presses the back of his hand to my forehead “you seem to feel like an okay temperature. Do you feel hot or cold?”.

I shake my head to answer his last question “I don’t need anything” I reply, he nods and goes to leave “wait” I say a bit too loudly because it hurts my head, I wince.

“What is it, do you need be sick again I can…”

“No” I interrupt him. “It’s nothing like that just would you mind if. I mean it’s okay if you don’t want to I just, can you…”

“What is it, come on you can ask me anything” he says in concern.

“Would you stay with me? I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself so don’t want to be alone” I say weakly.

“Oh, of course.” he goes to sit on the other side of the bed. If I didn’t feel so rubbish I might laugh at the way he’s comically perched right on the edge almost falling off.

“You can get closer you know, I don’t bite” then regret what I’d said because I realise that he’s probably sitting so far away because I’m contagious. I’m an idiot. “Oh wait yeah it’s probably best you don’t get too close, I wouldn’t want you getting ill too. I mean I would take care of you but my potion making skills aren’t as good as yours so I’d probably end up making you worse” I try to make a joke to hide my embarrassment from my earlier stupidity.

He scoots closer and goes to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m not worried about getting sick, I assume you have the same flu that is sweeping its way around the ministry and took a viral prevention potion before I came in here, the ministry has just given the recipe to all teachers and hospital staff to ensure that students and patients can be properly looked after if they get sick. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close” he says matter of factly.

“You couldn’t ever make me uncomfortable Severus.” I slur the last part of that sentence and close my eyes, man I’m tired all of a sudden. I try and open them to stay awake.

“Oh sorry I forgot to mention I added some more sleeping vial to the anti sickness medication to help you sleep. If you want me to leave I can go” he says sounding genuinely apologetic for not warning me.

“It’s okay” I say my voice barely legible. “Please stay at least until I fall asleep” I move to cuddle up against him, enjoying the body heat because I’m suddenly feeling very cold. It must be the fever setting in, I was wondering when that would hit.

He hugs me back. “Always.” he replies and I drift off to sleep not knowing whether I imagined that last word from him or not.

_______________________________________

I wake up, groggy and realise that it’s the next day. I realise I’m alone in the room. Maybe Snape being here taking care of me was just a hallucination thought up by my fever driven mind. Then I turn over in the bed and see a piece of parchment on the other pillow.

“Dearest Y/N,

I have had to go away on business of the order for a few hours. Please forgive me for leaving you I did however administer you some anti fever potion and your fever appeared to break not long after that so I do hope by the time you are seeing this you are feeling much better.

I will check on you once I return but I have left you some headache potion on the side as my research suggests the usual progression of this illness that is most likely what you will be suffering with when you wake up.

Yours,

Severus Snape”

Oh so it wasn’t a hallucination or dream after all, he was really here. I smile to myself especially at the word yours. “If only” I mutter. I realise he was right I did feel a lot better, still a bit of a headache and my throat hurts but there’s no nausea and general aches have all gone. Also I realise my appetite must be back because I’m starving.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and shower this icky feeling of illness away and then make my way to the kitchen to see what I can find and decide to make a sandwich. As I’m buttering the bread someone walks in.

“Feeling better I assume” Snape says hopefully.

“A lot, thank you for taking care of me Severus, it means a lot. I promise if you ever get sick I will be your number one nurse” I smile.

“If that’s the case maybe I shouldn’t have taken the protection potion after all” he makes a joke. I’m surprised by this, what’s he trying to say? My brow furrows. He seems to notice this and says. “If it meant I’d get to spend more time with you, then I’d do whatever it takes.”

I laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. But seriously I wouldn’t wish how I felt yesterday on anyone, if you want to spend more time with me just ask.” I say hopefully.

He picks up the headache potion I was about to take with my sandwich and hands it to me. “How about once you are fully recovered, you let me take you out to Hogsmeade for dinner.”

