#like. boring Order and oppressive strictness)

[villadiodatis]

Garen, a craftsman who spent his life building cities and structures across Exandria, was the perfect manifestation of the Allhammer, the god of craft, creation, and legacy.

And Erro, a wanderer who had lost faith but by the end decided to not just protect people, but inspire them to rise up against their oppressors, was just as poetic as the Platinum Dragon. The god of justice himself, who stands for the downtrodden (just recently in the VM short stories we saw Vord taking in Kima with compassion as part of his tenets), telling a crowd, "Seven overlords or 1200 of us" and helping them free themselves from tyranny.

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle Book Club 2.0 - Chapter 10

The dinner party has arrived. And here I want to bring us back to the descriptions of the Stirlings that we put a pin in back in chapter one. In order, we have:

Aunt Mildred --

Chapter 1: Oppressively competent, Aunt Mildred would talk endlessly of her husband and her odious prodigies of babies to Valancy, because Valancy would be the only one she could find to put up with it.

Chapter 10: Big, capable, patronising, voluble Aunt Mildred, who thought herself the cleverest woman in the clan, her husband a little lower than the angels and her children wonders. Had not her son, Howard, been all through teething at eleven months? And could she not tell you the best way to do everything, from cooking mushrooms to picking up a snake? What a bore she was! What ugly moles she had on her face!

Cousin Gladys –

Chapter 1: For the same reason, Cousin Gladys—really First Cousin Gladys once removed, according to the strict way in which the Stirlings tabulated relationship—a tall, thin lady who admitted she had a sensitive disposition, would describe minutely the tortures of her neuritis.

Chapter 10: Cousin Gladys, who was always praising her son, who had died young, and always fighting with her living one. She had neuritis—or what she called neuritis. It jumped about from one part of her body to another. It was a convenient thing. If anybody wanted her to go somewhere she didn’t want to go she had neuritis in her legs. And always if any mental effort was required she could have neuritis in her head. You can’t think with neuritis in your head, my dear.

“What an old humbug you are!” thought Valancy impiously.

Aunt Isabel –

Chapter 1: Aunt Isabel, downright and disagreeable as an east wind, would criticise her in some way—Valancy could not predict just how, for Aunt Isabel never repeated a criticism—she found something new with which to jab you every time. Aunt Isabel prided herself on saying what she thought, but didn’t like it so well when other people said what they thought to her. Valancy never said what she thought.

Chapter 10: Aunt Isabel. Valancy counted her chins. Aunt Isabel was the critic of the clan. She had always gone about squashing people flat. More members of it than Valancy were afraid of her. She had, it was conceded, a biting tongue.

“I wonder what would happen to your face if you ever smiled,” speculated Valancy, unblushingly.

Cousin Georgiana –

Chapter 1: Cousin Georgiana—named after her great-great-grand-mother, who had been named after George the Fourth—would recount dolorously the names of all relatives and friends who had died since the last picnic and wonder “which of us will be the first to go next.”

Chapter 10: Little Cousin Georgiana. Not such a bad little soul. But dreary—very. Always looking as if she had just been starched and ironed. Always afraid to let herself go. The only thing she really enjoyed was a funeral. You knew where you were with a corpse. Nothing more could happen to it. But while there was life there was fear.

Uncle James –

Chapter 1: Handsome, solemn Uncle James, whom Valancy disliked but respected because he was reputed to be very clever and was therefore the clan oracle—brains being none too plentiful in the Stirling connection—would probably remark with the owl-like sarcasm that had won him his reputation, “I suppose you’re busy with your hope-chest these days?”

Chapter 10: Uncle James. Handsome, black, with his sarcastic, trap-like mouth and iron-grey side-burns, whose favourite amusement was to write controversial letters to the Christian Times, attacking Modernism. Valancy always wondered if he looked as solemn when he was asleep as he did when awake. No wonder his wife had died young. Valancy remembered her. A pretty, sensitive thing. Uncle James had denied her everything she wanted and showered on her everything she didn’t want. He had killed her—quite legally. She had been smothered and starved.

Uncle Benjamin –

Chapter 1: And Uncle Benjamin would ask some of his abominable conundrums, between wheezy chuckles, and answer them himself.

“What is the difference between Doss and a mouse?

“The mouse wishes to harm the cheese and Doss wishes to charm the he’s.”

Valancy had heard him ask that riddle fifty times and every time she wanted to throw something at him. But she never did. In the first place, the Stirlings simply did not throw things; in the second place, Uncle Benjamin was a wealthy and childless old widower and Valancy had been brought up in the fear and admonition of his money. If she offended him he would cut her out of his will—supposing she were in it. Valancy did not want to be cut out of Uncle Benjamin’s will. She had been poor all her life and knew the galling bitterness of it. So she endured his riddles and even smiled tortured little smiles over them.

Chapter 10: Uncle Benjamin, wheezy, pussy-mouthed. With great pouches under eyes that held nothing in reverence.

Uncle Wellington –

Chapter 1: Uncle Wellington, whom she disliked and despised even though he had fulfilled the highest Stirling aspiration, “marrying money,” would say to her in a pig’s whisper, “Not thinking of getting married yet, my dear?” and then go off into the bellow of laughter with which he invariably concluded his dull remarks.

Chapter 10: Uncle Wellington. Long, pallid face, thin, pale-yellow hair—“one of the fair Stirlings”—thin, stooping body, abominably high forehead with such ugly wrinkles, and “eyes about as intelligent as a fish’s,” thought Valancy. “Looks like a cartoon of himself.”

Aunt Wellington –

Chapter 1: Aunt Wellington, of whom Valancy stood in abject awe, would tell her about Olive’s new chiffon dress and Cecil’s last devoted letter. Valancy would have to look as pleased and interested as if the dress and letter had been hers or else Aunt Wellington would be offended. And Valancy had long ago decided that she would rather offend God than Aunt Wellington, because God might forgive her but Aunt Wellington never would.

Chapter 10: Aunt Wellington. Named Mary but called by her husband’s name to distinguish her from Great-aunt Mary. A massive, dignified, permanent lady. Splendidly arranged, iron-grey hair. Rich, fashionable beaded dress. Had her moles removed by electrolysis—which Aunt Mildred thought was a wicked evasion of the purposes of God.

Uncle Herbert –

Chapter 1: Perhaps Uncle Herbert wouldn’t say anything—or perhaps he would remark jocularly, “How fat you’re getting, Doss!” And then everybody would laugh over the excessively humorous idea of poor, scrawny little Doss getting fat.

Chapter 10: Uncle Herbert, with his spiky grey hair.

Aunt Alberta –

Chapter 1: Aunt Alberta, enormously fat, with an amiable habit of always referring to her husband as “he,” as if he were the only male creature in the world, who could never forget that she had been a great beauty in her youth, would condole with Valancy on her sallow skin—

Chapter 10: Aunt Alberta, who twisted her mouth so unpleasantly in talking and had a great reputation for unselfishness because she was always giving up a lot of things she didn’t want. Valancy let [Herbert and Alberta] off easily in her judgment because she liked them, even if they were in Milton’s expressive phrase, “stupidly good.” But she wondered for what inscrutable reason Aunt Alberta had seen fit to tie a black velvet ribbon around each of her chubby arms above the elbow.

Olive –

Chapter 1: And Olive, the wonder girl of the whole Stirling clan, who had everything Valancy had not—beauty, popularity, love,—would show off her beauty and presume on her popularity and flaunt her diamond insignia of love in Valancy’s dazzled, envious eyes.

Chapter 10: [8 paragraphs of detailed description that end in the following] “And yet,” thought Valancy, summing her up with a new and merciless conclusiveness, “she’s like a dewless morning. There’s something lacking.”

Obviously the chapter 10 descriptions, with Valancy’s new perspective, are far more biting that Valancy of chapter 1 allowed herself to be. But also these are all obviously the same people. Valancy always saw them as they were, but until now she did not allow herself to actually have real opinions about them. She was too busy worrying about how they were judging her to judge them back. Now, she does not care what they think of her, so she is free to criticize and observe. In chapter 1, she was careful to compliment where she could or at least to stay neutral. Here, she holds nothing back. Even those few relatives she likes – Herbert and Alberta – are not spared biting commentary. As the narrative says, “She let herself go with a wild, inner exultation.”

Other thoughts:

Georgiana is absolutely who Valancy would have grown up into. Others pointed it out last book club, and it’s so true. Proper, stifled, ruled by fear, disregarded by everyone.

“Permanent” is such a wonderfully evocative descriptor here. Gives you a sense of Aunt Wellington right away.

Everyone is always decreeing things about Valancy and Valancy’s mother is always going along with them. Aunts Wellington and Isabel decide how Valancy will present herself (hairstyle and clothing colors respectively). Aunt Wellington here decrees that Valancy has no social presence, and as a result no one pays any attention to her at all. Amelia Stirling, Valancy’s mother, gets no say in how her own child is seen by the clan and the world.

Our second murdered spouse has entered the narrative, namely Uncle James’ wife.

Colors mentioned:

Iron-grey sideburns

Pale-yellow hair [pale yellow, since that's unreadable on the screen]

Iron-grey hair

Spiky grey hair

Black velvet ribbons

White, regular teeth

Golden-brown hair

Brilliant blue eyes

Face of rose

Neck of snow

Blue-white diamond flame [blue-white]

Rosy, pointed nail

Green chiffon

Brown silk

Ivory silk

White satin

Pale green georgette

The italicized colors are describing Olive. I had honestly expected her to get a few real colors, but she really does get neutrals and green and that’s basically it. Her eyes are blue and her hair is brown but everything else is white or blush (“rose”) or green. Neutrals mixed with a color associated with jealousy.

Now granted, there’s enough nature in this book that green is hardly a bad color. Valancy’s about to get a green dress of her own here shortly. But Valancy is undeniably jealous of Olive here, because Olive is everything she, Valancy, is not. Green is aspirational as well as envious.

Meanwhile almost every Stirling is grey. Uncle Wellington gets yellow hair, but everyone else is just grey.

[kurowrites]

“I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital” AU Prompt for Wangxian, if you like?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

---

When Wei Ying woke up, he had to blink a few times to adjust his vision to the bright glare of the lights overhead, momentarily blinding him. Something was weird. This definitely wasn’t his own bedroom, whose lighting was rather dim and most definitely off when he was sleeping.

He blinked a few times more and then turned his head to examine the room he was in.

It took him far too long to understand what he was seeing, but once his brain actually started processing it, there was no doubt. He was in a hospital room, complete with barren walls and the strong smell of disinfectant. But he had no memory that could explain why he would be waking up in a hospital bed. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had no idea what he’d been doing before he’d woken up here, or even what day of the week it was.

Impatient to have his questions answered, he tried to wriggle around and slip out of bed, but his body felt oppressively heavy, and his vision started to swim as soon as he lifted his head off the pillow.

Exhausted and distressed, he fell back into bed. What the hell had happened to him? Why was he feeling so terrible?

Just that moment, the door of the hospital room opened, and a nurse stepped in.

“Oh, you are awake,” she said. “Good.”

She moved up to the bed and started to check his vitals – or harass him, Wei Ying couldn’t really tell which one it was. She was probably around fifty and had a distinct aunt-y vibe that made Wei Ying lay still on danger of getting stabbed with a needle.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked, after she had apparently determined that he was conscious and held it together enough for conversation.

“No,” Wei Ying croaked, and immediately started coughing. His throat felt terribly dry.

The nurse went to his bedside table, where a cup and a pitcher of water had been placed, and filled the cup for him. Then she made him drink.

“You’ve been in a traffic accident,” she told him without ceremony. “You got hit by a car and had to be brought here in an ambulance.”

Shit. Could that be true?

He didn’t remember any of that.

“I don’t remember,” he told the nurse.

“Honey, it’s probably better if you don’t,” she said, patting him on the arm absent-mindedly. “That’s your brain protecting you. You’re also on painkillers right now,” here, she pointed at one of the drips that went into his arm, “and they tend to make your brain a little foggy. You only need to focus on getting better right now.”

That wasn’t particularly comforting to Wei Ying. He’d been lying here, doing–

“My work!” he suddenly remembered.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that!” the nurse said, shaking her head. “I think that nice Mr. Lan has taken care of all that.”

She checked her watch.

“It’s almost time for him to visit, too. Such a nice young man, if only youngsters nowadays were a little more like him.”

She sighed, patted Wei Ying’s arm again, and then left, hopefully to tell someone else that he had gained consciousness again.

Wei Ying sighed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what the nurse had meant with “that nice Mr. Lan,” because he didn’t know anyone with the last name Lan. Certainly no one who would visit him at the hospital. Had she gotten his visitor’s name wrong? He tried to think of a different possibility, but couldn’t think of anyone. Wen Ning was away. And Jiang Cheng still wasn’t speaking to him, not to mention that no one in their right mind would ever call Jiang Cheng a ‘nice young man’ if they had spent more than 30 seconds in his presence.

He wasn’t kept in suspense about the identity of his visitor for very long, though. Only minutes after the nurse had left, the door opened again, and through came a man that Wei Ying had never seen in his life. He would have definitely remembered meeting him, Wei Ying was sure, because the man was a devastating combination of tall, handsome and well-dressed. Very memorable. Even in his current drugged-up state.

The man hesitated for one small moment when he saw Wei Ying looking at him, but then continued his progress through the room with a measured pace, finally arriving at Wei Ying’s bedside. He did not speak, but silently placed several items onto Wei Ying’s bedside table. Wei Ying saw a book, what looked to be some healthy snacks, as well as… his phone? It looked terribly beaten up, but a traffic accident might do that to a phone. He should probably be glad if it still worked.

The stranger must have noticed the direction of his gaze, for he finally opened his mouth.

“I have taken the liberty of contacting you place of work.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying said, sending the stranger an ironic smile. “What I’d rather like to know, though… who are you?”

The stranger bowed slightly, as if to apologise for his rudeness.

“Lan Zhan,” he said. “I was the one… who hit you with my car.”

“Oh, I see,” Wei Ying said, several things suddenly becoming clear to him. “This is a ‘I’m feeling guilty’ visit. Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

The stranger, Lan Zan, frowned at Wei Ying’s words.

“It is not guilt that has made me come here,” he said.

Then he was silent again. Wei Ying waited for a moment, but when nothing else happened, he raised his eyebrows at Lan Zhan, encouraging him to go on. Lan Zhan looked as if he’d rather do anything else than open his mouth again, but eventually, thanks to Wei Ying’s pathetic wheedling, he conceded.

“The one responsible for your accident was the driver who suddenly came out of a side street and nearly ran you over,” Lan Zhan explained. “You ended up in front of my car because you were trying to escape his path of collision. He also crashed into my car, nearly hitting you a second time. I have no guilt to speak of, but I am grateful that you survived. I was worried, however, when your family could not be contacted.”

“Oh, uh, well,” Wei Ying stuttered. “Honestly, that shouldn’t be any concern to you. I’ll be fine. My family… well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Your family should care for you if you are injured.”

There was a stubborn set around Lan Zhan’s mouth, and Wei Ying suddenly found himself smiling. He wasn’t sure if he should call it fortune or misfortune, but this Lan Zhan was clearly an incredibly stiff man with very strict notions of propriety, to the point where he involved himself into the affairs of others.

“Ah, Lan-gege,” Wei Ying sighed. “Not to say I’m not very grateful for your help, which I am, but let me assure you that you have officially fulfilled your obligations and are free to leave. You have already done more than I can ask for. If it is as you say, I have no ill feelings towards you. Feel free to go on with your life, and sorry about the car. I think I need to sleep again, I feel very tired.”

He was, in fact, feeling very tired, and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open by the minute.

Lan Zhan seemed to realise that that was the case. He said his goodbyes, but before he left the room, he announced, “I will come again.”

Wei Ying wanted to object, but Lan Zhan was already gone, and Wei Ying’s eyes were closing.

---

The next few days passed in the monotony of sleeping, check-ups by doctors and nurses, terrible hospital meals, and occasional visits from Lan Zhan.

As handsome as he might have been, at first Wei Ying really didn’t want Lan Zhan to come back again. He quickly learned to be grateful for his frequent visits, however. Staying in the hospital was extremely boring, even with the books that Lan Zhan brought him, and everything was much better once he trained Lan Zhan to bring him spicy snacks.

After a few excessively boring days in bed (more than he cared for, certainly), he was finally allowed to walk around a little in order to regain his strength, and Lan Zhan would take him outside into the garden whenever he visited. Wei Ying was extremely grateful for that, since the nurses didn’t allow him to go alone.

Wei Ying quickly learned on their little excursions that Lan Zhan rarely spoke, but was an extremely attentive listener who would prove said attention in the most unexpected moments. It was almost shocking sometimes; Wei Ying would ramble on about something, and Lan Zhan would suddenly say one thing or another that made clear he had been paying attention when most people would have tuned out already. It was… flattering, to say the least. To have someone pay attention to him so much. Definitely something Wei Ying could get used to.

Lan Zhan was also very attentive to Wei Ying’s physical state. More than once, when Wei Ying felt his own strength lagging, he suddenly found Lan Zhan’s hand at his elbow, steadily and unobtrusively making sure that he didn’t fall over his own clumsy feet. Lan Zhan seemed to know that he needed support almost before Wei Ying himself realised it.

Normally, he would complain about being thought a weakling, but if Wei Ying were honest, he would admit that sometimes, he really needed the support. And well… he couldn’t really bring himself to mind being spoiled by a handsome man. If he were really honest, he would confess that he simply liked Lan Zhan’s hands on him, and any excuse that provided him with an opportunity was good enough, even if he had to play up his weakness.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said when they were on one of their garden excursions one day, eating little cups of mango panna cotta that Lan Zhan had brought with him today on a bench. “I will be released tomorrow. You don’t have to visit me here any longer after today.”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “What time?”

“Around ten, I think? Why do you ask?”

“I will pick you up.”

Wei Ying sighed deeply and swallowed the last spoonful of dessert.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan. I can ask a friend to pick me up. You shouldn’t do so many things for me. If you are too nice, people will end up misunderstanding. Well, I will end up misunderstanding. You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you?”

He directed his best salacious grin at Lan Zhan.

“Nn,” Lan Zhan replied noncommittally. “I will pick you up.”