“I’d like that a lot” I say before I drink the potion and kiss him on the cheek. He looks into my eyes for a second and I don’t know what comes over me, maybe I’m still slightly delirious from the fever but I get the strong urge to kiss him so I press my lips to his and for a second he kisses me back. Before I can take it any further though he pulls away, sighs and goes to carry on finishing making the sandwich I started. I stare at him, tears forming in my eyes slightly from the rejection.

He looks at me and notices my tears he lifts his hand to wipe them away before they can fall “You need to eat, and rest and if by some miracle once you’re feeling completely better you want to do that again, I will be more than happy to oblige.” He says reassuringly. “You were saying some very odd things in your sleep and I need to know that your consent is truly valid and not a result of some sort of delirium before I even so much as kiss you.” He looks sad for a moment. “It’s just I can hardly believe you would want to kiss someone like me anyway.”

“Oh Severus” I say. “I barely even feel sick anymore I swear, but it’s admirable that you’re waiting until you know for sure I can consent. You’re such a gentleman and I promise you once I’m better I’m definitely going to want to do that some more” I wink at him.

He smiles, then thrusts the plate containing the sandwich towards me. “Then I will look forward to it greatly but for now please eat”.

I take the plate and sit down, he sits next to me and we sit in silence while I eat. For the first time since Harry had announced Voldemort was back I felt hopeful for the future. Maybe getting sick isn’t so bad after all.

[rarepears]

First of all thank you so much for supplying that good mxtx crossover drabble content I am so so thankful beyond words; second of all could I perhaps interest you in my Yu Ziyuan mdzs and Qi Qingqi svsss forbidden sort of exes concept wherein they met when they were both disciples and developed mutual crushes. Qqq wanted yzy to join cang qiong with her but yzy was already engaged to jfm and wanted to uphold her family's expectations- hence they were never fully able to realize their relationship tho they never truly forgot about each other even as their responsibilities began to pile up and they fell out of contact.

*Sips tea*

This further adds into the reasons why Yu Ziyuan is so upset at Jiang Fengmian. She keeps using Qi Qingqi as a measuring stick of what a good partner is and Jiang Fengmian is... nothing like Qi Qingqi. :/

She'll admit that she's a bit hypocritical to be so upset that Jiang Fengmian can't get over Cangse Sanren considering how she's not over Qi Qingqi, but here's the thing: she's trying to actually build a relationship with the person that she's married to. He... isn't. Not even one iota of effort can she see him attempting.

Yu Ziyuan has stopped her correspondence with her old lover; she hasn't even attempted to visit or see Qi Qingqi again even though it would be so easy to. Establishing an alliance with one of Cang Qiong's peaks would boost the Jiang sect up so much, if not by trade than by influence. It would help keep the Jiang sect's power from being overly dependent on its main ally, the Jin, who was much too closely tied to the Wen for Yu Ziyuan's comfort, no matter the fact that her childhood friend is married to the Jin Sect Leader.

What's the saying again? It's not good to have all her eggs in one basket.

Yep.

But Jiang Fengmian won't even discuss sect politics with her. He won't treat her like a proper sect leader's wife, introducing her to the key people that she should know or instructing her on how the Jiang Sect does things - she has to wrestle for every duty, every inch of respect from the sect's people. She knows she's trampled on many toes, offended many people (which only hinders her efforts), but it's the best she can do with what she's got.

She's so besieged fighting the Jiang internal politics to even think about proposing any foreign relationships for the Jiang sect. There's no point in even thinking about "blowing pillow wind" with Jiang Fengmian either. He won't even do his duty of broaching the subject of when they would create sect heir.

Like always, she has to demand him to do the bare minimal.

And even then, he fails to deliver.

She sees her children and as much as she loves them, she still can't help but be disappointed.

This is the best that Jiang Fengmian's descendants can do, her mind whispers in derision. She can see no traits of similarities with Qi Qingqi in them. They duck their heads about and waffle when they are called to make decisions; Qi Qingqi knew what she wanted immediately and got even a bit too tunnel-visioned in her quest to achieve her goals. They struggle with their coursework - of course, they did well in comparison to the rest of the Jiang disciples, but they were the Jiang heirs and were supposed to be held to a higher standard. Qi Qingqi was a cultivation genius and fought with her own unique weaponry and forms.