Wei Ying stared at Lan Zhan for a moment. Could it be that Lan Zhan was that thick? That he didn’t realise what Wei Ying was getting at? Did he have to spell it out for Lan Zhan? That he meant misunderstanding in the sense of kissing and possibly getting naked with each other?

“Lan Zhan, I’m serious,” Wei Ying complained, tugging at Lan Zhan’s sleeve to make him look at him properly. “I will misunderstand.”

Lan Zhan looked at him, and it struck Wei Ying again how beautiful Lan Zhan’s eyes were. He had thought that Lan Zhan was pretty much expressionless when they first got to know each other, but that had been patently untrue. His perpetually serious eyes were the source of so much deeply felt emotion. Everything Lan Zhan felt, he felt with his entire heart. So when Lan Zhan looked at him, Wei Ying automatically felt his pulse speed up and his cheeks start to grow hot. That was the effect Lan Zhan had on anyone he really directed his attention towards.

“I will pick you up,” Lan Zhan repeated once again. Stubbornly, insistently. Mulishly.

Without breaking their line of sight even once. Just serious. And steady.

“Oh,” Wei Ying whispered.

Oh. Lan Zhan didn’t want him to misunderstand. Lan Zhan wanted him to understand.

Wei Ying shot up from the bench they had been sitting on and walked over to the trash can close by, to throw away his empty cup of panna cotta. Lan Zhan followed him, throwing his own cup into the trash. As he did it, he looked about as disquieted as Lan Zhan ever did, but right now, Wei Ying was unable to handle anything.

Could he be right? Did Lan Zhan – that Lan Zhan –

As he stood there, he slightly tilted to the side – and there he was, Lan Zhan was right at his side, steadying him. But right now, Wei Ying didn’t want to be steadied. He leaned further into Lan Zhan’s side, putting most of his weight on Lan Zhan right until his head a found a home in the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he sighed. “Taking advantage of the weak and injured, I see. Do you always flirt like that? Picking people up at the hospital?”

He looked up at Lan Zhan and smiled.

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but one of his arms most definitely found its way around Wei Ying’s waist, holding him securely to Lan Zhan’s side. It was… intimate.

It was answer enough.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say ‘No, Wei Ying is the only one for me,’” Wei Ying pouted.

“Wei Ying is the only one for me,” Lan Zhan intoned seriously.

Wei Ying had to bury his face in his hands and scream a little.

“You can’t say things like that out of the blue!” he complained. “My poor, beaten body won’t be able to take it!”

Then he peeked out between the gaps between his fingers, up at Lan Zhan.

“Say it again.”

 (When Lan Zhan picked him up the next day, he received a kiss for his efforts.)

(One kiss, or many.)

(Who was going to count.)

[dorminchu]

ALL THESE THINGS THAT I'VE DONE

The war against Paradis is over. Eren and Annie are forced to confront their mortality in a world that seems to have no need of them, and their significance to each other. [Post-Canon]

I didn't know there was an ereani week this year until a couple days ago, but I figured: cool, I should probably post something. Title comes from the track of the same name by The Killers.

The prompt is: Day 3 (4/12): "I love you" / "I loved you"

[Ao3 | FFNet]

i.

When the war was over, it was Armin who took the glory. That was a new look for him, Eren thought. Smart but eternally overlooked until he inherited the role of the Colossus Titan. Willing to carry the burden of humanity's savior without much complaint, unlike his teenage self who had always been plagued by doubts and fears. Eren wouldn't have thought Armin would be ready to chew the bullet while he quietly slipped into the background—but he was the leader, and Eren had always been accustomed to his status of figurehead.

Their roles had inverted with age.

As part of an overarching deal with Queen Historia, Eren was granted quarters—a cabin ten miles from the border of what had once been Wall Rose—and a modest pension, as long as he held his tongue and did not make any attempt to intercept the negotiations between Paradis and the surrounding countries. Eren put in an application for professor at the local military academy and spent the days trying to record what he could remember of his experiences in Marley.

The cabin had been around since the start of the war. About ten or so miles from the nearest village. Perhaps even before Eren was born, when Paradis was just a penal colony in name and the boundaries on inhabitable territory were less strict. The pipes still worked and there was evidence of an outhouse as well as quarters for a small animal—he wondered if it had been a hunter’s lodge.

After growing up in the back end of Shiganshina for the first nine years of his life and living in barracks and halfway houses for the next ten, it was a lot quieter. He felt oftentimes as if he were on a permanent state of leave, awaiting orders that would never come. There was so much time to fritter away now, without a war on the backburner.

ii.

In a bid to lessen the severity of his scarring, Eren tried growing a beard. He couldn't sprout a full one like Zeke could, just the chin-hairs, an innate reminder of his days in Marley. Most often he kept his hair pulled back in a short ponytail or else cut it short in the warmer seasons, though never as short as it had been in his days of adolescence.

He'd regenerated his leg and other limbs since the ceasefire, regained his motor functions in a week-long, agonsing process that he was sure Hanji would've loved had she been alive to witness it—but a day or so after settling into the cabin the old pain was flaring up again. He had a vivid memory of asking Commander Hanji once, at seventeen, after exhausting his father’s journal, but the only conclusion either of them could come up was phantom pain. Even if he were whole and unmarred, he did not anticipate sleep as any source of relief. Colours in his right eye gradually turned dull and it was getting harder to read even by candlelight, disorienting to walk out into harsh sunlight. Eventually he just began wearing a patch for the sake of simplicity. His other eye was unaffected.

He could still remember Ramzi's face better than most of his dead Scouts and it kept him up at night for hours. His way of life—the Titans, ODM gear—was quickly being phased out, trading blades and canisters for rifles and ammunition. His place among the armistice seemed moot.

Eren thought more often of his father. He did not wish to, explicitly, but the memories of him that popped into his head were usually indecipherable and triggered by stress.

The doctors in Marley would define this as shellshock. Other times they left impressions like the outline of the sun under closed eyelids; warmth, family, agony, guilt that would eat away at him for the rest of his remaining life.

Eren was, at least, confident in the fact that he was nothing like his father. He didn't pretend he was doing anything morally righteous, nor had he allowed himself to be molded into a pariah like Zeke. He had only accomplished what those same men were afraid or unable to do. It was nothing to crow about. He did not blame Zeke for that upbringing. Eren had taken action, knowing he would be hated and feared by his own comrades. He could only leave behind his memories in print, and if by some Godforsaken chance they somehow managed to fall into the hands of a like-minded company—well, perhaps one day he would be understood or misconstrued further. Rotting in the ground he could not defend his truth or bias.

But while he was alive, he could not rest. He knew better than most that all of this was fleeting.

It wasn’t as though he was out of shape with all the walking. He still stuck to drills in the morning to keep himself busy; awaiting orders that would never come. It sounded like something Armin might say. But Armin was content to busy himself with the sons and brothers of deceased bureaucrats; the succeeding generation to the brilliant men and women who'd led them right into the mouths of hell and out again.

Commander Hanji was dead. Commander Irvin had been dead four years now. Captain Levi was on his way to retirement and attempting to get Mikasa to replace him.

After seven years of military service his soldier’s inclinations remained unshakeable. He'd wake up every morning, going through the motions as though he were still a stowaway in Marley. He'd never allowed himself to consider a life beyond the pretext of enlistment and eventual expiration within the Scouting Regiment, much less the seemingly endless war between Paradis and the rest of the world. In the best case he had assumed he would die eventually, of old age or a more unheroic death out in the field. He'd never allowed himself to be ruled by that fear of mortality because he had to eradicate the Titans first—it was a child’s logic that had gotten him through military academy. Yet here he was, nineteen, with four going-on three years left to kill. Annie had three, going-on two. That was the only certainty she'd admitted to him without need for prying.

So Eren had to be sharp for the rest of their sakes. The war on Paradis had ended and brought with it economic turmoil. A mourning period that seemed to extend indefinitely. The next decade of prosperity would not be won in a year, nor three, and it would come on the backs of the losing side and breed the same old resentment, and then inevitably the same slow descent towards outrage and madness and oppression. Always in the back of his mind like the learnt urge to drink, or his inherited memories—he could almost convince himself of his hard-won stability. It was a good enough reason as any to stop answering Mikasa's letters.

iii.

The door opened to reveal the very last person he had ever expected to see again. She was every bit the woman he had seen in Marley and little of the girl in the crystal remained. What could he say to a four-year old crush-turned-heartbreak whose face he could scarcely recall among the hundreds of thousands of other casualties? "You shouldn't have come back."

When he moved to close the door, she stopped him with her heel. "I'm no longer a Warrior, nor a soldier. I have nowhere else to turn. You and I understand each other, so there's no point in bloodshed."

He gauged this, chewing his tongue. "Did someone send you?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "No one you'd know."

"I suppose you were sent here to finish the job for Marley?"

"No." Bluntly, she forced herself into the doorway. "I came here on my own. I just—"

"—all right, it seems like there's been some kind of miscommunication between you and whoever sent you."

"I was told you'd be able to accommodate me." 

"I don't need anyone else here."

Annie squinted at him. Her hand was clenched tightly on the doorjamb. "You must get bored living up in the mountains. And you could use another pair of hands if you're not regenerating." Eren said nothing. "Did you carve your eye out again?"

"Goddamn you," he growled, and wrenched the door open.

He let her walk past the threshold. Looked at her once, and then away. "I'll set a place aside for you to sleep," indicating a well-worn sofa, "you can stay as long as you need to until you find somewhere you like."

"I don't know why you're so upset. You could have killed me years ago. You've had every opportunity, and yet—"

"—I've moved on." He said it flatly, almost resigned. "You haven't, obviously."

Annie didn't flinch. "So you're just going to stay here and wait to die?"

"I keep myself busy."

"What do you do?"

"I teach the new cadets over at the Academy. It's about two hours from where we are; nothing special, but they seem eager to learn."

"I see."

He turned finally to face her. "What about you?"

Annie hesitated. "Used to work with the other displaced soldiers up until a few days ago."

"How'd that treat you?"

"It was all right. Why, are you too good for it now, now that you're a war hero?"

Eren ignored the barb. "It's been a while since everything settled down, so I wondered how you would fare."

"What, so you just popped up in this house?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. There was a tribunal, and it was decided to let me live on the condition I'd be kept far away where I wouldn't bother with anyone. I can't say the same for the others."

"You sold them out?"

He chuckled. "I didn't have to say much. They did it to themselves. We shared a common goal at one point but never the same ideology. At the very least, I can say I took no pleasure in what I—"

"—Ackermann gave you an out?"

Eren gauged the sharpness in her tone, the stiffness of her posture. "I didn't ask her to." He frowned. "You never told me how you got here. Did Mikasa have something to do with this?"

Annie froze, then averted her eyes. "I didn't have much of a choice. It was either come here or work myself to death doing manual labor. I wouldn't have minded that."

"Why didn't you tell me that she sent you?"

"I don't know. She seemed to pity you."

"Oi, it's not your fault. She can feel however she wants." He sounded bemused, scowling. "What the hell else she she think I'm going to do in four years? I have no plans to start another war."

Annie finally eyed him in her peripherals. "We didn't talk much other than that."

Within the next few hours he'd gotten a few more details out of her. In exchange for agreeing to be quartered here, her record was wiped clean. She had recently reapplied for the MP brigade under a new name and secured a position as secretary in the Karanese district headquarters. She had also admitted to him that she was dying to get back onto the streets again.

As a bedfellow Annie was, in some ways, more than he could've hoped for. Despite the introduction, she talked far less than they had as cadets. She did not seem particularly happy or unhappy, just neutral. She woke up each morning at six hours and left to do her drills. She would come back in an hour and offer to help him with whatever menial tasks needed doing, as if they really were holed up together in the remnants of a cabin lost ten years ago to a threat that would live on in sordid, haunting memory. The kind of life one would find beyond the realm of a weathered photograph. 

Unobtrusive without becoming idyllic. The best outcome he could afford her was three years of uneventful domesticity.

They didn't spar anymore. Not for lack of want, or kicking the habit. Eren just couldn't keep up with her the way he used to. His leg was shaky and she pointed it out first. It would have an impact on the kind of punishment he could take as opposed to when he was fifteen and shrugged off every injury like it was nothing. His eye was not healing. 

Annie was in better condition. Just by studying her gait it was obvious that she'd taken better care of herself. She had not had to bunk up with a gang of stinking, vulnerable soldiers riddled by shellshock. Trying to communicate with them in German worked, but it got him a lot of funny looks and no end of comparisons to fathers and grandfathers enlisted or long since dead.

Annie wasn't interested in his stories from Marley but she didn't brush him off either. She just tolerated it in a much more polite way than Mikasa or Armin would.

At twenty years old she came up to his chest. Either the crystallization had stunted her growth or she was naturally short. She was also scarred enough down her face but it was of the same sheer consistency as her hair. You would only know what she was if you were paying close attention.

She got skittish and temperamental if he tried to push his luck training with her. Initially it had pissed him off:

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

She'd looked at him bluntly. "You're still recovering. Why overexert yourself?"

He'd never told her about his injuries but the idea of her picking up on it this quickly rankled for reasons he did not care to discuss. "I'm not a kid."

Something flashed in her eyes. "I'm not going to push you."

And that was the end of it. He'd decided that this ritual mattered more to her than him, and respected her space. He still did his own drills.

But every time they locked eyes now he'd get that same, absurd itch in the back of his mind from a year ago. Sharpened his tongue and made him want to speak in ways he didn't think he should attempt to justify whilst sober.

iv.

Days passed. He did not always see her until late in the evening.

In the middle of the night he rolled over onto his bad leg and the pain woke him. In silence he got up, not enough to require medication but still pretty uncomfortable.

“Eren?”

He went still. Annie was up herself, over by the window, staring at him as though he were on his deathbed. In the low light her eyes looked strange and luminous. “Does it hurt?”

“Does—what?”

“Your leg.”

Eren sat up slowly as not to aggravate his condition. She didn't say anything else. “It’s not so bad that I can’t sleep.” He studied her face for signs of age, finding naught but scars, a weariness in her eyes he could speak to. She didn't frown. She just watched him coolly. Eren shrugged. “You can’t sleep either?" No answer. "Thinking about to-morrow?”

“I can get you something for it.”

Eren shook his head. “That's not necessary."

"Don't be stupid."

"This isn't something I can just take pills for.”

"It's chronic." Her tone pregnant with incredulity. "Why haven't you seen a doctor for this?"

"Annie, what the hell is a regular doctor gonna do for either of us? We already fix ourselves. There are other veterans that have been stranded here, they aren't growing their limbs back. They need all the help they can get. Anyway, it's only, what, three more years of living? I can take three. Fuck, I've taken ten."

The more he kept talking, the darker her eyes became. Clench in her jaw, tautness of her shoulders, pronounced enough to notice from a distance—an involuntary reflection of his own revulsion.

"I don't know how you managed to win one war, let alone, if you can't even prevent yourself from running into the ground." Her voice was icy and distinctly contemptuous. She stalked over to him. Cold fingers dug into the meat of his naked shoulder, pushed him upright between the wall and headboard; tight, controlled movements. "Four years later and you still want to pretend you're a fucking martyr. It might've worked on Mikasa, but I'm not your sister. I'm not going to help you hurt yourself."

She kneaded at his leg in a much brusquer way than the way the orderlies in Marley. Eren didn't argue. She was not going to take no for an answer. When it was done she coaxed him to lie down again. He stiffened as he felt her weight join his on the mattress, curled almost tentatively against his chest. She didn’t try to hold him, just huddled as though for warmth. She did not explain herself.

Eren had a vague recollection of the last time this had happened. Back then she came up to his chin, rather than the middle of his chest; their disparity was only thrown into relief. He could feel the human warmth of her through the thin undershirt, the softness of her hair on his cheek. He’d dreamt about this a lot when he was sixteen, while the tragedy of her betrayal was no longer fresh but still painful in his mind. He had no energy left to hate her then, for she was not his enemy.

He heard her breathing even out.

She had stayed this long. There was no sense in abandoning her now.

v.

Sometime after that, Eren started noticing her in more tangible ways. Smell of her hair. The subtle glint in her eyes in lieu of a smile. She'd wait up for him in the mornings before he left. He'd tell her good-bye.

When he came home he’d catch her eyes lingering on him in profile.

Just one day too many of the same quiet inactivity. The fact that they had slept in the same bed was just a catalyst of how familiar they were with each other already.

She woke up an hour later than usual and, fuming, went out to train. A light rain had started. Eren made breakfast. Over the next twenty minutes the light sheet became much more torrential. Annie came back in about half-an-hour, dripping water all over the floor. He would've told her off but she grabbed his wrist. He turned as she leant up and took his face in her hands and kissed him like her life depended on it.

Maybe the situation had always been building to this. He had forgotten about its immediacy until the moment presented itself. But now there was nothing left to say. So he gathered her up and placed her on the counter, kissing her breathless, bunching up her threadbare shirt, palming her tits through the military-issue brassiere—he muttered, "see, I thought you were just being nice," and she scoffed, set her heel to the small of his back even as he put his mouth on her. She was chilled from the rain; it was not yet summer. Half-dressed and needy, he took her right there on the countertop. Afterwards, there was no shame or lingering uncertainty that would have been present as cadets. She pressed her cheek to his.

"I'm going to be away for a while. It's higher pay if I stay in Karanese. Maybe two or three weeks." She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright but her tone was stoic. "I just…" She trailed off because he was only looking at her face. Eren smoothed her damp hair away from her cheek.

"I love you." Then he stopped. Like he was finally coming to grips with the idea. Annie blinked rapidly. A crease formed in her brow. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. Eren kissed her chin. "But, if you're gonna be trackin' mud everywhere you'd best clean it up after yourself."

She finally came back to herself. Shoved him lightly in the chest. "Fuck off." Then hoisted herself off the counter, fixed her trousers, and asked in a dry voice where he kept the washbasin.

vi.

On his own the cabin felt distinctly empty. Sometimes he'd wake up hard and just—take care of it. Annie on top of him. On her knees. Pulling him up to her. He missed her a lot more than he'd care to admit to her face and it wasn't just in the sense that she was available. She'd probably just smirk at him anyway.

But when she returned it was nice to have her around, even for a little while. She kept to herself and he gave her space; it was as though she had never left.

It was still morning. He was working when he felt her come up behind him, hands slipping over his wrists. “Oi,” he muttered, “I’m a little busy.”