But no matter what happens or how much life continues to disappoint her, Yu Ziyuan refuses to wonder what her life would have been like if she didn't refuse Qi Qingqi's offer and abandoned her duty to run to Cang Qiong.

[min-jpg]

Hi!! Can you do they boys getting kidnapped but its Diluc, Childe, and Kazuha? Thank you!!💗💗

Note: I just want to point out that there's no actual reason on how I choose for the reader to beat up the kidnappers since part 1,, it's totally random as long as I'm trying out different ideas whatever fits ehe. Enjoy! 💖

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Kidnapped Genshin Boys x Fem Rich!reader pt.2

Part 1 (Kaeya, Zhongli, Xiao)

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Kazuha

Genre: fluff, established relationship, some woman kicking ass action, (TW: mentions of blood and violence)

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CHILDE

Your boyfriend would definitely try to go head-to-head against the shady group of people who abducted him. The gang accountable must be living under the rock for even considering one of the most dangerous Harbingers as their prey to carry out their schemes.

However, Childe learned that there would be ramifications if he tries to be rash without gathering solid intel first. Having no knowledge of your current circumstances and whereabouts troubled him to the core. They could have already sent out a corresponding group towards you and endanger you if he failed to listen.

Being wealthy is not a foreign concept to Childe as he is also a wealthy man himself. That said, the premonition of being a target for a ransom would not be unrealistic to him. For now, he is glad that he is the victim here instead of having to witness you kidnapped.

"You know, you could've asked me nicely for some money. I might just give it to you, instead of doing all this for my girlfriend's money." Despite being in a position far from desirable, Childe leisurely sat on the chair that he was bound to, crossing his legs. He was making small talks to push away the worst scenarios happening to you. Are you safe? Are you crying? Did they hurt you?

"I don't know who you are to be running your mouth, but you should value your life a little more." Their leader emerged from the group.

Childe's ocean eyes squinted as menace casts upon his pupils, his voice lowered, "Is that so? Ironic, because you guys seem to value money more than your lives."

The head stepped back slightly, "Enough with your empty threats! You should be aware of the current situation you're in. We're not fooling around here."

"I'm not fooling around either."

As sparks were thrown back and forth, you made your way in through the main entrance. Tapping the shoulder that belongs to one of the men, "Excuse me, I need to get to my boyfriend." Your fist sunk into the side of his face when he turned towards you. He collapsed on the ground with a few broken teeth and blood spewing out of his mouth. Moving on to the next adversary in your path, you fought with full faith in your abilities no matter how intimidating they were.

Soon, the leader and people further ahead finally took notice of it. You pave your way towards your boyfriend and eventually, both your eyes meet each other. Childe puffed out a breath of relief when he finally saw you, but also registering the fact that you just took down most of the men with your bare hands.

Kicking away the men who tried to grab you, you then waved enthusiastically at Childe, "Hey girlie, hold still." Rushing right ahead to the leader, you brought your arm near your face, elbow pointing outwards. The sharp edge from your elbow jabbed his throat, causing him to choke and lose balance.

As his reaction dulled, it was your chance to strike again. Thus, you gallantly overthrew their leader and the entire gang by yourself.

After helping Childe, he stood up abruptly and placed his hands on your shoulder with eagerness written all over the face, "I never knew you could fight so well! How about a spar with me right now?" Expect your boyfriend to continuously bug you to indulge in his rampant itch to fight anyone that comes across as a worthy opponent. Though, the real takeaway from this experience was the way your hair clings to your face with sweat as the adhesive and the triumph look in your eyes. It was a rather attractive sight to relish in his taste.

DILUC

Your boyfriend would be infuriated that crooked people like these exist, much less target him to extort money from you. Just another validation to add up on how incompetent the Knights of Favonious is, he thought. Someone will have to clean up their mess, that someone being him. What better way to do that than to follow them to their hideout to seek out the whole organization?

Diluc is renowned for being one of the richest men in Teyvat. Naturally, the group thought they hit the jackpot on not only holding him for ransom, but potentially garnering some money from him as well.

The only concern he carries is your wellbeing. Diluc fears that this incident will affect you mentally. His head started filling up with formulations on ways to resolve this matter without causing any uproar to guarantee your safety.

When the head was introduced to him, he gritted his teeth to suppress every ounce of his might to not reach for his claymore. Diluc still has to prioritize gathering information first regarding the gang. His patrons at Angel's Share are usually the ones providing him with promising intel of any evildoers, but some things are just meant to be obtained by himself.

"Is this the only hideout you have? Quite in a shambles, don't you think?" Diluc's eyes shifted around the dilapidated building, observing the surroundings to know his enemies better.

The leader rolled his eyes, "It wouldn't be so bad once we get some funding from you and your girlfriend." Diluc hummed. Judging from his answer, it is safe to assume that the organization is rather a small scaling one. Defeating them right now will result in uprooting the source once and for all.

As Diluc was about to do so, a lackey of the gang ran frantically towards them, panting labored when he reached and trying to catch his breath. "What is it?" The leader question.

"T-there's... there's someone." He pointed towards a direction with fear layering his voice.

"What? Why are you so scared?" They all glanced towards the spot.

"I swear there was a woman! I don't know who it is, but she took out some of our guys on guard outside."

In disbelief that a woman could have done anything so reckless, the leader trudged to said location. As it is a spot lacking light, the darkness and shadow made it challenging for him to pinpoint if anyone is there. When he moved closer, you crept out behind from his blind spot and kicked the back of his head, causing his head to spin. Your arm lunged forward, gaining a tight hold onto his nape. You put everything into pushing him, his forehead hammered down to the floor. Creating a loud thud, it gave him a concussion.

"Looking for me?" Your foot stamped onto his back, just making sure he stays down.

Everyone, including your boyfriend, had their pupils dilated at the scene. You sighed at the silence, "All of you just messed with the wrong couple." Lifting your foot away, you stomped forward without giving them a second thought. Your arms and legs are all warmed up for many rounds against your foes.

Diluc watched you from afar as you drove your way towards victory. Although he could step in to help, he admits silently to himself that he would like to observe you a little longer. Putting his trust in your calibers to carry you far, his eyes never left your brave figure.

Once you cleared the group, the next thing to do is checking on Diluc. Already unfastening the restrains himself, he walked to you, "That was well executed. Your abilities shouldn't be underestimated. Don't join the Knights though." He stressed the last remark, scoffing. You chuckled and held his hand to guide him out of here, "Thanks. Glad to impress you, Master Diluc. Let's go home."

KAZUHA

Your boyfriend is a rather hard target to impose on for their plans of kidnapping him. His senses are just too refined for an ordinary person to challenge. Basic tactics, such as overthrowing him with the element of surprise have proven to be futile. Thus, Kazuha will always be able to evade falling prey into their hands.

The only way Kazuha could have been kidnapped is through falsifying evidence of you being in a life-threatening situation. Although he has successfully saved his own skin, not the same could be applied to you. Feeling his resolve shaken, what other choices could he have? Prioritizing your safety is the most important thing right now.

Kazuha may have faced similar situations in the past when out in the sea, encountering pirates of other crew aiming for the Crux Fleet's fortune. Being in the position as a captive for ransom is new. He actually found it amusing, rather than having thoughts of blaming you. It is not your fault that you are blessed with wealth. It is the fault of the criminals.

"Ain't you that the kid who's with Beidou? You're part of her crew." The leader questioned his target, to which he was greeted by Kazuha's silence. "Tell you what. You're just like the rest of us. We want to be rich. How about you ask your girlfriend to bring some more money and we'll give you a share as well?"

Kazuha's face darkened, "I don't know what you've heard, but it must be really valiant of you to assume to worst out of the Crux Fleet and myself. I'd appreciate it if you cease lumping me together with criminals like you."

The Crux Fleet does put up with an infamous reputation amongst the Qixing. Perhaps the abductors concluded that Kazuha has a negative conscience just like them, as in upholding a relationship with you to have a taste of your assets. Still, if he tried to talk his way out of it, barbarians like them will never reach a mutual understanding with him. Kazuha shut his eyes, ignoring any further confrontations to preserve his energy as he contemplates a plan.