“You’re just sitting there.”

He scoffed. “Really? How would you know what I’m doin’?” No answer. Eren closed the book. “You really are demanding, ain’t you?” Faux-annoyance. But he turned.

She looked prettier in uniform. Hair pulled back into less of a bun, more of a severe ponytail. She was looking him up and down as though deciding something for herself.

She leant down, kissed him firmly, nipping at his lip until went with it, half-amused. She stepped back, breathing evenly, eyes glinting. She cupped his face, a vestige of tenderness he did not anticipate.

Then her eyes shifted, something empty, strange. A harsh crack against his jaw he could not anticipate and he took it, worked his jaw, blinking rapidly. “What the hell are you—?”

Annie jerked her head back slightly, fixing him with the same expectance he realised he’d completely misinterpreted. “Hit me.”

Eren didn’t move. Her jaw trembled, then set. He caught her wrist. “That’s enough.”

“Why?” She sounded annoyed. “It’s all right. I can take it.”

“What is this?”

“I’ll be dead before you anyway, it would be easier just to take—”

“—I said that’s enough,” he said, terse. “I’m not going to do anything to you."

Her brow furrowed. "I thought you understood.”

Eren just stared, fighting to keep himself calm when he wanted to grab her shoulders and demand her to justify why the hell she wanted to be hit. "What am I supposed to understand?"

Annie’s eyes darted over his face and then to his wrist. “I want you to hit me back.”

“I’m not going to do that.” He cupped her jaw and she almost flinched; his stomach twisted. “Do you understand me?“

Silence built up between them. "I know you’d stop if I asked you to.”

“I’m not going to wait until after I’ve hurt you to stop.”

Annie pressed her face into his chest. He took her by the shoulders, watching her stiffen.

“Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

"Why d'you want me to hit you?"

"Do you want a list?" He gripped her tight enough to make her flinch and immediately regretted the look of fear that came across her face. He let go of her. "I’ve been complicit in the death of your comrades.” Her voice thickened. “And I’ve taught you everything I know. You don't need me here for anything other than your own gratification.” Returning to the facade of impassivity with unnerving ease. “So, there’s no point in comparing our tallies.”

“Annie—"

“Are you stupid?” Annie spat, the most emotion she had exhibited thus far. “You've taken my country and my life and my father and you—now you want me to love you back. You want to marry me as if we're ever going to—I'm the one who killed your friends, why would you ever want to be reminded of—"

"You love me." She looked helpless in her vulnerability. "What? What's the matter?"

"Why would you want me? I—I can't even have children. I'm going to die in four years. I'm going to watch you die unless I kill myself fir—"

"—Annie—"

"—you could fuck anyone you wanted!" she exploded. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Because you don’t have to earn anything from me! I just want to be around you—can’t you accept that?”

Annie kissed him hard. He trembled though he was holding her.

“Take me to bed." Eren opened his mouth and she kissed his chin. “I want you to take me to bed. I—”

Even then, he was hesitant to touch her. She led the way, stripping down to skin and splaying on his bed. He caressed her when she asked him to, a gentleness in his hands that betrayed his own sympathy; for once she didn’t chastise him.

Her scarring was far more pronounced in the light. He'd noticed before, briefly on the counter and more clearly with enough attention, but not like this. It clustered around her sternum and down her spine. He wondered, briefly, if that was why she'd wanted to do it quickly. Now her eyes were bright and shimmering but she took him into her, reached for him.

"Is this OK?" His voice was a croak.

Her eyes flickered to him. Cautious, sure. "Yeah."

He was on his knees, lifting the small of her back, working her towards a much sweeter surrender. He slid one arm around her waist to support her and touched her breasts, the side of her neck, cupping her jaw. His thumb ran over her scarring.

“Annie.” She gasped at the sound of her name. “Ann. Look. Come here.” She was biting her lip. Head fallen back, her hair was almost diaphanous in the light. He murmured her name and she was shivering with emotion. She turned into her elbow and told him in an unsteady voice to go faster, and the bed creaked to match him.

Her body arched, jaw slack. She wouldn't stop shivering. Her voice did not rise in expectation. It just wavered, edgeless.

He took her wrist away from her face and—she flinched. This serrated, ugly, sound that jerked out of her body. He pulled out, holding her. “Look at me,” his voice hoarse and horrified, “please.”

Annie curled up against his chest and shook. Eren just kept apologizing. She didn't push him away.

Eventually she stopped. Raised her head. Their eyes met and she lost composure again. He brushed her hair from her face. “Stay,” she croaked, “please. I need you.”

He kissed her brow. She almost flinched. He tucked his chin into her shoulder, arms around her back, until she’d calmed down.

"You don't have to do anything," he said quietly. "Do you understand that?"

"I know."

Laying prone, she only came up to his sternum. Annie sat up first. She got to her feet and went over to the window. Her shoulder was parallel to the glass. His attention stayed firmly on her profile. “You’re gonna get colder than hell. Come back here.”

She turned and glanced at his forearm curled half-surreptitiously against his stomach. Scar tissue along her breasts was prominent. In the dead light of this cloudy, April afternoon she finally looked her age.

There was a naked uncertainty in her eyes that made him freeze. "You're not my father and you never will be. You've been kinder towards me than I deserve, given the circumstances. I wish I could despise you."

Eren rolled his shoulders. The silence held for a while. "I don't know if what either of us have done can be forgiven. But, as long as you’re here, I want you to know that I don't hate you." All she did was stare, a slight crease in her brow. “I never could.”

“You love me,” she said. Not with scorn. Like she was testing the idea in a way they would have shied away from as kids. She averted her face towards the window.

She watched him get up and tensed. He limped towards her in a couple strides and draped the blanket around her shoulders with the same tentativeness. She did not put her arms around him. She pressed her face into his shoulder. His arm came around her back and she closed her eyes, just existing in the cold slats of wood against her feet and the rise and fall of his breast.

He put the blankets around her and laid beside her.

He’d always supposed he would heal with enough rest. He didn't know how to put what he felt into words, but eloquence had never been his forte. It was not unlike laying on your deathbed, mulling over all the things that hardly seemed to matter until there was no time left to spare.

There was no pain now, just certainty in the presence of another—the old urge to drink was absent.

This is a cleaned-up version of a couple tumblr WIPs + some old/new material blended in for fun. Think of it as a pilot episode for a much larger fic.

For what it's worth I did like the ending of AoT. Elements of that ending will likely factor into the aforementioned larger fic. I am totally disinterested in arguing about ships or wasted potential—at this point, I’d rather write whatever seems interesting, and leave it at that, canon or not.

And hey, if you think acknowledging canon will override my crippling addiction to the "morally challenged antihero/problematic blonde" dynamic… I really don't see that happening. Even after exiting this fandom, it's like, ALL I've been writing for a year (looking at YOU Insult to Injury) and I feel like I'm going insane. Back on topic though: Now that AoT has concluded, I find I am far less stressed at the prospect for writing for this series again. It won’t be my main focus, but I do like this fic’s concept enough to flesh it out.

[colorseeingchick]

The Inevitable Dystopia of My Hero Academia (WITHOUT manga spoilers)

As noted by your local political science anime lover.

(This is a summary/rambling about a political science paper I wrote on My Hero. This is only based on the anime. I’m not caught up on the manga)

Warnings: Vague reference to abuse (Endeavor), discussion of political theory, discourse.

A/N: It’s lengthy and all over the place. It also might be impossible to follow. So I’m sorry in advance lol.

THESE ARE JUST MY OPINIONS AND A FORM OF DISCOURSE. I’m open to discussing if you have thoughts! Political science is about understanding policy and structures, not taking a stance. Any comparisons to ‘modern society’ are in reference to 1st world/developed societies, as those are the governments that parallel the My Hero Academia government. 

The politics of My Hero Academia is... pretty morbid if you ask me. It’s not worse than the real world, sure, but maybe that’s why it’s all the scarier. Even with quirks and super powers, the impossible becoming possible, it isn’t enough to save them from the undesirable. Their society seems to have fallen into a cycle of suffering and oppression that has no end. 

Now, I know no one really gets excited about political theory (unless you’re like me, then please be my friend), but there are some concepts that you’ll need to understand in order to follow along with my argument. So bear with me. 

First, utopia. Utopia is probably a term you’ve heard casually, but the definition political theorists hold it to is simply- “a good place.” Often times it is depicted as a far away dreamland, only possible in the realm of fiction (and this makes sense given that My Hero is fictional). It is very important to understand that utopia is not necessarily perfect. It’s just better than average. There are a few standards that characterize utopia, one being the utopian focus on having very strict laws to repress the unstable nature of mankind [1]. I’ll come back to this. 

Next is dystopia. Dystopia as an idea was actually made in response to utopia. It’s the ‘not-utopia,’ and is lumped with ‘anti-utopia’ (this comment is in reference to the semiotic square, if you would like to develop a further look into it). The simplest way to understand dystopia is to know it’s ‘a not-good place.’ [2] But that’s surprisingly broad. Dystopias can be a failed utopia, or they could have developed on their own as a result of any number of reasons. You’ve probably seen all sorts of depictions of dystopia (climate dystopias, medical dystopias, technology-based dystopias, literally any YA novel from my childhood, you get the idea). Its key to note that unlike an apocalypse, where there is utter destruction and it ends with complete annihilation of humanity, there is hope* inherently written into it. 

*Hope here meaning there’s theoretically a way for the government to be changed/overthrown without death of the majority. 

Now that all that boring stuff is out of the way- let’s talk about My Hero Academia. 

I’d argue that, at first glance, Hero Society seems to be working towards utopia. When reading from Deku’s perspective, especially in the beginning, you would think that their society is close to becoming utopian. The impossible is possible, being a hero is a reality, and a symbol of peace tangibly and definitively exists. When you compare it to pre-quirk society, these changes would appear to be developments. As for the ‘in progress’ aspect, I think Hawks verbalizes it best when he says his goal is for heroes to have too much time on their hands. They aren’t there yet, but if that goal is achieved, it would be a mark of utopia. 

They’ve achieved some level of utopian standards by meeting the ‘strict laws to repress the unstable nature’ standard. Think about the concept of licensing quirks, quirk regulation, and the government institutions that regulate quirk society. Remember when Tomura cornered Deku at the shopping mall and mentioned something along the lines of, ‘all these people could wield their quirks at any moment they want, but choose not to? Instead they smile and laugh.’ 

He has a point. Why is that? From a political theorist point of view, it’s honestly very shocking. For centuries, theorists have argued about how to manage human nature. It’s a difficult task as is. Give everyone superpowers? That would have to be 10x as chaotic. But in the My Hero world, it’s not. It’s well organized. The government took action to regulate the physical instability of humanity which arose from quirks. What’s so impressive to me is that they managed to mitigate (not eliminate) the instability of human nature/behavior along with it.

But if you take a step back to look at My Hero Academia, slowing down and stepping out of Deku’s shoes, I don’t think the instinct is to classify it as a utopia in progress. Of course, its superpowered with quirks- adding to the realm of possibility. But crime of all sorts is superpowered, just as the justice systems/law enforcement in the country. 

When I made this realization, I understood I had kind of been drawn into the propaganda the society puts out. It’s a sort of cloak built up by the positive media around the heroes, the narrative being focused on young heroes and their great mentors, and the universal title of ‘villain’ being put on everyone that breaks the government’s laws (this really bothers me, and maybe I’ll discuss it another time). Things aren’t better. Crime rates have gone down I believe, but the anti-hero sentiments being harbored are more intense than in certain real world societies. Hero society hasn’t necessarily resolved any of the problems that our society would have. The balance is the same, but the possible actions people can take, or the behaviors that are exhibited, are scaled up on both sides of the law.

What’s worse is that- even if its not a universal experience, this society is also a dystopia for many people. The first hint of this society being less than perfect is when we hear from Stain and his pursuit of a ‘just society’ by eliminating fraudulent heroes. His ideals are surprisingly level-headed, and very rigorous in standard, even if it is based in questionable morals. But it’s easy to brush it off. However, its less deniable as you learn more about these characters. 

Shigaraki was abandoned and waited for heroes to save him, but they didn’t. Overhaul was also an orphan living on the streets. Eri was abandoned by her mother because of her quirk. Twice was villainized, when in reality he has mental health issues (dissociative identity disorder I believe). It broke my heart when Twice said “heroes only save good people.” Who decided they were bad people? Why weren’t they saved?

Also, can we talk about the quirkism? (Which I don’t know if that’s a real term within this fandom yet, it might be, but just to be on the same page, I mean quirk-based discrimination) You have people like Shinsou, who’s treated as villain even though he wants be a hero- solely because of his quirk. I believe Toga was also treated poorly because of the nature of her quirk as well (correct me if I’m wrong). And then you have Midoriya, who was harassed and bullied for not having a quirk at all. Clearly none of them have control over the way they were born, and yet they all had to deal with how society treats them because of the uncontrollable. (At this point I’m sure its clear there are a lot of parallels with the discourse around quirkism, racism, and sexism, which is a whole nother conversation).

Having good quirks also seems to get you a pass, or puts you outside the reach of the law. The only example I need for this is Endeavor and his children. Despite all the abuse he’s done that makes him a villain in my book, he stays the number 2 hero. That’s all I need to say. 

The suffering of all these individuals is a direct result of the failure of the government. And this isn’t a ‘government should have taken extra steps to help them.’ This is a situation where the government’s structure, including the sensationalized media and monopolization of quirk use, has actively attacked and oppressed people who otherwise would have been untargeted. 

This is a world of misery for them- the people who make up the underworld. We call them villains and criminals because they are- but I don’t think its fair to call all of them bad people. They definitely didn’t start out that way. They are the results of suffering. They are created by a society that solely aims to remove them from existence. This hero society is so unjust that its faults create its own villains. The villains they aim to stop came to be because of the ‘heroes’ in the first place. The irony there is painful, and I hate that it’s a sort of self fulfilling prophecy. 

The reason why I think it’s morbid is because there is no escape. Quirk society in its current state is undeniably a dystopia for many. But the issue is (and this was the crux of my argument in my paper) dystopia and utopia inevitably and consistently coinhabit space. What is utopia to one will be a dystopia to another. There is no way to get everyone to uniformly view society. 

What that means is, somebody will always be suffering in this society. At least, that’s the cycle that’s been set up. In the episode where Tamaki got shot with a quirk erasing bullet and Kirishima fought the gangster on quirk enhancing drugs, that gangster did say that this was ‘their time’ to rise. “It’ll be the age of those who live in the shadows.” They’re not looking for resolution. They’re looking for revenge. They want to flip the script and be the ones living in utopia while everyone else is subject to suffering. The concept of everyone living happily in harmony and true peace isn’t even in consideration. 

There seems to be no middle ground, no solution to the push and pull between the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains.’ The unfairness will continue to be passed around, and unless someone can break the cycle, attack the corruption of the system at its roots,

the problem is not going to go away. 

Sources!

[1] Claeys, Gregory, and Fatima Vieira. “The Concept of Utopia.” In The         Cambridge Companion to Utopian Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

[2] Robinson , Kim Stanley. “Dystopias Now.” Commune, November 17, 2018.            https://communemag.com/dystopias-now/.

Copyright © 2020 Colorseeingchick. All rights reserved. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone:  Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

His flight lands at JFK shortly before two in the afternoon. He’d slept for the better part of it; worn out from the lengthy hikes in the oppressive heat. Something to eat and a shower had done him some good. Easing the majority of tightness in his back and shoulders and tackling some of the swelling and pain in his right knee. It remains the proverbial thorn in his side; first replacement failing after only a year and a half and then having lengthy and painful recovery issues following the second one. He’ll never be able to fully straighten that leg or go a day without some swelling or pain. The surgeons had done the best they could under the circumstances; warning him of excessive and irreparable damage done to the surrounding ligaments and tendons and preparing him for a third surgery before he hits sixty.

While miserable and hobbling at times, it’s still nowhere near as agonizing as what he’d been living with before. Ninety percent of his nights are spent sleeping straight through; very rarely is he woken by pain, nor does he have to resort to the alternating of hot and cold showers in effort of relieving some of the suffering. And there’s been no nightmares. Two and a half years of NOT having his rest disrupted by vivid and terrifying recollections of his times in Dhaka. THAT’S more of relief than the absence of pain; the troubles with his mind finally giving him reprieve thanks to a strict regime of medications and therapies. There’s been no manic or severely depressive moments; moods managed relatively well and healthy coping mechanisms long ago replacing the damaging and dangerous behaviours he’d once turned to.

It helps to have a support system. Knowing there’s someone in your corner that will constantly cheer you on; never letting you get discouraged or allowing you to give up on yourself. Oftentimes...when things get particularly bad...willingly carrying some of the burden and despair themselves. Had it not been for her, he would have surrendered a long time ago. He would have easily resorted back to the booze and the drugs; his life empty and meaningless and not worth the effort and the oxygen it took to stay alive.

He woke an hour before landing and placed two calls. The first to Dylan’s Candy Bar; a favourite destination of the kids every time they make a trip to the Big Apple. It’s one of the places they insist on visiting at least twice. Shamelessly dropping nearly all their spending money given to them by their parents; filling their shopping bags to the brim with sweet treats and various trinkets. The order was simple; seven plastic buckets -each adorned with the kids’ favourite cartoon character or superhero- filled with their candy and chocolate of choice and gift certificates for the sundae bar. The second call is placed to the ‘go to’ local florist. Two dozen long stemmed sweetheart roses; white, pink, and purple. It makes him happy; being able to both surprise and spoil her. The latter always launches a protest on her behalf; reminding him that she isn’t a materialistic person and most certainly doesn’t expect or need expensive gifts. But he can’t help himself. While they live remarkably simple and low key in the grand scheme of things, it’s no secret that money is no longer an issue; their bank account will never run dry and there will always be cash -BIG cash- rolling in. And he feels she deserves to be spoiled and treated like a queen. Not only giving him seven kids in as many years, but staying by his side through thick and thin; never giving up on him -or the- even when things were their darkest and direst.