He was interrupted when he thought he heard your voice nearby, carried by the wind. The others around him did not hear it since it was just something only Kazuha could pick up. Applying full concentration, he managed to form what he heard, "Get out of my way, please, while I'm asking nicely."

Opening his eyes, he turned to stare at the entrance. As if on cue, the door swung open when you kicked it down, announcing your presence. Some men fainted below your feet.

The others instantly reacted by storming towards your direction to stop your advancement. You stood still in your position, taking a mindful deep breath. One thing you learned from Kazuha is to always remain cold-headed before engaging in a fight.

Kazuha wanted to get out of the restraints to rescue you, but instead, you started dishing out few moves against the men.

When you thought you finished with the remaining numbers, their leader was about to declare his victory, "I got you!" Encircling his arm around your neck in an attempt to strangle you, you huffed and grinned towards Kazuha to signal him you have it under control.

You elbowed his stomach and felt him loosen his grip when he winced. Making enough gap between his arm and your neck, you slipped away and swiftly kicked in between his groins. The color drained from his face and tumbled to the ground, passing out in pain, "Hmph, this is what happens when you touch a lady without her permission." You brushed away the hair from your face after an arduous fight.

Jogging towards your boyfriend, "Kazuha!" He brisked towards you as well and held you in his embrace, softly rubbed your nape, "You're giving me plenty of inspirations for a haiku after such a wonderful performance." Kazuha would appreciate you refraining from such a heedless approach next time. He was comforted to see you safe and knowing the threats were nothing more than to use you, his weakness, against him. After witnessing that, Kazuha will be slightly ashamed he even doubted you in the first place, so he trusts that you can watch out for yourself next time.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.

[breitzbachbea]

The Hetalia "Cell Block Tango" AU/Scenario

This idea left my brain last saturday and, as usual, has already completely spun out of control two days later. Much thanks to Riva (@fireandiceland) for their open ear and grandiose input, all of the following bullshit would not have been possible without them.

This is essentially an update to this post about a "Cell Block Tango" Performance for Hetalia ships that at some point could be construed as partner exercising foreign rule over the other. We've talked about it as a show that the countries put on for fun, so it's not really an AU. We're here to be horny and have fun, not to be dramatic and edgy, okay. (Or at least not "actual murder" dramatic).

Here's the list of the couples and their corresponding parts that we settled on. (I'll use the names of the characters from "Chicago" & their iconic little cue).

Liz/Pop - SuFin, with Tino as Liz. The ship was Riva's suggestion and I like them for this part not only because the triviality of the murder motive suits their domestic vibe, but the violent solution fits Tino's wilder/more darker side that sleeps under that friendly exterior.

Annie/Six - Spamano, with Lovino as Annie. Look, Riva agreed that loose lover Antonio seems plausible, I think poisoning is a good way to murder for Lovino and I also. Really. Just love the image of the "deathkiss" and then Lovino kicking Antonio two meters across the stage. And I am sure that Antonio feels the same way as I do.

June/Squish - DenNor, with Lukas as June. I mostly settled on them because I can see Matthias be somewhat possessive and I can see him thoroughly excited for the choreography. (Maybe also for the fact that he gets to wear no shirt). Riva also said that the scenario itself and the ambiguity about whether or not June actually cheated meshes well with Lukas' more elusive nature.

Hunyak/Uh-Uh - LietBel, with Natalya as Hunyak. (Natalya? Natasha? I'm sorry if I misremembered her name, use whatever floats your boat). We both agreed that we needed Natalya in this, but I couldn't quite find a ship with her quickly that worked well with my original definition of Empire/Territory. Giving her Hunyak's innocent part solves that problem, subverts her often arguably pretty meh canon/fanon interpretations and she gets to have a beautiful dance number with Toris. Toris, who is just really happy for his girlfriend and resigned between the hotblooded, horny chaos that is the rest :).