She’s been with him from the humblest of beginnings; when he had absolutely nothing to offer her. Money had been scarce. Nearly all their combined savings used up on a mountain of medical bills; his long and painful recovery from Dhaka making any and all employment impossible. It was worrisome; wondering how the hell he’d keep a roof over her head and food in her pregnant belly. If he couldn’t manage THAT, how was he going to be able to properly care for a kid? They hadn’t had much back then; that tiny apartment outside of Sydney filled with used and mismatched furniture and barely any clothes in their closets. But she’d hung in there. Agreeing to marry him even though he couldn’t even afford to give her a ring, let alone a proper wedding. Loving him with every fibre of her being and always looking at him as if he was the most incredible man on earth; declaring that he made her feel safe and protected and that she’d never...EVER...felt that way before.

And that’s why he does. All of that blind faith and love and trust that she’s always possessed. The chances she’s given to him; forgiving him for all the broken promises and all the lies he told -never maliciously, only as a means of keeping her safe- and the times he fell off the wagon and went back to the booze and drugs. So many times she could have walked away; taken the kids and fled the country and made sure that he would never find them. But she never did. She never let it...HIM...break them. No matter how hard it got, no matter tears she shed, no matter how volatile the arguments or how many holes he punched in the walls, she never gave up. Even when she did kick him out, it hadn’t been a sign of defeat. It had been a warning; telling him that she wouldn’t allow someone like him in her children’s lives and he needed to clean up his act. He’s still ashamed that it took as long as it had. Six months spent wallowing in his self pity and despair; twenty four weeks away from his family because he was too scared and too weak to face his problems head on and try to solve them. And she’d taken him back; a tearful phone call in the middle of the night begging him to come home. They’d stayed up until dawn; having the calm and rational heart to heart that they should have indulged in months..if not YEARS...ago. And finally he’d been ready to change; crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do whatever it took to make things right again.

To make THEM right again.

Although Anil had arranged for a private car to take him home, he opts for a taxi instead. While he appreciates Anil's continued generosity, it’s far too ‘flashy’ for him; a black Lincoln with tinted windows pulling up into Gramercy Park will only draw attention from the neighbours. While everyone residing there is just as wealthy -if not more- things are still relatively low key; North American made SUVs and sedans in place of luxury models from overseas, no outward displays of disgusting riches and pompous attitudes. He knows he and his family are an enigma of sorts; nine of them from Australia showing up out of the blue and dropping huge cash -especially for what’s considered a young family- on a place that'd been on the market for nearly two years. Then spending an exorbitant amount of money transforming the three story townhome into exactly what they wanted. Adding a private and secluded back deck complete with a wet bar and a hot tub and an area for outdoor food prep and grilling. Blowing the one wall out in TJ and Tanner’s room; removing would have been a study in favour of turning it into built in queen sized bunk beds and enormous walk in closets with enough space for clothes and toys. And a home gym stocked with the best equipment money can buy and a top of the line sound system; ; an addition off the kitchen that had been a last minute decision. It had taken two years and a dozen trips to and from Australia and New York CIty to get everything just right. Finding joy in seeing just what all the hard work and seemingly endless shedding of blood, sweat, and tears, could actually bring to their family.

When he’s two blocks away he texts his wife, letting her know he’s mere minutes from their front gate. The three littlest love that final stretch; kneeling on the couch and pressing their noses against the living room window as they impatiently await his arrival. She’ll try to get boots and coats on them in time; more often than not chasing them out the front door with winter apparel in hand, shouting about the dangers of frostbite and hypothermia and how they don’t want to spend their entire Christmas break stuck in bed with the flu. It’s been an adventure; raising seven children. Definitely not for the faint of heart or those lacking in patience. There’s the frustrating moments; two or three throwing temper tantrums in unison, an often mouthy and rebellious pre-teen girl that makes her mother her primary target, a ten year old boy that has absolutely no fear; who indulges -and excels- in even the most aggressive of sports and gets bored and irritable if he isn’t keeping himself moving. It’s chaotic and it’s noisy. School mornings are a whirlwind of activity; breakfast for a family of nine, the oldest helping finish and pack lunches, mom and dad working on getting the less independent kiddos ready and out the door. But there’s a lot of fun under that roof; an endless supply of giggles and little arms always ready and willing to wrap you in a hug. The great times far out number the trying and exhausting ones; rewarded with kisses and cuddles and those crinkly eyed smiles.

And there’s a lot of love in that house. If the pain and the worry and the fear that his brush with death had five years ago had taught him anything, it’s that they truly are capable of getting through even the toughest of times. They ARE stronger together than they are apart; fighting through all the pain and all the tears and coming out the other side relatively unscathed. And they’ve become stronger; as individuals AND as a couple. Their marriage has never been healthier. Rational and calm discussions taking the place of often volatile arguments and taking every opportunity presented to them for ‘one on one time’; whether it be date nights or their evening walks along the beach or coffee out on the deck while the sun rises. Seamlessly and effortlessly working as a team when it comes to raising their children, but never forgetting how important it is to acknowledge the bond that exists between them. Not just as spouses and two people that made babies together, but as best friends and lovers and each other’s biggest supporters and most loyal confidants. Marriage therapy has turned out to be the best thing they ever could have agreed to; able to acknowledge their weaknesses as both a couple and as individuals. Opening their eyes to the little things that annoyed and often -unintentionally- hurt one another and tested the limits of their patience.

Things aren’t perfect. But most days they seem damn close to it.

****

Clad in a cumbersome ski jacket and a pair of heavy and clunky winter boots, five year old Takota scrambles onto the living room couch. Leaning stomach first against the back cushion, he places his elbows along the top and heaves a long, forlorn sigh. “He’s late.”

Beside him -and already bundled into her own cold weather gear- Addie casts a glance towards the clock that graces the nearby fireplace mantle. “It’s only been eight minutes.”

“Mummy said he’d be here in FIVE minutes.”

“Maybe the traffic is bad. Maybe the cabbie is a really slow driver. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“I hope so.” Another dramatic sigh. “I wonder why daddy had to go away in the first place?”

Addie twirls one of the braided tassels on her knitted hat around her index finger. “‘Cause Kota, he’s the boss and sometimes bosses have to go and boss people around. In person. Not just on the phone and through the computer.”

“Maybe he had to go and yell at them,” Takota suggests, and pushes his beanie towards the back of his head, then uses a forearm to clear beads of sweat from his brow. “His voice is REALLY loud when he yells. I bet he scared them . Do you think they cried?”

“I would cry if he yelled at me.”

“Daddy never yells at us. He doesn’t need to. He just gives us the stink eye. You know, ‘the look’.”

“The look is scarier than when he yells, I think. He yells at Millie sometimes.”

“That’s ‘cause she deserves it. We don’t. We’re just little. She’s big and mean. And bad. Really bad.”

“Who’s bad?” Brooklyn asks, soles of her boots loud against the laminate flooring as she clomps into the living room, then squeezes her tall and slender frame between the window and the back of the couch.

“Millie,” her twin replies. “All the time.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s almost a teenager,” Brooklyn reasons. “All teenagers are bad.”

“I think it’s ‘cause she’s just a big bitch,” Addie declares.

Voices -especially high pitched little ones that don’t come with a volume switch or understand the meaning of the word ‘whisper’- travel easily through the main floor. Particularly through the open concept design that seamlessly combines living room and kitchen; high ceilings and easy to clean carpet free flooring. A definite must have with seven kids and two dogs. And as she stands at the kitchen island nursing a mug of tea, Esme’s eyebrows arch as she catches the profanity that slips from her soon to be six year old’s mouth.

“Hey!” she calls, and drops her chin to her chest and narrows her eyes. “Language. Please.”

“Sorry,” Addie gives a sheepish grin, then turns back towards the window. “It’s true though.”

“Mum,” Takota turns to face the back of the couch; a pout on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest. “You said he’d be here in five minutes. It’s been an hour.”

“It’s been ten minutes,” she informs him. “It’s snowing out. People forget how to drive when it’s snowing. Traffic is probably bad. Patience, young sir.”

“I don’t have any patience. I’m five, remember? Why did daddy have to go away again?”

“He had some business to take care of. Far away.”

“He’s been gone for like a year.”

“I know it seems that way, but he’s only been gone for four days. Five if you count the night he left.”

“Why’s he leave when we’re sleeping?” Brooklyn inquires, as she traces a fingertip along the edges of the paper snowflakes -done in various colours and sizes- that she and her siblings had created and taped to the glass the evening before. “Why doesn’t he wait to say bye to us?”

“Because most of the flights leave at night. It’s not personal.”

“He should at least wake us up,” Takota says. “I hate not getting to say bye to him.”

“I don’t know, I’m kinda of glad that he DOESN’T say bye,” Addie pipes up. “I’d cry for sure. It’s better if he goes when I’m asleep. So I don’t ugly cry.”

Their chatter turns to plans to build snowmen in the small expanse of backyard, hopes of going sledding, and excitement over the buckets of candy that had been delivered only thirty minutes earlier. The bouquet of flowers sits in the middle of the dining table; a stunning arrangement of long stemmed sweetheart roses in her favourite colours and accompanied by a card that simply reads: I LOVE YOU. While not a fan of grand romantic gestures, over the past five years he’s shown an increased propensity for these ‘out of the blue’ moments. It can be simple yet thoughtful and personal things. Her favourite cupcakes from the local bakery back home, flowers being delivered to the bookstore in the middle of the day, or him taking a break from seemingly endless hours of ‘in office’ work and showing up with lunch for the both of them. Just taking the time to be with her is what matters most to her; the affection he gives and effort he puts into making sure she realizes just how often she’s on his mind. And how much he appreciates her and loves her and truly can’t imagine his life without her.

Then there’s the bigger and more elaborate things; the desire to spoil her every chance he gets, claiming it makes him happy to do so. She always protests. Reminding him that that’s NOT why she fell in love with him; marrying him when they both had very little yet their lives somehow seeming simpler and less stressful. But it just goes in one ear and out the other. his persistence and stubbornness always getting the upper hand. Showering her with jewelry and designer clothing and accessories; surprising with spa appointments and ‘girls weekends’ away with her sister. And then there’s the twice yearly ‘mommy and daddy only’ trips he insists they take. One always to their favorite getaway in Phuket, Thailand, and the other destination always kept a secret until they actually land. He says it makes him happy; being able to just randomly treat her to things they’d never been able to really afford before. Truly believing that she deserves to be spoiled; wanting a way to show how much he appreciates her and how grateful he is for the life she’s given him. A chance to prove he CAN be a good husband and father and that his past mistakes in no way to define who he truly is. And he always talks about how fortunate he is that he found a strong woman; someone that stuck around during even the hardest and darkest of times. Always loyal and faithful. Loving him when he didn’t make it easy to.

He’s come a long way in five years. THEY’VE come a long way. Both separately and as a couple. Therapy has made a world of difference; helping them get to the bottom of both individual issues and those causing friction and tension in their marriage. It had taken him a while to accept the idea of couples counselling; afraid that needing it was a sign that things were far worse than he thought they were Slowing coming around to the realization that it wasn’t because they had serious problems that had to be addressed, but because they needed to find ways to keep those issues from cropping up in the first place. Both had needed to be reminded that their roles in each other’s lives went far beyond just being spouses and raising children together. That the bond that existed between them surpassed what most normal couples could lay claim to. Best friends. Lovers. Each other’s most trusted confidants and most loyal and steadfast supporters. Once they began taking time out to spend together, they soon learned how to nourish those very different roles in each other’s lives. Their marriage started to see the benefits almost immediately; becoming stronger and their appreciation, gratitude, and love for another growing beyond anything either of them could imagine.

“Momma?” Takota appears on the other side of the island, having to stand on his tiptoes to see over the countertop. Like his Tanner and Addie, he’s on the small side; not blessed with the tall and lanky genes that the others -including his twin sister- had been given. And like Tanner, he is soft spoken and serious; loving to spend time outdoors, yet preferring quieter pursuits. Very creative; indulging in painting and drawing and any form of craft that he can get his hands on.

She glances up from the copy of the New York Times open in front of her. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Do you think daddy went away because he had to kill someone?”

“What?” She gives a startled chuckle. “Why would you…?”

“TJ said that daddy used to kill people. Before he became a boss. That he was a mer...mer…”

“Mercenary,” she finishes for him, then pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and moves to the stove; stirring the contents of a simmering pot. One of Tanner’s many culinary creations; a rather creative mixture of chicken, taco seasons, and various vegetables. It’s his newfound passion; cooking and baking. And he insisted that some of that day’s lunch be left over so daddy could try it when he got home.

The little things go both ways. She’s found her own ways of spoiling him and showing her gratitude and appreciation. Today it’s a warm meal and fresh, hot coffee and the hot tub on the back deck already bubbling; relief for what she knows will be an aching and weary body.

“Is it true? That he used to kill people? When he was one of those? A mercenrie?”

“Mercenary,” she slowly repeats. “And yeah, sometimes. Sometimes he DID have to.”

“Because they were bad people?”

“Very bad people.”

“Is that why he had to go away? To kill bad people?”

“I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for details. He just had to go away for a few days.” It isn’t entirely true. He did in fact head to Laos and Cambodia to do just THAT; two high profile drug and weapons smugglers with enormous price tags on their heads and lengthy lists of enemies. But he’d also said that there was ‘more to it’; things that she didn’t need to know. Details that made HIM extremely unsettled. Something THAT bad? He preferred not to place it upon her shoulders.

“Is he going to go to hell? Because he killed people?”

“No.” She scoops some of the soup from the pot and holds it to her lips; aggressively blowing on it and then checking the temperature with the tip of her tongue before offering it to her son.

Takota eagerly accepts the ‘snack’. “Are the people he killed going to hell?”

“How about we NOT talk about this? If you want to know those kinds of things, you ask daddy. He’ll be able to answer your questions a lot better than I will.”

“I think you’re just throwing him under the bus. Setting him up for failure. We BOTH know he won’t tell me.”

“You are way too smart for five. Taste good? The soup?”

“Really good. Tanner could be a really famous chef one day, I bet. I’m gonna be a lion tamer.”

Grinning, she moves back to the island and snags her mug; heating the tea with some of the remains sitting in the pot she had made earlier. “You are, are you?”

“Daddy said I could be whatever I want to be when I grow up. And I want to be a lion tamer. And maybe a dentist.”

“Both at the same time?”

“I can’t tame lions and fix teeth at the same time. That’s just weird.”

“Mum!” Brooklyn bellows from the living room, then begins pounding her palm against the window. “That weird guy is back again!”

“He’s talking to TJ,” Addie chimes in. “I think TJ is going to tell him off. TJ doesn’t like him. He thinks the guy’s an asshole.”

“Adeline! Language!” she scolds, and then turns the burner on the stove to the nearest possible setting and heads through the kitchen and out into the living room, Takota hot on her heels.

“Why is he back?” Brooklyn unlocks the latch on the window and aggressively shoves it open. “Why are you back, weirdo?! You already shovelled the sidewalk! It hasn’t snowed enough yet! Go away! Mum…” both brows are arched as she glances over her shoulder. “...TJ is going to flip out. The weirdo is asking if you’re here. He called you pretty. I heard him! TJ is pissed!”

“Hey! Hey you!” Addie yells out the window. “My brother is going to kick your ass!”

“No one is kicking anyone’s ass,” Esme says, and shoves her feet into a pair of Crocs by the front door and snags one of the many coats from the hall closet; a snowboarding jacket that belongs to her husband and is monstrous on her tiny frame. And she barely manages to get the front door open; the three littles rushing past her and out onto the freshly shovelled porch and half completed steps.

“Why don’t you just go away!” TJ is barking at the ‘hired help’; a neighbourhood kid that she’d hired three years ago to handle the sidewalk IF Tyler was away. TJ had willingly taken on the responsibility of snow cleaning their first Christmas in Gramercy Park. Happy to be in charge of keeping the walk, stairs, and porch clean, but knowing that anything past the front gate is off limits. “You already did the sidewalk! It doesn’t need done again!”

“What’s going on?” Esme wraps an arm around her son’s shoulders and pulls him tightly into her. He’s tall for only ten; less than an inch away from squeaking past her in height. Still slim yet not as lanky and awkward looking; shoulders broader and muscles in his upper body already forming and becoming defined. A direct result of his love for sports and the kid friendly workouts in the gym that his dad let’s him partake in.

“This guy…” TJ nods in the teenager’s direction. “...wants to talk to you. He called you pretty. He asked ‘where’s your pretty little mom?'. I don’t like the way he said it. And dad wouldn’t like it either.”

“Is there a fight?” Tanner inquires, as he and Declan emerge from the side of the house; hearing the shouting from the backyard where they’d been keeping an eye on the dogs and building ‘snow fortresses’. “Who’s fighting?”

“No one is fighting,” Esme replies. “Just a misunderstanding between your brother and Jacobi. I’m sure it’s nothing, TJ. Go back to what you were doing. Daddy will be home soon. It’ll be a nice surprise for him; seeing everything shovelled off.”

“I don’t like this drongo,” TJ declares, and gestures towards the teenager with the end of the shovel. “He called you pretty. No one calls my mum pretty. Even if she is.”

“Beat him up,” Delcan suggests. “Daddy would.”

“Daddy would NOT beat someone up for no reason,” Esme informs him. “Especially not a teenager. Jacobi,” she turns to the teen in question. He’s a senior at the high school only three blocks away; a nice enough kid from an upper middle class home, constantly clad in backwards ball caps, baggy jeans, a varsity football jacket. “Now is NOT a good time. My wallet’s inside and I have no cash on me and my husband’s going to be home any second and it’s going to get really crazy around here. And loud. Very loud.”

“You don’t have to pay me until next time. I was just going to ask you if…”

TJ steps in front of Esme, forming a protective barrier between her and the unwanted visitor. “My mum’s married,” he snarls. “To my dad. Leave her alone! My dad is big and he’s strong and he can hurt people. With one hand. And if he finds out you’re mackin’ on my mom…”

“Tyler..” she places her hands on his shoulders. “...enough. No one is ‘macking’ on anyone. Jacobi is just being friendly. He shovels the sidewalk for us when dad isn’t here. And takes the garbage to the curb. He’s just trying to be friends.”

“My mom doesn’t need any more friends. Especially GUY friends. Seriously, my dad will kill you. Trying to get with my mom? Yeah, my dad will lose his shit. And you don’t want him to lose his shit. He’ll break you half. With his bare hands.”