Velma/Cicero - TurGre, with Herakles as Velma. I thought the cheating situation suited them, as I have a weakness for Herakles being Sadık's favourite, but certainly not only bedfellow at all times and the intensity of the rage is one Herakles well-deserves (if only for show these days). Plus, their performance required a third person and lemme tell you, they do not lack options in my brain. I considered Mohammed (Egypt) at first, but then thought he'd probably politely decline but would surely love to watch the show for "moral support". So instead I went for my Sicily OC Michele as Veronica, because mom said it's my turn on the self-indulgence machine.

Mona/Lipschitz - AusHun, with Erzsébet as Mona. I was sold at the "a real artistic guy, sensitive" part (even though Roderich is rather a musician than a painter) and Riva pointed out that the cheating also could be a great reference to the Habsburg marriage politics.

Further Thoughts (& Thots) for this under the cut, because I knew if I had this post uncut on my dash, I'd murder someone too:

- Mads is really excited about the choreography until he realizes that he has to basically throw half a bridge and hold it for most of Natalya's part. Mads: "Oh. So I gotta keep this up for the whole number now?" Lukas: "Quit whining ..." One of the others: "What, is the viking already folding?" Mads: "Pfft, as if, no problem for me!" He looks up at Lukas. "Besides, the view from down here isn't that bad either." Lukas threateningly lifts his foot with dangerously high-heeled boot. Mads: 'Don't say Step on me, don't say Step on me, don't say - Ah crap, I already did, didn't I?' Practice has to be paused and Natalya chews them out for ruining her practice!

- As Riva put it and I then expanded upon:

How we imagine Hetalia Cell Block Tango: Intriguing, dark, erotic.

How it actually is: Antonio, Mathias, Berwald, Sadık about to cream their pants while Lovino, Lukas, Tino, Herakles live their dreams. Natalya fighting everyone who makes a single wrong step during her part of the performance, Toris trying to calm her down. Erzsébet pulling Roderich off stage to do a private tango. Ex-Imperial dick measuring contests between Antonio, Sadık and Roderich, although the latter of course tries to not to get dragged into any thing so undignified. However, there are still ties with Antonio and also, a bitch (Roderich) may not start a fight, but a bitch is sure going to end one! Or at least attempt to do so. Endless South Italian Bickering, because Lovino and Michele may get on marginally better than Lovino does with Feliciano, but unlike Feli, Michè pays back in kind.

- Here's my two cents on the nature of the horniness of the "murdered lovers": Antonio and Sadık are unapologetically gawking and can't imagine anything better than being 'mistreated' by their darling. Being kicked across, shoved nearly off the stage is part of the fun and they don't hide it. Rest in rip everyone else who has to witness this. Matthias tries to half-heartedly hide how turned on he his, but as we saw above, he isn't very good at it. Maybe it also just looks like he's trying to hide it because he is North European after all, so it looks tame next to the two other horndogs. Berwald's extremely flustered, which is either clear as daylight to everyone around him or he tries so hard to stay 'professional' that his hands shake and he can barely talk. (Which I'd personally find hilarious when contrasted with Antonio one number over). Roderich acts as if he isn't as affected, but his façade also cracks often enough. He's got it just as bad as everyone else for his Erzsì, but he doesn't want to show it in front of other people.

- I also wrote a Minific yesterday, mostly concerned with Michele being asked to participate & some bitching between him and Lovino. If I find the time, I'll clean it up tonight and post it some time.

That's it! Thank you for reading and if you any additions, I would love to hear it (and I am sure Riva would love so, too!). I'd also love it if you wanted to share any fanart, fanfic or anything else based on this - even if you just take the basic premise and change things from how I described them because you think something else works better for you.

[savagenutella46]

Standing Here With You

A valentine’s day gift for @thecaptainhelm lm. (By the way, I love you so much and you’re amazing) I hope YOU have an awesome eventful day filled with lots of love because you’re such an amazing writer and I love you!!!!!!

Also, @eat0crow , who is moderating the gift exchange! Thank you for all you’ve done!

Everyone has a soulmate. 