“He’s very protective,” Esme explains to the teen, and gives an apologetic smile. “When dad leaves, he takes the role of ‘man of the house’ very seriously. You’re more than welcome to come back later; you can come in and have some hot chocolate or you can stay for dinner.”

“Oh now he’s coming to dinner?!” TJ huffs. “He just wants to try and get in your pants, mum. It’s obvious.”

“You’re ten. You don't know what's obvious when it comes to those things. You need to settle down. Jacobi is harmless. He’s just trying to be friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? To have friends here? It’s always nice to have friends.”

“I have friends back home. I don’t need them here. I got Tanny and Declan. What do I need HIM for?”

“Daddy!” Addie shrieks, as she stands on the lower rung of the wrought iron fence that borders their slice of property. One mitten clad hand wrapped around one of the posts while the other frantically waves at the yellow cab that pulls up to the curb. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!”

******

Chaos erupts; the gate being thrown open and a stampede of six human bodies and two dogs trying to steamroll their way through. The pure joy on those little faces and the excitement in their voices enough to cause a lump of emotion to settle square in his throat and tears to prick at his eyes; the latter hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. It had taken work to get past the feelings of inadequacy. The self hate and guilt and shame that had been telling him for years that he didn’t deserve the life he’d been given; a second chance at being a husband and father. Therapy has helped him get past that; helping him learn how to forgive himself and look at everything he DOES have instead of constantly questioning WHY he does. Now all he thinks about is how damn lucky he is; to have created seven human beings and to know how much they love him and how much they need him in their lives.

He barely gets a foot on the curb before the three littlest are on top of him. Shrieking and squealing with happiness and grabbing at the legs of his jeans; all three chattering at once, anxious for his undivided attention and begging to be picked up. He opts to dropping to one knee; not caring about the snow and the slush that soaks his leg or dirties the fabric. All that matters is those kids; three sets of arms wrapping tightly around his neck and those and those tiny voices giggling and happily screeching in his ears. And he gives each one the same attention; laying on the back of their heads and pressing kisses to their lips and cheeks.

“Daddy!” Addie climbs onto his thigh and squeezes his neck even tighter. “I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Peanut. Every second of every day. I missed ALL of you.”

“But me the most, right? You missed me more than anyone, right?”

“ALL of you. I don’t have favourites.”

“Yes, you do. I know it’s me, daddy. Everyone knows it’s me.”

“Maybe I’ve got a little soft spot for you. But you know who my absolute favourite is? My most favourite human in the whole world?”

“Mummy.”

“Exactly.” He gives her a final squeeze and peck on the cheek, gently sliding her off of his thigh and then standing; wincing at the discomfort in his right knee and the tightness in his shoulder when he slings his piece of luggage -a simple backpack often used during hiking and camping excursions with the family- up onto it. “Hey little red,” he greets Declan, and affectionately ruffles both the winter hat and the shock of red hair underneath. “What happened? Grow another foot while I’m gone? You look taller.”

“I’m going to be a giant like you, dad,” Declan declares, then stands on his tiptoes with his lips pursed for a kiss. “Mum says I might even be BIGGER than you.”

“Guess I better watch my step, huh? Treat her right? Or you’ll be kicking my ass when you’re older. What about guys?” He addresses the oldest twins, clapping a hand on the back on the back of TJ’s neck and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Tanner...and his needs...are different. He’s the more sensitive of the two; so much like his mother when it comes to a near constant need to show and receive affection. And since his Autism diagnosis almost five years ago -high functioning, as the developmental pediatrician had called it, a term that Tyler finds gets under his skin and leaves a foul taste in his mouth- they’ve all learned just WHAT Tanner needs. Whether it be ‘sensory breaks’ when feeling overwhelmed or anxious or more one on one interaction. Today it’s deep pressure. Tyler feels his son’s need for it the second Tanner’s arms wrap around his waist. He’s struggling emotionally; likely missing him the most out of all the kids and having a hard time adjusting to being away from home and not having his usual routine. It’s been difficult to adjust to; trying to find that balance between giving Tanner what he so desperately needs and craves yet not alienating or neglecting the needs of the others.

“Hey, mate.” He presses a kiss to Tanner’s temple, then wraps both arms around his petite frame. Knowing the exact amount of pressure he needs to put into the embrace. It will last longer than what he’d shared with the others. Long ago getting used to Tanner’s ‘signs’; knowing it’s better for his son’s mental state if he allows Tanner to be the one to break contact.

The ten year old’s demeanour begins to change almost instantly; tension releasing from his body and his heart rate slowing down and the head to toe tremors disappearing. And he holds on until Tanner is good and ready to pull away, then places his hands on his son’s shoulders and crouches down to make them eye level. Smiling when his sunglasses are gently and carefully pulled off his face. That contact again; Tanner needing to be able to read the emotions and even the thoughts that he always says is ‘written in daddy’s eyes’.

“You good?”

Finally a smile. One that crinkles the corners of his eyes and creases the bridge of his nose. “I’m good, dad.”

“Good,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Tanner’s lips. “Miss me?”

The ten year old nods.

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“Just lots?”

The smile broadens. “Tons.”

“I knew it. I missed you too. Tons. I brought you something. From Vietnam. Remember how when I told you where I was going, you did all that research? Especially about the animals? What was your favorite one?”

“The sun bear.”

“Look what I found.” Reaching into the pocket of his navy wool pea coat, he pulls out a small porcelain statue of a sun bear. It had taken him two hours of scouring various markets near his hotel and in surrounding areas, but he’d managed to find one. Tanner’s obsession with studying countries and their native wildlife is no secret; postcards and other trinkets constantly pouring in from Koen and Rata and some of the other guys on staff.

Tanner’s eyes widen, and he gingerly “Just for me?”

“Just for you. I told you I’d do my best to find you something. You can add that to your collection.”

“Mum!” He excitedly turns to Esme as she joins them, cradling his gift in both palms. “Look what daddy found! Look what he got me!”

“That’s awesome nugget. Daddy never disappoints, does he.”

“Never. Thank you, daddy,” Tanner curls his arms around Tyler’s neck and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you. I love you.”

“I missed you too, mate. And I love you,” he places his lips against his son’s temple. “So much.”

“Why don’t you go put that inside,” Esme suggests. “In your room. So it doesn’t get broken. You can come back out to play if you want. If not, dry socks please. Your feet are probably soaked.”

“And put my boots on the mat by the door and all wet stuff in the sink in the laundry room.”

“You got it.” She playfully tugs on the braided ties dangling from his head, then taps a fingertip against the end of the nose before he rushes off. “Hey, handsome,” she greets Tyler with a brilliant smile; one that’s a testament to immense relief his return brings. “Long time no see. Already upping your ‘best daddy in the world’ game, huh?”

“Couldn’t let him down, could I?”

“You never do. How was your flight?”

“It was alright.” He shrugs his bag further up onto his shoulders and reaches up to cup the back of her head in his palm, other hand falling on the small of her back and pulling her tightly into him. Despite the enormous difference in both weight and height, their bodies have always felt perfect together; easily and effortlessly melding into one another. He’d felt it that first day; 13 years ago in that rundown hotel room in Dhaka. She had felt amazing; soft skin and curves in all the right places, body warm and responding so eagerly and willingly to his. Everything it...about her...had felt good. It had felt right. And still does.

“I missed you.” Esme says, and perches herself on her tiptoes; the soles and heels of her bare feet lifting out her Crocs as she curls her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

They both feel the stress and the worry immediately lift; her body leaning into his and her eyes closing, his hand gently pressing her head into his chest, his forearm sliding just under her ass. For minutes they stand in silence simply embracing one another and enjoying the reunion; snowflakes gathering in their hair and on the shoulders of their jackets. And when she eventually pulls away, he leans down to kiss her; long and soft and slow, palm moving from the back of her head to her cheek.

Tyler glances down, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s up with that outfit?”

“It’s a long story.” She reaches up to trace her fingertips over a handful of fresh scratches and gouges mar his face and forehead. “What’s up with these?”

“Those are also a long story. We’re missing one. There’s only six spawn. What happened? Finally have enough? Is she buried in the backyard?”

“I did FINALLY crack but she’s very much alive. She went to Alannah’s last night; for a sleepover. Alannah’s mom took them out today; for lunch and a movie and to do some Christmas shopping.” Alannah is one of the many friends Millie has managed to make during their trips to New York City; the daughter of a Korean diplomat and a former Rockette.

“She’s been THAT bad?”

“Let’s put it this way; she’s lucky she’s still breathing and I’m lucky I'm still sober.”

“Yikes. Not what I wanted to hear. Guess we’ll be talking about that later.”

“It can wait. No rush. She’ll be home for dinner. I’m sure she’ll still be in a mood.”

“I’ll handle it if she is.”

“And then I’ll get blamed for turning daddy against her.”

“Well, she’s got to learn. No one disrespects my wife. Not someone we know, not a complete stranger, not my own kids.”

“Always the protective husband. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Tanner made some amazing soup yesterday and he insisted we save you some. And there’s fresh coffee AND the hot tub is already.”

“Best wife EVER.”

“I try. To keep my man happy.”

Smiling, he smoothes her hair away from her hair and loops errant strands behind her ears. “You do a very good job at that. And later, I’ll make YOU very happy.”

Esme grins. “Is that a promise?”

“That’s a promise.” He kisses her once more; her face cradled in both hands and her body more melting into his his.

Her smile is softer; eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and happiness. And love. There’s always love there. And he's certain there always will be.

“I missed you,” he says yet again, and leans down to place a kiss on her temple and nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear.

Pulling back to look at him, her hand once more moves to his face. Knuckles skimming along his jaw before her palm cups his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as two of her fingertips glide over his lips. She allows the the bottom of his chin to rest in the curve between thumb and forefinger, then softly and briefly brushes her mouth against his

“Welcome home, baby,” she whispers against his lips, then takes his hand in hers and leads the way inside.

[elisaenglish]

Everything starts at the beginning. Linear narratives, cause and effect, temporal practice – at least, as far as we know. Birth. Death. Cycles, perhaps. But we move. Eventually to shuffle out of existence or, more optimistically, transmute into other matters entirely.

Origin and endpoint so connected, it would be easy to subscribe to a similarly simplistic interpretation of art. That, and its synecdochical soul. However, as Anaïs Nin writes:

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”

Tethered to complex phenomenology and – paradoxically – freed by it, human experience, by this measure, defies strict categorisation. We are as we are in the moment, and flooded through the successive days, generation by generation, we choose. Even in this world increasingly predicated on the synthetic machinations of algorithmic “thinking”, we enter the fray as we will, immerse ourselves for a time in the passions – and disappointments – of our daily theatre.

Such, you could argue, is life – distinct from metaphor, unscripted.

But what, then, of literature? Of sources? Of lessons? Or at least, the didactic appropriation of canonical legacies as pertaining to us in the present. Then and now, and bridging. Elegantly executed in some cases, tragic by virtue of the misreading in others.

And yes, there are right and wrong answers in English. Just because the author dies, so to speak, it doesn’t mean you can shoehorn anything in there to replace them. After all, possibility doesn’t have to be palatable, but it does have to be true.

True as in plausible, robustly evidenced, debated with integrity of intent – even on an amateur level.

Take, for example, Jane Eyre. In chapter 7, Jane is punished by Mr Brocklehurst via a targeted humiliation that requires her to be “exposed to general view on a pedestal of infamy” as he brands her a “liar.” So condemned, he orders that she do penance upon the stool for “half an hour longer” and “let no one speak to her during the remainder of the day.” A fate that Brontë presents as making her burn with shame.

Pictured above in a rendering of the infamous scene, the artist depicts the stool as a column upon which Jane becomes a stylite fashioned in conceptual terms after Fra Angelico’s fifteenth-century fresco, The Mocking of Christ. The scourges of Lowood hover in ubiquitous threat, tools not unlike those of the biblical Passion: the bundle of twigs used as an instrument of flagellation, the scissors symbolic of the girls’ censored reduction to silence, starvation, capitulation – each at the behest of a man defined, in bleak refrain, as a “rigid” pillar ominously coloured black.

Religiosity framed in such cruel and unforgiving terms is not unfamiliar territory, especially in post-Enlightenment novels that aim, at least in part, to challenge historic social customs. The imagery here, for instance, foreshadows the allegorical overlap with the scaffold on which Hester Prynne is paraded in service of denouncing her sexual malfeasance in The Scarlet Letter. Except the meaning here is heightened not by primacy of self or the aesthetics of authenticity Hawthorne navigates as the feminine sphere triumphs over the masculine deficit embodied by the feeble Dimmesdale, but through, instead, the pure communion between Jane and unfailingly stoic Helen Burns.

Contrasted in the starkest terms with Brocklehurst, Helen represents a mode of Christianity that stresses endurance and the ascetic devotion to faith. Partially conveyed via her interest in Rasselas – an apologue that illustrates how one’s surrender and self-control is the means by which one may bear any mortal difficulty – and, perhaps more so, through her subsequent death, Helen is a paragon of nineteenth-century piety, able to withstand any trial when the pains of this life are immaterial compared to the joys she anticipates experiencing in the next.

So the scene shifts, vibrates with a shared belief that cannot be dislodged by the precepts of oppressive hypocrisy or the moral narcissism keenly observed in men like Brocklehurst. Brontë writes:

“What my sensations were, no language can describe; but, just as they all rose, stifling my breath and constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in passing, she lifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them! What an extraordinary sensation that ray sent through me! How the new feeling bore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted my head, and took a firm stand on the stool.”

Thus Jane contains her emotions and resists the cognitive conditioning meted out as “learning” in this environment cast as little better than her abusive “home” at Gateshead. Read in context, we see the impact of a quiet response – not naively consigned as weakness by a feminist lens, nor bowed to patriarchy in any conventional sense, but as an imperative of human dignity and self-respect regardless of ideological norms or, indeed, their injustices.

To circle back to the beginning once more, it should be stated that literature, and its intersection with the arts as a whole, is much like history and the study thereof – it must be approached with an evaluative eye lest we compromise intellectual credibility and kowtow to destructively unbalanced readings – readings that deny reasoned critique and mould themselves to agenda-driven politics.

Stories are our defining essence as a species; we must have the fortitude and discipline to both dissect and protect them. The skill to excavate the sometimes inconvenient truth, the conviction to challenge the uninterrogated assumptions.

Just as Jane comes to understand that happiness is a matter of degree, the significance of literary study is only truly captured in its nuances. Its plurality of perspectives, if you will. To return to Nin, she writes:

“If one’s lens is too small to fit the mysteries of one complex life, if that life must be condemned, what in the critic’s own complex psyche do they condemn and attempt to destroy?”

Therein lies the truth. Therein lies the question. And still, we push. Part as air to fire, part as air to breathing.

[xantchaslegacy]

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Multiverse

A quick and dirty rundown of some of the premier MtG planes, ranked by how nice a place they would be to live. Very subjective obviously, and I’d love to hear if people agree/ disagree/ have any strong feelings on the matter at all~ I stuck mostly to planes where I felt enough was known about it to make a tentative judgment call on its general safety/ enjoyability.

Note that for the below list, the criteria is that you are a) a human, who b) is primarily interested in living a long, peaceful life c) ideally with minimal external control by outside powers.

1) Kaladesh

– Periodically corrupt government, but overall a plane which offers lifestyles for urban and rural preferences, has plentiful clean energy, and supports both the arts and the sciences for public benefit.

2) Kylem

– Not many options for a quiet life, judging by the admittedly small sampling of the plane seen so far. Does seem to have a fairly lower fatality rate for all that, and Cloudspire City ranks high on places to visit for a fun time.

3) Eldraine

– Surprisingly benevolent monarchy, even verging on democratic in areas. Dangers of wilds exist, but odds of random monster death are reasonably mitigated compared to other planes. Limited career options for the layperson, though more fields open up if willing to take on the life of a knight.

4) Equilor

– Peaceful but dull, which is basically exactly the criteria for this particular test.

5) Dominaria

– Lots of world to see if you fancy adventure, and a diverse number of places to settle down if you don’t. Options for scholars, warriors, farmers, traders, artists, and writers alike. Currently no pending apocalypse, but the track record is not so good. Death machines just a few layers of dirt down.

6) Alara (Bant)

– Not a bad life to be had, if a bit over-codified. Even life as a warrior is not bad, at least pre-conflux. Peaceful and well-ordered, and passes the criteria for this list, albeit only for a brief period of time.

7) Theros

– Many options re: career path, from farmer to warrior to philosopher to herder. Do have to contend with sudden, violent death from monsters, minotaurs, or gods getting bored, so constantly on edge, probably.

8) Ravnica

– Pretty much the gold standard for variety in life paths. Entertainer, provider, lawyer, doctor, scientist, artist, spy, usurer...the world is your oyster if you’ve got the gumption. Semiapocalyptic events fairly frequent in recent years,  though nothing has stuck. Very few options for the non-urban inclined that don’t involve joining a cult or grafting new parts onto your body.

9) Shandalar

– current status a bit unclear, but a great plane for anyone looking to incorporate casual magic into their day-to-day life. Likely still a ripe target for planeswalker visitors looking to harvest the rich mana therein.

10) Fiora

– Fairly interesting and relatively low-key place to live if you keep your head down and out of the hardcore politicking. Rural living options exist.

11) Plane of Mountains and Seas

– limited information, but seems pretty chill.

12) Bablovia

– here for a good time, not a long time.

13) Alara (Naya)

– Not too bad, if you don’t get stepped on. Mostly jungle living, but if you’re down with that, there are fun adventures to be had.

14) Kamigawa

– Sure, your Daimyo may occasionally invoke the wrath of the sizeable and omnipresent spirit world, casting the whole of the plane into bitter, arcane civil war, but in any other situation you’ve got a fairly diverse and interesting world to live in, and nowadays there’s even a pair of spirits protecting you from extraplanar threats.

15) Lorwyn/Shadowmoor

– Depending on the side of the aurora you find yourself on, you will either want to seek out the elves for sanctuary, or avoid them at all costs. Lorwyn is pleasant enough, if you resign yourself to not seeing any other humans, and are good with extremely rural living. Watch overhead for giants at all times.

16) Alara (Esper)

– Long life options available, if you are good with artifacts™, and cool with swapping out some of your fleshy bits. A wee bit classist.

17) Kephelai

– peaceful and ordered enough, but definitely leaning on the oppressive side of the political spectrum. Not the most fun people to live among, either.

18) Regatha

– Some like it hot; some might not.

19) Muraganda

– The perfect plane for all you paleo diet enthusiasts out there. Living might be a little too bare-bones and dinosaur-filled for the average person.

20) Ixalan

– A few options here, all pretty narrow. Piracy and vampire imperialism both involve a life of violence and in the latter case, a high degree of servitude. Sun empire pretty viable option for humans comfortable with dinosaurs, and, as of the most recent story, going full aztec.

21) Tarkir (Khans)

– A varied lifestyle options to pick from. Very few leisurely ones available, barring a life of deceit and treachery with the Sultai. Inter- and intra-clan conflict more or less unavoidable, but not of a disastrous scale that you’ll find on different planes.

22) Zendikar

– Excellent opportunities for forging your own path in life, and endless options for adventure. Lacking in safe places to settle down and live without sudden death by avalanche/tidal wave/typhoon/ eruption/ sinkhole/ eldritch horror.

23) Mercadia

– Opportunities for rural and urban living, if you are at peace with living in a trash heap/ dust bowl. Forest living is an option if you don’t mind the mercenary raids, but at least others will have your back. Options for piracy as well, though not as flashy as the Ixalan variety. No apocalyptic events to worry about, which puts it head and shoulders above a few other planes on the list.

24) Gargantikar

– See Segovia; this time, it is you who gets stomped. May be ideal for anyone who saw Disney’s jack and the beanstalk and decided life on a giant kitchen table was the life for them.

25) Segovia

– Oh jeez, please be careful where you step. If you could just – we’ve got a lovely hundred acres of pasture for you to take a seat in if you would just take care not to step on OH MY GOD YOU’VE KILLED THEM ALL (Yes, Segovia corrects for scale with planeswalker visitors, but I stand by the joke)

26) Serra’s Realm

– Fairly peaceful in theory, but the oversight is pretty strict, and it’s no good if you’ve got a fear of heights. Very limited time to enjoy living there if floating fields and angels are your jam.

27) Vryn

– Regularly corrupt government, in constant conflict with other major power over contested energy sources, with everyone else placed firmly in the middle of the meat grinder.

28) Innistrad

– You can certainly live long as a vampire or free as a werewolf, but as both are of dubious desirability for the average person, this plane will rank a bit low.

29) Mirrodin (Pre-besieged)

– Prospects for living a quiet life exist, with major caveats regardless of which human society you wind up in. Basically take your pick between constant danger of attack, subservience to another species, living in a place not designed for habitation by any form of life, or some combination of the three.

30) Tarkir (Dragons)

– Much narrower lifestyle options than the khans timeline, and higher odds of dying within your own clan, though which dragon you end up under makes a huge difference in the quality of life. Dromoka and Ojutai probably the best options if your goal is longetivity.

31) Ulgrotha

– Dead/ dying plane, and the management sucks.

32) Rath (pre-overlay)

– Mercadia situation amped up to 11. Oppress or be oppressed, with an uncomfortable middle ground where you will experience both. Also a generally hostile landscape due to nanomachine silly putty.

33) Alara (Jund)

– Spicy Naya. Probably can last a while if you’re quick on your feet, but no one dies of old age here.

34) Amonkhet

– Dead/ dying world, even if it wasn’t host to a horrific logan’s run/ hunger games inspired colonialism. Not so bad short-term, if you want to work on your beach body. At least you have a god looking out for you, unlike...

35) Alara (Grixis)

– The living hunted for their life-force...hellscape of zombies and demons...Grixis fails most of the criteria for the list, but you’ve got a slightly more sporting chance of survival here than with some of the planes further down.

36) New Phyrexia

– NOT GREAT

37) Phyrexia (Nine Spheres)

– Pictured above: the worst place in the multiverse, as a backdrop to the most wonderful person in the multiverse

[brighteyes-darkhearts]

I read the Iliad, the project of a sun-drenched, blood-soaked semester in Florence. I loathed Achilles. What a stupid, selfish, dishonorable man. Homer originally called the epic The Wrath of Achilles, which is a far more appropriate title, all things considered. Sixteen thousand lines of dectilic hexameter to which thousands of people have devoted countless hours of life and countless jars of ink reading, translating, pondering; a civilization destroyed, innumerable lives lost, children left father-less, all because of one terribly petty man. The most terrible part of all of it, though, is that he is right, and successful.

Achilles strove for immortality, and he achieved it.

He died over two thousand years ago and everyone in modern Western civilization still knows his name. I hated him most because I knew , I know, his name, too, and because I see myself in him and him in myself. We all want a legacy; we all want immortality. Not in the sense that we fear the deaths of our bodies, though some of us certainly do, but rather in the sense that we fear the deaths of our names. They say we all experience two deaths: the first when our bodies cease their function, the second when our name falls from someone's lips for the last time, never to be spoken again, the memory wisps of smoke, uncatchable even if someone wanted to.

People would rather go to war and fight and kill and die instead of fulfilling some kind of peaceful pastoral idealism if such happiness means they will be forgotten.

Have you ever really considered the implications of that?

Have I? Has anyone?

To have or leave or create, cultivate, curate, a legacy, one needs to have a name. Sounds obvious, no?

A name is something everyone has, the second gift we're ever given, one longer lasting than our first gift of life. Names can be terribly old fashioned and boring, staunchly traditional, wildly new age, or if one is the child of a celebrity, they can be bizarre and unfortunate.

I never thought too much about my own name until recently, except in comparison to that of my twin sister, against whose monumental combination of syllables most others pale significantly. However, as my young adult self nears the expectations of marriage and motherhood, which many my age have already fulfilled, the concept of names has been on my mind with increasing frequency. On a superficial level, this consists of thoughts like "Could I marry someone whose last name doesn't sound good with my first," or "since my children will be saddled with my husband's last name, I get to pick their first and middle." I have been informed by my mother, however , that that is, in fact, not how the partnership of marriage works.

Marital disputes aside, as I thought about having to change my name for my eventual husband's, something I had always planned on doing when I got married, and something I had never considered much of an option, I found myself developing quite a resistance to it.

Why am I the one required to upend my identity, and not my husband? As previously referenced, isn't marriage supposed to be the ultimate collaboration, a team endeavor? Sure, I can keep my name, but then I designate myself as an "outsider," an "other," concepts that shape the very foundations of the human behavioral matrix. This, in turn, led me to the whole "why" question.

Names function to provide order to society, categorizing people in a clearer way than "hey, you" for everyone we meet. They also delineate strict patrilineal origin and hierarchical status within said society, often emerging from one's trade. I am referring, of course, only to men, because up until astonishingly recently, and sometimes still today, women were considered the property of men. Women would not own property or function independently from the man to whom they belonged.

The names of women, like the names of fields and houses, denote ownership.

Even then-names are a privilege, because they provide an avenue through which one can form an identity, through which one can be remembered. Throughout history, not everyone was considered important enough to warrant remembering. Enslaved people on plantations in the American south were not given last names of their own; they had to create them themselves or take on those of their owners, and with it, a clear signifier of their forced place in society. Considering the last names of Jewish Europeans both unnecessarily difficult and too clear a sign of the identities they sought to erase, Nazi Germany renamed millions of the Jews they killed or enslaved with unconsidered combinations of nouns and adjectives- Rosenberg, pink mountain, or Gardenschwarz, black garden. The immigration operatives of Ellis and Angel islands did the same to thousands of newcomers whose names they did not want to attempt to spell, so here, you take “Smith,” and you get “Jones.” Your connection to family history and national culture? You won’t need those here. Welcome to America.

Our names are the greatest gifts our parents can give us, planting us firmly within family lineages or tying us to historical figures and concepts; again, another moment in which the memory of another is re-embodied to continue its arduous trek towards immortality. We become our names as we mature, growing into or out of them. There were several options for my own name floating around before I was born, all of which seem entirely inappropriate and unfitting now, though occasionally I feel nostalgic for the Gracen I could have been but never was, a multiplicity of personalities never given the chance to realize themselves. Friends of mine whose names were mercilessly anglicized have slowly begun to reclaim them in their original, intended forms, building back conversation by conversation, introduction by introduction, the bridges back to who they are, who their parents named them to be, the cultures and histories from which they come.

Perhaps, in contemporary society, none so acutely feel the pain that names can bring than members of the trans community. Claiming their true name as an act of courage and authentic life in the cool sunlight of every morning and having to defend it in every hour that follows, having to suffer, too often in silence, the sting of a deadname used by those with no empathy or understanding or common sense in their hearts. Sometimes, the names our parents give us are simply wrong, and reclaiming our true names, those given from the deepest depths of truth at the core of our hearts, is the greatest gift we can give ourselves, and the utmost respect we can give to others.

Identity is a smoky concept to pin down concretely, but names are the first iteration of this idea, translating conceptuality into physical manifestation. It should come as no surprise, then, that our names are the first to go whenever someone seeks to dehumanize. Ayn Rand bestows upon all her characters a litany of numbers, distinct but uninspired, parts of a machine, easily replaced, insignificant.

Names are dangerous, because they allow for and support the construction of an individualized consciousness. There is no greater threat to oppression than a fully realized, highly actualized, wildly individualized consciousness. We most certainly cannot be the masters of our fate or the captains of our souls if we don't even know who we are.

[humblehowardblog]

Larry Correia’s calm and rational response to the left

He posted it to Facebook, but fortunately Mr. Reynolds reposted Mr. Correia’s explanation, as as Second Amendment supporter, to the foes of the Right to Keep and Bear Arms.

———————————————————————-

A friend of mine posted about seeing this: “Where are all you gun owners now that the federal government and police are attacking citizens in the streets?? Now that the National Guard is out oppressing citizens? I thought this was the moment you’re waiting for? So why aren’t you out there fighting them with your guns? You’re nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards!”

My response was the GIF of Nelson Muntz going HA HA.  :D

But I’ve seen this sentiment a lot too over the last few days, so please if you are so incredibly fucking dumb that you are actually wondering why America’s gun culture aren’t commuting into the democrat cities you have banned us from in order to get into gun fights with the National Guard on your behalf, allow me to elaborate.

Hypothetical Liberal “Ally” Who Lives in the Suburbs Which Aren’t On Fire – “Hey, gun owners! Here is some civil unrest! Why won’t you come and help us?” Snort. Fuck off. :D “Pussies! Why not?”

Well, every single gun nut in America has spent their entire adult life being continually mocked, insulted, and belittled by the left. You’ve done nothing but paint us as the bad guys.

In Hollywood, we’re always evil, stupid, violent, malicious, redneck, racist, murderers. That’s so ingrained in the liberal religion that when “ally” Harvey Weinstein was trying to get out of being a sleazy rapist, his repentance consisted of promising to make more movies about how the NRA is bad.

In the news, everything is always our fault. If there is a mass murder, we can always count on the vultures to swoop in and blame America’s gun culture. They flog it for weeks on end, 24/7 coverage, hoping for gun control. And if the identity of the shooter doesn’t fit the narrative, it drops off the news in mere hours.

And then at the local, state, and federal level, legally speaking, the left fucks us at every opportunity. You ban everything you can get away with. You ban things that literally make no sense. You ban shit just out of spite. When we fight back against gun control laws, you declare we are stupid because only the police should have guns (hey, aren’t those the guys you are protesting right now?)

“Stupid racist rednecks! We live in a civilized society! Don’t you realize the police will protect us?” until when your democrat cities are on fire, and you call 911 and the operator tells you sorry, the police can’t come to your house right now, please try not to get murdered… How is that strict gun control working out for you?

Then you did everything in your power to chase gun owners out of your sainted liberal strongholds. You passed laws. You banned everything we like. Forced all the shooting ranges to close. Forced most of the gun stores to close. And just generally let us know that our kind is not welcome there.

But now you’ve started some shit, YOU want US to go into democrat cities, with democrat mayors, and democrat police chiefs enforcing democrat policies which cause strife among democrats, in order to get into gun fights on your behalf? How fucking gullible do you think we are? :D Like holy shit. Damn dude!

Because we all know that literally 30 seconds after a gun nut blows away a government employee on your behalf, then all the national media coverage of the riots will instantly cease (sorta like the Corona Virus coverage did) and it’ll be back to the news breathlessly reporting about right wing extremist gun nuts, and all you useless fucks would go back to whining for more dumb ass gun control.

You’ve already thrown the black community under the bus, cheering as their neighborhoods get burned and yours are safe. Seriously, white liberals are the shittiest “allies” in history, and your moral foundation has the consistency of Play-Doh. Your moral compass is a wind sock.

Just a little while ago, gun nuts had a massive peaceful protest in Virginia. Tens of thousands of people turned out to protest gun control proposals from a democrat with a penchant for wearing black face (he still considers himself an “ally” though!) They didn’t break any windows. They didn’t kill any puppies. They didn’t burn any horses. They didn’t flip any police cars or murder any security guards. They were downright boring. They were polite, and even cleaned up their litter.

Except then you called them domestic terrorists, and were super sad that they didn’t get massacred by the government (said government you are now mad at for killing people, because again, you fuckers ain’t exactly consistent).

Liberal “allies” are quick to call gun nuts the bad guys, but we’re not trying to disarm people. We want everybody to be able to defend themselves. It’s a common thing to see some meme on the internet, showing a black family shooting or posing with their guns, with some caption like “bet this offends the NRA”, which is liberal projection, because in reality in my social circles everybody is like, “fuck yeah, good for them”. And the harshest complaints I’ve seen have been about trigger finger discipline or lack of eye protection.

My side isn’t the one that wants the state to have a monopoly on force. We know the 2nd is for everybody, regardless of skin color or where you live. You fuckers are the ones who keep declaring we can’t fight the government with AR-15s because they have tanks and nukes, but then you bumbling fuckheads try it by throwing rocks?

So not only no, but hell no.

rivertoriver1818

[45cuztheydontmakea46]

A friend of mine posted about seeing this: "Where are all you gun owners now that the federal government and police are attacking citizens in the streets?? Now that the National Guard is out oppressing citizens? I thought this was the moment you're waiting for? So why aren't you out there fighting them with your guns? You're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards!"

My response was the GIF of Nelson Muntz going HA HA. :D

But I've seen this sentiment a lot too over the last few days, so please if you are so incredibly fucking dumb that you are actually wondering why America's gun culture aren't commuting into the democrat cities you have banned us from in order to get into gun fights with the National Guard on your behalf, allow me to elaborate.

Hypothetical Liberal "Ally" Who Lives in the Suburbs Which Aren't On Fire - "Hey, gun owners! Here is some civil unrest! Why won't you come and help us?"

Snort. Fuck off. :D

"Pussies! Why not?"

Well, every single gun nut in America has spent their entire adult life being continually mocked, insulted, and belittled by the left. You've done nothing but paint us as the bad guys.

In Hollywood, we're always evil, stupid, violent, malicious, redneck, racist, murderers. That's so ingrained in the liberal religion that when "ally" Harvey Weinstein was trying to get out of being a sleazy rapist, his repentance consisted of promising to make more movies about how the NRA is bad.

In the news, everything is always our fault. If there is a mass murder, we can always count on the vultures to swoop in and blame America's gun culture. They flog it for weeks on end, 24/7 coverage, hoping for gun control. And if the identity of the shooter doesn't fit the narrative, it drops off the news in mere hours.

And then at the local, state, and federal level, legally speaking, the left fucks us at every opportunity. You ban everything you can get away with. You ban things that literally make no sense. You ban shit just out of spite.

When we fight back against gun control laws, you declare we are stupid because only the police should have guns (hey, aren't those the guys you are protesting right now?)

"Stupid racist rednecks! We live in a civilized society! Don't you realize the police will protect us?" until when your democrat cities are on fire, and you call 911 and the operator tells you sorry, the police can't come to your house right now, please try not to get murdered... How is that strict gun control working out for you?

Then you did everything in your power to chase gun owners out of your sainted liberal strongholds. You passed laws. You banned everything we like. Forced all the shooting ranges to close. Forced most of the gun stores to close. And just generally let us know that our kind is not welcome there.

But now you've started some shit, YOU want US to go into democrat cities, with democrat mayors, and democrat police chiefs enforcing democrat policies which cause strife among democrats, in order to get into gun fights on your behalf?

How fucking gullible do you think we are? :D Like holy shit. Damn dude!

Because we all know that literally 30 seconds after a gun nut blows away a government employee on your behalf, then all the national media coverage of the riots will instantly cease (sorta like the Corona Virus coverage did) and it'll be back to the news breathlessly reporting about right wing extremist gun nuts, and all you useless fucks would go back to whining for more dumb ass gun control.

You've already thrown the black community under the bus, cheering as their neighborhoods get burned and yours are safe. Seriously, white liberals are the shittiest "allies" in history, and your moral foundation has the consistency of Play-Doh. Your moral compass is a wind sock.

Just a little while ago, gun nuts had a massive peaceful protest in Virginia. Tens of thousands of people turned out to protest gun control proposals from a democrat with a penchant for wearing black face (he still considers himself an "ally" though!) They didn't break any windows. They didn't kill any puppies. They didn't burn any horses. They didn't flip any police cars or murder any security guards. They were downright boring. They were polite, and even cleaned up their litter.

Except then you called them domestic terrorists, and were super sad that they didn't get massacred by the government (said government you are now mad at for killing people, because again, you fuckers ain't exactly consistent)

Liberal "allies" are quick to call gun nuts the bad guys, but we're not trying to disarm people. We want everybody to be able to defend themselves. It's a common thing to see some meme on the internet, showing a black family shooting or posing with their guns, with some caption like "bet this offends the NRA", which is liberal projection, because in reality in my social circles everybody is like, "fuck yeah, good for them". And the harshest complaints I've seen have been about trigger finger discipline or lack of eye protection.

My side isn't the one that wants the state to have a monopoly on force. We know the 2nd is for everybody, regardless of skin color or where you live. You fuckers are the ones who keep declaring we can't fight the government with AR-15s because they have tanks and nukes, but then you bumbling fuckheads try it by throwing rocks?

So not only no, but hell no.

[grither55]

The Princess and the Peasant - (An Azula Epic) - Oneshot - A Kitten Affair

Azula strode down the halls of her ship with her callous golden eyes staring ahead in displeasure.

The girl was twenty minutes late to bring her breakfast!

It was almost completely unheard of for the girl to be late let alone even that late.