It's not a notable deal. Though it's something many people cherish and look forward to, it's just as much an ordinary fact as primary color mixing: that's just how the world works.

Blue and yellow mix correspond with each other to produce green; soulmate A and soulmate B each have tattoos to correspond with one another, completing either tattoo on the skin of their other half.

Marinette will be damned if she finds anyone to match her tattoo. She'd loved it as a child, sitting through boring classes with a pout and jittery knees so she could rush home and admire the strange tattoo that covered the length of her inner forearm.

But now, she couldn't find a single thing to be more ashamed about. 

Even as she moves halfway across the world from taunting bullies and mind-controlling sociopaths, the damage is done. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not want a soulmate.

She does not want to disappoint, to never live up to her soulmates expectations, because, "Your soulmate wouldn't like those pigtails, Marinette." and, "How could someone want a bully like you?"

Marinette does not want to relive her lycée experience, covering her mark every chance she could get so that Lila Rossi wouldn't antagonize whoever was on the other end of her soul line.

She’d watch as other people’s—normal—soul marks started to glow, indicating the one thing soulmarks are responsible for. Marinette witnessed on the sidelines as everyone she knew and had learned to love and lose found their other half, and left her in the dark. Watching, seeing, but never to experience what it was like. To find your soulmate.

Her mark. A white rose hanging upside down at the epiphysis of her radius, petals spread wide against each other, some looked as though they were flowing freely in the air, and some looked as though they were stuck to one another.

A deep red liquid spurting out of the center, running down the limp rose and glazing its petals as it oozes from the center bottom and down the sides of her arm, creating for a unique, yet concerning mosaic upon her forearm.

"Is that blood?" They'd asked, some looking curious, and some looking downright disgusted at the mere sight of her mark. Something that was supposed to be naturally celebrated, not hated and sneered upon. They were convinced she'd be a menace to her soulmate, like soulmates were anything other than fate.

Marinette did not know if it was blood, obviously. There was no superior entity whispering to her at night, informing her of every single petal's weight in grams. Instead, it was easier to have a friend pick apart the dubious meaning of such a cryptic mark, unlike so many others, hers was not so simple.

Kagami, especially, had a great eye for these things. The meticulous thought that girl compartmentalizes for the sole topic is unbelievable at first glance. It's only when you see much more of her, do you understand why she even bothers with soulmarks.

"You wouldn't believe the meaning behind such marks, Marinette. It's only when you start to break the first barrier, do you know." Okay, so, Marinette had no such way with words as the world-class fencer, but she was pretty sure the girl was saying that marks represent people the way names represent their spices.

Salt, for example. You can just tell the flavor of salt by it’s damn name.

“You’re the epitome of innocence, Marinette,—“ Marinette begs to differ, she’s read fanfiction. “But it seems you’ve been hurt, aged more than what a white rose will represent for you. That’s where the blood paints over you, like a parasite.” Marinette furrows her eyebrows at Kagami, a reoccurring gesture that will give her wrinkles by the end of the year, she knows, but it’s Kagami.

They’re sitting in their apartment, high above the Gotham smog and litter they’ve learned to acquaint themselves with, and looking out over the city from their ratty second-hand couch.

—Because Marinette wants to live with someone who will break her finger and then call her stupid and put a cast on it for whatever reason, you feel?

Another twig, green leaves still growing out of it—though, probably not since the severance—blows by their window, spurred on by a lone gust and back down to the ground, plummeting to an unfortunately placed puddle on the pavement.

“Stop moping.” Marinette makes a face.

“I was not moping.”

“You were making that sad face you make when you see a puppy walking by itself on the street. You’re moping. Why?” Marinette huffs in annoyance, and turns to look at her friend, who’s already staring with an exasperated quirked eyebrow.

She flounders for words, making exuberant gestures with her hands as she tries not to look Kagami in the eye.

An audible exhale from the woman. “You’re worried about, what, your soulmate, for whatever reason?” 

Marinette looks down at her mark, it’s entrancing rose petals glowing brightly against her skin, almost alike to the glittery sheen of highlighter she so often brushes onto her cheekbones.