And so, she decided to go to the girl's room to check on her to see if she slept in.

Only to find herself opening the door to the blonde's chamber while she gazed in in surprise to see that the room was…vacant.

"Where is that girl?" The princess growled in an annoyed voice with her arms folded over her breasts.

While she glanced about the room in rising aggravation.

Only to find herself spinning her head around when she thought she heard a meow.

Elle rushed out in a panic out from under her bed with her paws scrambling across the floor towards the unaware woman.

While the human turned teenager sprinted adorably at the tall princess who was scowling about her room in search of her.

She knew something was horribly wrong when she awoke this morning and somehow…felt smaller.

And when she tried to form words all that came out was a meow!

Shortly after that she looked in the mirror only to gasp in worry when she realized that her reflection was now that of a golden kitten!

She didn't know what happened but she knew that she needed her princess's brilliant mind to restore her back to normal!

And that was when she meowed as she tumbled to a stop near the princess's pointed boots.

'Azula-sama! I am down here! It's me!' Elle meowed as she clawed at the older girl's boot while Azula turned to glance down at her.

Only to find herself trembling in worry when Azula's golden eyes narrowed into a disgusted glare.

"What is this! I thought I told her no forest creatures! I detest cats!" The princess boomed in a repulsed voice as she glared down at the tiny kitten climbing onto her boot.

Before she angrily shook her heel while the little fur ball tumbled to the floor with another pitiful meow.

Only for her golden eyes to narrow into slits when the little thing pounced on her leg once more.

All the while as she furiously shook her boot with the tiny kitten now hanging from her heel.

'P-please help me Azula-sama! I was turned into a kitten and I don't know what to do!' The golden-haired kitten attempted to communicate while she clung to the statuesque woman's boot.

Only to find herself yelping when she was almost shaken off and thrown onto the floor once more.

While she whimpered as she meowed frantically as she craned her little neck to gaze up at her master's unamused glaring face.

And not a second later she cried out when a stern hand abruptly seized her by the scruff of her neck.

All the while as she now found herself being raised into the air.

Before she came to a stop hanging before the princess's beautifully strict face while the woman scowled deeply down at her.

"Disgusting fur ball!' Azula snapped in a harsh voice as she glared back at the kitten squirming in her clenched fist.

All the while as she stared coldly back at the little cowering creature as she tried not to admit that she thought the cat was cute.

And for the briefest of instances she scrutinized the small thing.

While she mildly arched a brow when she saw that the cat had golden eyes and an oddly familiar coat of golden fur.

Only to scowl while she shook her head as she made her way out the room with the whimpering creature in her fist.

While the little kitten trembled with a flash of hurt in her amber eyes when the woman began to walk her out the door.

'B-but it's…it's me Azula-sama!' Elle meowed with sadness in her kitten voice as she clawed at the older girl's oppressive fist.

Only For the princess to glare at her through the corner of her tyrannical eye as she snorted in revulsion.

"This thing is going overboard. I will have no cats on my warship!" The princess snarled as she stomped down the hall while the pitiful kitten began wiggling about in a frenzy.

While she glared down at the creature as it began to meow with its little paws reaching for her glaring face.

All the while as she tried not to let herself become affected by the little feline's grudgingly adorable stare.

'P-please don't hurt me Azula-sama!' The golden-haired kitten wailed in a fretful manner as she neared the princess's regally scowling face while golden eyes glared back at her.

Only for the sound of Azula shouting furiously to resound into the air when she leaped onto the tall woman's shoulder.

All the while as she started affectionately nuzzling the seething woman's cheek with her little meows flowing into the older girl's irate ears.

"Get off me you dirty fur ball! Gross! I-it's…licking me!" Azula bellowed as she tried to move her head away while the tiny kitten licked her cheek.

And then she found herself letting out a low snarl when the thing tried to climb onto the top of her head.

Just before she roughly removed the creature from her head while she held out the whimpering kitten away from her growling face.

'I-I love you Azula-sama!' Elle called out in a whiny meow while Azula began to stomp down the hall of the ship once more.

All the while as she peered back up at the princess's scowling face as golden eyes never ceased in glaring back down at her.

While Azula held the creature as far away from her face as humanly possible as she marched in search of her girlfriend so that she could punish her.

Only for the princess to halt in her tracks when she heard a squeal of excitement from behind her.

And then she turned around while she sighed heavily under her breath while the acrobat cheerfully cart wheeled towards her.

All the while as the markswoman stared on from behind with a deadpan expression as she eyed the cat in slight pity.

"Azula! Where did you find such a cute kitty!" Ty Lee cried out as she hopped onto her feet before the scowling woman while she leaned in to coo at the meowing kitten.

'Oneesans! Ty Lee! Mai!' The golden-haired kitten replied in a lovable meow as she attempted to smile back in the kind noblewoman's beaming face.

"It is not cute Ty Lee! And for your information I found it in the peasant's room! And I intend to dispose of it after I punish the girl for defying my orders!" The princess barked in a cold voice as she pushed past the still smiling acrobat while she glared at the meowing creature in her fist.

While the two noblewomen exchanged a glance after hearing that their little sister brought a kitten aboard.

All the while as Mai just shook her head musing that it won't end well for that cat.

"That's too cruel Azula…you can't do that to such an adorable kitty." The brown-haired woman protested with a still present smile while the princess rolled her cruel eyes.

"To the contrary Ty Lee I can. Cruelty is my specialty. I am the lord of this ship. It is well within my legal rights to have everyone aboard this ship killed if I so please. Much less this pitiful fur ball." Azula scoffed as she held the whimpering kitten up for emphasis while Ty Lee stared back in disapproval.

"So, you're just going to make Elle cry by getting rid of her new cat?" Mai inquired in a monotone voice as she stopped behind the acrobat while the princess scowled back at her.

"Yeah Azula. You don't want to make Elle cry…do you?" Ty Lee pondered with her hands clasped before her while she grinned down at the squirming kitten.

"I could care less if that girl cries. She is nothing more than a tool of war that I am using for my own gain." The princess sneered as she held her head high while her two friends gazed at her with unconvinced looks in their eyes.

Only for her scowl to deepen when she turned to glare down at the kitten as it tried to hop on her head once more.

'Azula-sama! I knew that you cared about me!' Elle called out in a lovable meow as she attempted to climb on the woman's shoulder while Azula stiffened in anger.

Just as the princess tensed up in embarrassment when she heard both of her childhood friends chuckling at her.

"Ugh! If you like it so much Ty Lee then why don't you take it!" Azula exclaimed in aggravation as she shoved the tiny kitten into the smiling woman's loving arms.

"Aww! I'll gladly keep watch over my little sister's kitten! You are such a little cutie! Don't worry little one! I'll protect you from that big meanie Azula!" The brown-haired woman cooed as she cradled the meowing kitten against her breasts while the princess rolled her eyes once more.

'O-oneesan!' The golden-haired kitten cried out in another cute meow as she nuzzled her head against the noblewoman's breasts.

Perhaps it isn't so bad being a kitten after all!

"Whatever. But I suggest you not get too attached to that thing Ty Lee because it is not staying." The princess declared in an utterly merciless voice with her arms folded angrily over her breasts.

All the while as she glared back at the pitifully meowing thing in her grinning friend's arms.

"Would you like to hold her too Mai?" Ty Lee commented as she happily walked with the tiny kitten nuzzling into her chest while Mai gazed down at the cat with bored tawny eyes.

"I'll pass on that Ty Lee. Speaking of Elle though…has anyone seen the kid around this morning?" The markswoman questioned in a concerned voice while the acrobat tilted her head in worry.

All the while as the three highborn women never noticed how the little kitten tried to reach out her paw to touch the weapons expert's shoulder.

Only for the two noblewomen to turn to the princess when Azula's belly let out a rumbling growl.

Just as the princess let out a spoiled scoff as she threw an arrogant hand over her annoyed shoulder.

"The girl never brought me my breakfast this morning! I have been looking all over for her and she isn't even in her room! And now I have to deal with this fur ball…on top of having to suffer through hunger pains! The girl is the only servant that I have on staff right now and I am not going to do something as commoner as cook it myself! I insist that she cook it for me!" Azula explained in an unbelievably pompous voice as she waved her hand in the air before her scowling face.

While the two noblewomen stared at the back of her head with an exasperated look in their eyes.

All the while as the three highborn girls once again failed to notice the way that the tiny kitten slumped in sorrow.

"Gee Azula, it sounds like you are really suffering. Maybe Elle is in the shower?" The brown-haired woman suggested with a smile still on her lips while she squeezed the tiny kitty in her arms.

All the while as she beamed down at the golden kitten when she began to affectionately lick her arm.

"Perhaps Ty Lee. In any event send the girl to my throne room when you do find her so I can discipline her." The princess snorted as she waved her palm once more while she strode past her childhood friends towards her throne room as they watched her walk off.

All the while as she tried to suppress the slightest hint of concern that she felt over her serving girl's wellbeing.

And even thought she didn't want to say it out loud.

She hoped that the girl was not feeling unwell.

An hour later.

Azula sat in her throne room with an even more irate expression on her face as she tapped the arm of her throne aggravation.

Just before she turned to her throne room doors when her captain stepped in.

"I can't find her princess. I looked everywhere. Even the bathrooms." Zoe informed in a stony voice with her hazel eyes trying to mask her concern.

While the princess sat up with her arms grasping at the arms of her chair with a much greater look of worry in her cold eyes.

All the while as the ruler felt a knot of dread form in the pity of her stomach.

If there was no sign of the girl on the entire ship…

That could only mean that…

The Avatar and his friends captured her in the middle of the night!

Only for the two to turn towards the doors once more when Ty Lee rushed in with the little kitten in her arms.

All the while as Azula now stood glaring down at the meowing fur ball with her golden eyes agape with anger.

While the captain glanced at the cat in mild curiosity from over her shoulder.

"Get that thing out of my throne room Ty Lee or I will destroy it." The princess spoke in a terrifying voice as she glared at her the other woman's distraught face.

"We have a kitten now?" The captain pondered with a tilt of her head while the princess's golden eyes twitched in annoyance.

"Enough about the damn fur ball. I want that girl found. Now!" Azula commanded in an imperious voice as she loomed on her throne room steps while the acrobat rushed up to her.

"Azula! You said that you found this kitten in Elle's room, right?" Ty Lee asked as the princess gazed down at her with a cold stare.

Just as Mai walked in with a look of unusual concern on her features.

"Yes, Ty Lee what of it?" The princess replied in a voice of waning patience while her golden eyes still glared at the little feline.

"I found Elle's empty clothes under her covers. Is it possible that Elle could have been turned into a kitten?" The brown-haired woman explained with the tiny kitten cradled against her breasts while the other three highborn women stared at her incredulously.

"Are you suggesting that this cat is Elle?" Mai pondered in a bewildered voice as she stared down at the little meowing kitten with confused tawny eyes.

While Zoe now blinked her hazel eyes in puzzlement as she mulled the possibility over.

All the while as Azula stared down at the tiny creature with her golden eyes flashing in contemplation.

"That is the most absurd thing that I have ever heard Ty Lee! This fur ball is not Elle." Azula spoke in a dismissive voice while she stared harshly back at the pitifully meowing creature.

"Think about it Azula! She has golden hair, golden eyes, she's smaller than most kittens and she was found in Elle's room!" Ty Lee insisted as she walked closer as she held up the vocally meowing tiny kitten for the princess to see.

While the other three highborn women exchanged a baffled glance as they walked forward to inspect the tiny cat.

And soon enough they all crowded around the acrobat with their eyes gazing down at the meowing kitten in newfound curiosity.

"That proves nothing Ty Lee. Many cats have amber eyes. And of course, you found it in Elle's room because the girl is the only one on this ship foolish enough to bring such a creature aboard." The princess argued with her toned arms folded over her robed breasts while she stared down at the little meowing kitten.

While Zoe and Mai now exchanged a thoughtful look as they each inspected the cat.

"Then where is Elle if she just brought a kitten into her room this morning? I am telling you Azula. I really think that this is her!" The brown-haired woman exclaimed as she frowned back at the princess's skeptical scowling face.

"Ty Lee has a point princess. Those are suspicious circumstances. But I have an idea that may help us determine if this truly is young Elle." Zoe commented with a hand under her chin while Azula snorted as she tried not to roll her eyes

While the other two noblewomen turned their eyes to gaze back at the captain.

Ten minutes later…

Team Azula watched in uncertainty as the warrior walked back into the room with several items in hand.

While the acrobat held the tiny mewling kitten in her arms.

While the princess sat in her throne once more as she watched the cat closely with pondering golden eyes.

All the while as the markswoman observed the tiny kitten with curiosity in her eyes as she mulled over if it was possible for that to be her little sister.

"First we'll set her down and see who she runs to." The captain stated as she gestured for the acrobat to set the kitten down.

Just as the noblewoman knelt down as she smiled down at the adorably tiny mewling kitten.

"Go on little one." Ty Lee cooed as she let the tiny kitten down on the floor while Azula rolled her imposing eyes over them.

Only for the three noblewomen to watch with humor in their eyes when the minuscule kitten scurried towards the princess's looming golden throne.

While Azula glared down with disbelief in her ruthless eyes as she watched the tiny thing clamber up the steps in a wild effort to reach her throne.

And not a moment after that the princess sat high on her throne gazing down with disbelieving golden eyes to see the minute animal trying to climb up her boot once more!

All the while as the three other women stared on with fascination and even a degree of amusement in their eyes.

While Azula's lips pursed into an imposing scowl as she leaned down to glare in judgment down at the furball hanging from her boot.

'Azula-sama!' Elle meowed as she pulled on the tall woman's leggings while Azula stared down at her with narrowed golden eyes as she surveyed her from above.

"She actually likes Azula. No animal likes Azula." The markswoman remarked with a small smirk on her lips while the princess glared down at her.

"If anything, this just only proves that even fur balls are susceptible to my natural charms. But that doesn't mean that this is the tiger monkey." Azula retorted with a shake of her head while she frowned down at the little mewling kitten clawing at her heel.

Only to turn her head to Zoe when the warrior walked up the steps of her throne before the woman came to a stop standing over the meowing cat.

"My second test is the following. I have a can of fish. Cats love fish. Whereas our Elle is a proud vegetarian and as we all know she would rather die than eat meat." Zoe announced with a small smile on her lips as she held out a can of fish while Azula scowled down at the tiny cat on her boot.

Before she bent down to set the can on the floor as she opened it up before the meowing kitten.

And then other highborn women watched in curiosity when the captain gently picked the tiny kitten up in her hands.

Before she lowered the little feline over the opened can of fresh ocean fish.

All the while as they all watched with astonishment in their eyes when the minuscule kitten flailed as if Zoe was trying to kill her.

'N-no! I am not eating that! Get that away from me!' The golden-haired kitten protested as she let out a small sounding growl up at the looming face of the taken aback Zoe.

While the princess leaned even further down to stare down at the minuscule pitifully thrashing feline in bewilderment.

All the while as her merciless golden eyes flashed with a flicker of emotion as she surveyed the mewling thing from where she sat on her throne.

Could this little furball truly be her servant?

"Is…that really Elle?" Mai pondered in a stunned voice as she walked up the steps with her tawny eyes gazing down at the flailing kitten in amazement.

And not even a second after that they all watched in fascination when the minuscule kitten sprung free from the captain's hands.

And leaped right back down at the princess's boots.

All the while as they watched in shock when the little kitten began adorably nuzzling the princess's pointed boot.

While Azula still stared down at the cat with disbelief in her ruthless golden eyes.

"And now for my final test…sour candy." The captain remarked with a smirk on her lips while she withdrew a small box of sour candy.

All the while as the princess now scrunched up her nose in disgust as she still stared down at the cat with searching golden eyes.

And not a moment after that the warrior poured the sour candy onto the floor before the princess's throne.

While the highborn women then watched in shock when the little kitten scurried at the pile to pick up a piece of sour patch kids in between her fangs.

And then Azula gazed down with her golden eyes agape in incredulity when the candy was deposited before her boots almost as if it was in tribute.

And soon after that the little feline began to purr while she ate the piece of sour candy.

All the while as the four women stared on with stunned expression in their eyes.

"A cat that won't eat fresh fish but will eat sour candy? What are the odds Azula?" The brown-haired woman quipped with a smile on her lips while the princess stared down at the happy kitten.

"But how in Agni's name would Elle have turned into a cat?" The markswoman inquired in an incredulous voice as she gazed down at the little purring cat.

Just before the mighty princess narrowed her golden eyes down at the tiny kitten when the fur ball began to rub her face against her boot once more.

All the while as the flames from her azure firebending lit the hall of her throne room.

Before she pursed her lips into a regal scowl as she leaned down to speak to the feline.

"There is only one way to know for certain if you are Elle..." The princess trailed off in a contemplative voice as she narrowed her eyes in a terrifying glare down at the tiny meowing kitten.

And not a moment later the flames shot up throughout the throne room.

"Bow!" Azula commanded in a voice of absolute authority with her hands clasped in her lap while a tyrannical smirk graced her lips.

While the three noblewomen sweatdropped over the absurdity of how their princess looked ordering a miniscule kitten to bow before her.

Only for all four of the highborn women to gaze on in speechlessness when the tiny feline bowed down on all fours before the princess's pointed boots.

"I…can't believe it. It really is her.' The princess spoke in a taken aback voice while she gazed down at her little bowing feline girlfriend in shock.

All the while as she felt her stomach twist up in remorse over all of the earlier cruel remarks that she had said to the girl unaware that it was truly her little girlfriend.

"Elle…" Mai breathed in a disbelieving voice as she knelt down behind the girl while the little kitten meowed excitedly almost as if in reply.

While Ty Lee crouched down with a softened smile on her lips as she petted the little feline's meowing head.

"It will be okay little sister. We'll get you back to normal soon enough!" Ty Lee assured in a tender voice with a grin on her lips while she patted the kitten's head.

"Incredible. It truly is her." Zoe stated in a still surprised voice as she blinked down at the tiny kitten.

All the while as the princess still sat in a state of shock with her golden eyes gazing down at the little kitten when she scurried back over to her boots.

Before she let out a sigh under her breath as she patted her thigh with an inviting hand.

"Oh, come here peasant." Azula sighed as she patted her lap while she watched the little feline start to crawl up her leg.