“It started glowing last night, Kagami.” Marinette worries her lip and continues to stare at the now pulsing, almost obnoxious glow of her rose, the red liquid that spurts from its center taking on a glamorous shine.

“That’s wonderful. Right?” Kagami adds, when she fails to find a response. 

It should be. She knows that. She should be joyous right now, jumping ecstatically and rejoicing at the fact that she might find her soulmate sooner than later, but the ever-impending doom of, ‘what if’ continuously pops up in her brain, muddling any chance of happiness she might’ve had.

Marinette’s psyche is aged. She’s been through things. A lot of things that most people haven’t been through. Deaths, loss of loved ones, reoccurring terrorist attacks, and so much more that puts a haunted look in her eye and a deep hunch in her shoulders. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her soulmate’s face.

Kagami seems to read her mind and makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “Let’s go to the zoo.” So spontaneous, it almost makes Marinette do a double take.

“You? Want to go to the zoo?” She stares at Kagami, the latter unwavering with a borderline determined look on her face that says, ‘Nope. No fighting me on this one.’

“Distraction.” Is all she says, and for once, Marinette agrees that, yes, maybe a distraction is in order.

The Gotham City Zoo proves to be a great distraction, in between the hippo exhibit and the jungle-themed building just for showcasing snakes, Marinette finds a rather warmth in her heart.

Marinette grins widely at the crocodiles lounging across various rocks, seemingly not a care in the world is thrown around in between her and the fenced crocodiles, and she harbors  a sort of piece standing alone. (Kagami had ditched her at the zebras for the lions.)

Distantly, she hears what sounds like two people fighting—or, bickering. 

“—over here, got bit by a crocodile.” An erupt of laughter from two different voices, one distinct with a low raspy laugh, and the other, who starts hacking nastily in the middle of it.

“Those cigarettes do not benefit you, Todd. This is not a laughable event.” A third voice juts in, and she has to turn her head, locate the source of whoever said that.

Three men, one looking younger than the other two, stand slightly to the right of her in front of the crocodile exhibit, the two older men seem to be laughing at the younger’s expense—how do you even get bitten by a crocodile? She decides to not judge. This is Gotham, after all.

And, oh.

The guy they seem to be laughing at has the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen. Ink black hair frames his face beautifully, as he sneers down at the other two. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her stare, but it’s cut short anyway by the sudden immense throbbing of her forearm.

Marinette winces, and slowly pulls down her sleeve to see her soul mark is—

Finished. It’s glowing, glowing far more than it had been over the course of the past two days, glowing so much she can barely squint to see that buried deep in the middle of her rose, a pristine dagger.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but make an incoherent sound that fights its way up her throat.

A tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see the boy she was shamelessly staring at is right in front of her, and, woah, he’s tall. Marinette cranes her head up to look at the boy who so quickly grabbed her attention.

He also has the prettiest blush on his face, his eyes darting in between her and his companions, who seem to be laughing even harder, and in the distance, she hears a crude nickname being thrown at him.

“Holy shit, Demon Brat actually has a soulmate—“ a sentence cut off by more wheezing laughter, so she turns her gaze back to the boy in front of her.

“I’m Damian, you’re...soulmate.” The last word comes out wonky, like he couldn’t believe his own words, but she understands. He’s staring at Marinette now, bright green gaze fixed so intently on her, and she can’t help but blush, herself.

“Marinette. I figured, actually, when my arm started to sting like a bitch.” She says, once her mouth finally aligns with her brain and she gets the courage to say something relevant to smart.

Damian cracks a small smile, and she finds herself following the gesture with her eyes. It’s a beautiful movement, one she can tell is foreign to him, a shame.

And she doesn’t feel jittery. More at peace, looking at the equally aged look deep in his eyes, and the mark right in the middle of her forearm, she can guess he’s been through a hell of a lot, maybe more than she has.

Marinette will spend a lifetime learning what lies behind his exterior, looking at him now.

She supposes this soulmate thing won’t be too hard, after all, even as the two men behind them keep bickering and laughing at their predicament in front of the crocodile exhibit.