Just before she bent over to scoop the tiny kitten up in her palms while she held the meowing girl before her astonished face.

While the three noblewomen watched from the sidelines in fascination.

'Princess! I knew that you would recognize me!' Elle meowed as she tried to smile back at Azula's larger than normal face while the woman held her more gently than before.

And then she purred happily when she was set on a comfortable thigh while she felt a hand lower into her mane of golden hair.

"I command the three of you to devote all of your time into researching this…small change so that we can reverse it as soon as possible." The princess ordered as she began to pet her minuscule feline girlfriend in her lap while her subordinates nodded their heads in agreement.

While she found herself unable to resist running her fingernails through the girl's golden hair as she gazed down at her handmaid with strict golden eyes.

"The last thing I need is for my prized war power to trapped as a fur ball for all her days." Azula snorted as she stared coldly down at Elle's tiny form mewling underneath her petting hand.

"Of course, Azula." The markswoman replied with a slight smirk on her lips while the princess glared back at her.

"In the meantime, it looks as if young Elle has found a suitable cat sitter." The captain teased with a chuckle while her ruler glared at her through the corner of her ruthless eye.

All the while as Ty Lee giggled with a hand over her mouth.

Only for all three of them to gaze on in amusement when the tiny kitten leaped from the princess's lap and perched on her shoulder.

While Azula stiffened in humiliation as she turned to glare down at the little form of her kitten girlfriend now meowing loudly on her shoulder.

And then she let out a low growl when the tiny kitten began to nuzzle her proud cheek.

All the while as her lips pursed into a scowl as she glared at the girl through the corner of her golden eye.

Only for the princess to spin around in outrage when she heard chortling coming from the three noblewomen below.

While all three nobles laughed with their hands covering their amused mouths.

And before the princess could say anything else her golden eyes twitched in annoyance when the girl leaped onto the top of her head.

All the while as Azula now sat on her throne with an embarrassed glower on her crimson lips while the tiny feline began to lay down in her dark hair.

And that was all it took for the three noblewomen's laughter get even louder.

And not a moment after that the flames in the throne room shot up to towering heights.

While the entire throne room turned the color of a calamitous blue while the trio flinched under their monarch's death glare.

"Get out! All three of you or I will banish you all!" The princess bellowed in a terrifying voice while her subordinates rushed towards the doors.

All the while as her tiny kitten girlfriend meowed from where she sat in her black hair.

"That would be threatening princess…if you didn't have a kitten perched on your head." Zoe chuckled as she walked out while Azula glared daggers after her.

And not a second later the throne room doors closed shut with a thunderous thud.

All the while as the princess sat there with a tiny sliver of pink on her regal cheeks.

While she raised her eyes upward to glare up at the meowing kitten peering down at her from over her eyes.

"Elle! Get off my head or I will punish you." Azula stated in a hard voice as she glared up at the girl's grudgingly adorable mewling face.

Only for her lips to curve into a strangely pleased smile when the tiny kitten obediently jumped down from her head and into her lap.

Whether it be as a human or a kitten the girl knew who owned her, and she obeyed accordingly.

While she gazed down at her kitten girlfriend as the meowing girl settled on her thigh with her little paws cutely digging into her leggings.

All the while as she set her palm over the minuscule kitten once more while she started to pet the purring girl.

While she sighed as she reclined with the back of her head resting against her throne.

All the while as she continued to pet her girlfriend with a possessive glare in her cold eyes.

"Good girl Elle. Worry not...I'll get you restored to your normal self shortly." The princess purred as she petted the tiny kitten's head while she watched with a protective gleam in her eyes as the girl curled up to sleep on her thigh.

While she leaned back on her posterior with her hand resting in her new kitten girlfriend's soft mane of hair.

"Until then peasant…you stay with me at all times and don't you dare leave my sight." Azula sighed with her beautiful lips forming a content smile as she petted her tiny girlfriend in her lap.

'A-Azula-sama. I am yours and I love you with all of my heart.' The golden-haired kitten meowed as she purred with her face coming to rest on the princess's robed thigh.

While she savored the sensation of the woman's strong hand petting her back as she closed her eyes.

And soon after that she began to doze off on her princess's soft thigh.

She knew that her princess wouldn't allow any harm to come to her.

As long as she had her home…her Princess Azula…there was nothing to fear.

[nakediconoclast]

Larry Correia

A friend of mine posted about seeing this: "Where are all you gun owners now that the federal government and police are attacking citizens in the streets?? Now that the National Guard is out oppressing citizens? I thought this was the moment you're waiting for? So why aren't you out there fighting them with your guns? You're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards!"

My response was the GIF of Nelson Muntz going HA HA. :D

But I've seen this sentiment a lot too over the last few days, so please if you are so incredibly fucking dumb that you are actually wondering why America's gun culture aren't commuting into the democrat cities you have banned us from in order to get into gun fights with the National Guard on your behalf, allow me to elaborate.

Hypothetical Liberal "Ally" Who Lives in the Suburbs Which Aren't On Fire - "Hey, gun owners! Here is some civil unrest! Why won't you come and help us?"

Snort. Fuck off. :D

"Pussies! Why not?"

Well, every single gun nut in America has spent their entire adult life being continually mocked, insulted, and belittled by the left. You've done nothing but paint us as the bad guys.

In Hollywood, we're always evil, stupid, violent, malicious, redneck, racist, murderers. That's so ingrained in the liberal religion that when "ally" Harvey Weinstein was trying to get out of being a sleazy rapist, his repentance consisted of promising to make more movies about how the NRA is bad.

In the news, everything is always our fault. If there is a mass murder, we can always count on the vultures to swoop in and blame America's gun culture. They flog it for weeks on end, 24/7 coverage, hoping for gun control. And if the identity of the shooter doesn't fit the narrative, it drops off the news in mere hours.

And then at the local, state, and federal level, legally speaking, the left fucks us at every opportunity. You ban everything you can get away with. You ban things that literally make no sense. You ban shit just out of spite.

When we fight back against gun control laws, you declare we are stupid because only the police should have guns (hey, aren't those the guys you are protesting right now?)

"Stupid racist rednecks! We live in a civilized society! Don't you realize the police will protect us?" until when your democrat cities are on fire, and you call 911 and the operator tells you sorry, the police can't come to your house right now, please try not to get murdered... How is that strict gun control working out for you?

Then you did everything in your power to chase gun owners out of your sainted liberal strongholds. You passed laws. You banned everything we like. Forced all the shooting ranges to close. Forced most of the gun stores to close. And just generally let us know that our kind is not welcome there.

But now you've started some shit, YOU want US to go into democrat cities, with democrat mayors, and democrat police chiefs enforcing democrat policies which cause strife among democrats, in order to get into gun fights on your behalf?

How fucking gullible do you think we are? :D Like holy shit. Damn dude!

Because we all know that literally 30 seconds after a gun nut blows away a government employee on your behalf, then all the national media coverage of the riots will instantly cease (sorta like the Corona Virus coverage did) and it'll be back to the news breathlessly reporting about right wing extremist gun nuts, and all you useless fucks would go back to whining for more dumb ass gun control.

You've already thrown the black community under the bus, cheering as their neighborhoods get burned and yours are safe. Seriously, white liberals are the shittiest "allies" in history, and your moral foundation has the consistency of Play-Doh. Your moral compass is a wind sock.

Just a little while ago, gun nuts had a massive peaceful protest in Virginia. Tens of thousands of people turned out to protest gun control proposals from a democrat with a penchant for wearing black face (he still considers himself an "ally" though!) They didn't break any windows. They didn't kill any puppies. They didn't burn any horses. They didn't flip any police cars or murder any security guards. They were downright boring. They were polite, and even cleaned up their litter.

Except then you called them domestic terrorists, and were super sad that they didn't get massacred by the government (said government you are now mad at for killing people, because again, you fuckers ain't exactly consistent)

Liberal "allies" are quick to call gun nuts the bad guys, but we're not trying to disarm people. We want everybody to be able to defend themselves. It's a common thing to see some meme on the internet, showing a black family shooting or posing with their guns, with some caption like "bet this offends the NRA", which is liberal projection, because in reality in my social circles everybody is like, "fuck yeah, good for them". And the harshest complaints I've seen have been about trigger finger discipline or lack of eye protection.

My side isn't the one that wants the state to have a monopoly on force. We know the 2nd is for everybody, regardless of skin color or where you live. You fuckers are the ones who keep declaring we can't fight the government with AR-15s because they have tanks and nukes, but then you bumbling fuckheads try it by throwing rocks?

So not only no, but hell no.

[theofficersacademy]

Continental winds from the north take up their arms as the long daylight hours wane, and drive out the last of summer’s oppressive heat. As cooler air follows behind, signs of the vibrant harvest season bloom across Fodlan. Hunting dogs pull eagerly at their leashes, scythes are taken down to reap golden fields, and celebration rises in feasting to give thanks for another bountiful year.

At Garreg Mach monastery, reports have come in about a discovery made by the Knights of Seiros: a strange sanctum concealed beneath the ground, kept secret by the Western Church. It’s a troubling find in the wake of the Cardinal Beasts’ inexplicable appearance, and a call goes out to the Blue Lions House:

Blue Lions Mission: Investigate the Secrets of the Western Church!

We are back on our regular season rotation, and this one belongs to the Blue Lions! As before, threads using tasks from the Blue Lions board must contain a Blue Lions character as a participant, but there are also non-mission tasks available to everyone without restrictions.

The sanctum is located at the far end of Western Church territory, beneath the temperate plains of the Brionac Plateau where it curves into Faerghus lands. Never-before-seen objects of all kinds are contained inside the secret space. You’re under strict orders not to tamper with anything, and to report everything you see to the authorities. It’s suspicious, for sure, but the place seems a bit small to have housed four monsters of such size...

BL Mission Task Board

Traveling to Western Faerghus means crossing through Magdred Way, a densely forested area known for thick and sudden onset of heavy fog and, as a result, being a favorite highway for marauders. Travel carefully and strategically.

Among the myriad of strange findings in the sanctum is the discovery of a false wall. Concealed behind it is a small room lined with nothing but... books? They’re written in a glyph that’s impossible to read, but the illustrations and arrays suggest that they’re spell books, and probably not your usual kind. Can you decipher anything? [Grants Reason +1]

A few people have reported seeing a suspicious figure lurking around the sanctum at night, when no one else is around. Even odder, the one night watchman who had gotten more than a glimpse of the stranger reports that he bore the insignia of House Arundel. What will you do?

Lake Teutates isn’t far from the site of the investigation, and you recall stories about a great treasure being contained there — The Inexhaustible, unrivaled bow of Saint Indech. Even if the stories aren’t true, it’s not often that an opportunity to see the Lake Teutates temple comes around. It’s a peaceful getaway, if nothing else. [Grants Faith +1]

Notably, the clergy of the Western Church are not happy about this intrusion, but remain stubbornly silent in the face of inquisition, refusing to give ground. The Knights accompanying you are keeping them in custody, but one morning a commotion breaks out: some of the clergy have broken free, and are making a run for the border into Adrestia!

NEW! The renowned Grey Lion, Lord Gwendal of House Rowe, has arrived with a unit of his forces to help with the investigation into the Western Church. Overseer of the impregnable fortress of Arianrhod, he and his legion of Great Knights are said to be equally as indomitable. In return, he asks that you help train his men in a mock battle. They must learn to be soldiers in their own right, and not just hide behind the Silver Maiden’s skirts. [Grants Axe or Heavy Armor +1]

NEW! One of the foremost documents unearthed from the sanctum has been sent back from Garreg Mach’s higher ups, granting the first half-decoded glimpse into the documents hidden here. Immediately, a few names stand out: Seagod, Thurii, Yevaud, Lamasar. These are clearly linked to the four countries the cardinal beasts had pillaged. But why these names in particular? Maybe your peers who went there will have more insight.

Non-Mission Task Board

With prey abound in the hills and forests around Garreg Mach, the kitchen staff could use anyone and everyone willing to help prepare for the Hunting Festival on the 7th. Everyone has their hands full, so if you’re handy with a bow or any traps to catch game, get out there and help pitch in! [Grants Bow, Lance, or Riding +1]

Leicester Alliance Founding Day is on the 8th, but the students this year have decided to make it more than just a dining hall dish. The monastery awakens to a field day set up in the academy’s myriad courtyards and gazebos. Classes are cancelled, so go enjoy the fair booths, small attractions, and traditional Alliance foods!

With the grapes harvested around Garreg Mach and from Adrestia around this time of year, the administration is hosting their annual wine-tasting event in the entrance hall. Students and faculty alike are able to use ingredients there to make their own wines and partake in some too, under the supervision of the monastery staff. Technically, you’re not allowed to take any out of the hall.

Horsebow Moon sees a spike in visitors: farmers and tradesmen alike coming to offer their prayers for the most industrious time of the year. There’s no shortage of merchants who set up shop in town to take advantage of this surge, but something doesn’t seem quite right about that one vendor advertising everything from blades crafted by Zoltan to mythical swords from faraway lands in hopes of reaping riches from the gullible. [Grants Sword +1]

NEW! It’s said that the Golden Fish in the monastery pond appear around this time of year. No one really knows what causes the mutation to happen, but supposedly being able to catch one brings you good luck. And if you cook it and share it with others, everyone who takes a bite gets a bit of good fortune too.

NEW! As the weather turns colder, Fodlan wyverns begin their migration south to warmer climates. The monastery wyverns aren’t able to leave, of course, but it does mean they get rather restless. Taking them out on a structured flight or two should help get it out of their systems. Just be careful. They are a bit more aggressive compared to pegasi. [Grants Flying +1]

NEW! Not even all the chaos that’s happened lately is going to stop Garreg Mach from hosting its annual biggest event to showcase student and faculty prowess alike: The Battle of the Eagle and Lion. The monastery is abuzz with anticipation and competition is high. Which house will win the battle this year and take home the glory? Well, the battle won’t win itself. It’s best to start preparing.

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Blue Lions. Therefore, tasks from the ‘BL Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone from the Blue Lions House. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their house. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-BL muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays a BL muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards.

Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim any skill points once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 5 notes (not counting likes, only reblogs with replies in them) and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

[musingsofabooklover]

The Truth About The Dark Sides

I have a theory about Sanders Sides:

Neither Dark Sides nor Light Sides really exist.

There are only Sides, and whether they’re called dark or light depends only on how Thomas perceives them. 

Let me explain. Each side, each facet of personality, however “dark” they might seem to be, provides something to the personality that would be catastrophic if taken away. We’ve seen it with Virgil before when he decided to quit. Even though anxiety is something that’s seen as scary, and if you have a lot of it, it can indeed have a big negative impact on your life, it turned out that having some sense of caution was vital to Thomas’s continued wellbeing. And I believe this is true about all of the supposedly “Dark” Sides.

Equally, all of the supposedly “Light” Sides, if they were present to a great extreme, could have unhealthy effects, and also if Thomas wasn’t as comfortable with using those aspects of his personality, the other sides might be trying to get them to go away or not listening to them.

Let’s go through each of the sides we’ve got so far:

Patton:

Good things: leads to you trying to do things that are “good” actions; stops you from being an uncaring asshole who exploits everyone, or a serial killer or whatever, or worse; also generally what drives you to try and make the world a better place.

Bad things: if your morality isn’t calibrated right, it could lead to a variety of bad effects done with good intentions. For instance, if your morality is too strict, you could turn into one of those people who tries to ban Harry Potter because they think it’ll turn all the children into devil-worshippers or something, or you could end up cutting off all your friends because you demand moral perfection. In another scenario, you could end up as a Well Intentioned Extremist who believes it’s ok to kill thousands of people if it’s for the “greater good”, because your morality was able to justify it. In a third scenario, a common moral feature amongst people who don’t value themselves much is that they should always put other people’s wants above their own wants or even needs. This is unhealthy and leads eventually to a lack of life satisfaction, a growing resentment of your own friends and family, and martyrdom, when, really, your friends and family probably didn’t WANT you to be a martyr for them and would actually like it if you did some things for yourself sometimes.

Logan:

Good things: logic enables you to take account of the facts when you make decisions, and consider what consequences are likely to follow from those facts and from decisions you take. Being out of touch with logic means the results you expect won’t follow from the things you do, because you haven’t paid attention to what’s happening.

Bad things: If you only use logic to make decisions, and ignore the more emotional sides, you will end up doing things like choosing a career entirely for the money or because you think you’d be good at it even though you hate it and find it boring or stressful, leading to unhappiness. Plus, if you’ve truly got no emotional preference and only use logic, you don’t know what to prioritise in life. How do you choose between 5 different breakfasts that are roughly nutritionally equivalent? What should you do in your free time? Is fun allowed? We saw that chart Logan came up with for how Thomas should divide his time...

Roman:

Good things: enables you to see a bunch of possibilities for how things could be. You can come up with ideas for how to spend your time, you can do creative work and hobbies of various kinds (not just the arts - anything that is innovative!), and this also seems to be where the optimism is, so you also get hope for the future. Enables you to imagine that things might go right. Encourages you to take risks, which means you don’t get stuck in a rut. Without imagination, every day would look the same.

Bad things: too much imagination/optimism at the expense of, say, logic, and you’ll get out of touch with reality. Those “positive thinking” type books that claim you can get anything you want to happen by just imagining it really hard might work to some extent, but eventually a practitioner will run into the hard facts of reality and come crashing down. If you spend too much time imagining how perfect and wonderful a romantic interest is, the reality of them as a human person with the usual quirks and annoying little habits is going to be a big disappointment. Optimism and imagination is great, but it needs to be tempered with realism. Also, if your positive imagination caused you to take too many risks, that’s called being reckless and it generally doesn’t end well.

Virgil:

Good things: applies caution and checks for danger, preventing you from being reckless. Helps you to assess future risks, so that you’re ready for them when they come along. Without caution, you will do stupid things because you don’t care.

Bad things: use too much caution and you’ll never do anything, because literally everything in the world comes with some level of risk. Either that or everything will seem equally risky, so you’ll actually do something that’s genuinely a serious risk because you couldn’t discriminate between that and something that was just a small risk. Those of you with serious anxiety probably know more than me about this section, I feel.

Deceit:

Good things: I know there’s a feeling amongst some quarters that lying is always bad, but that’s really not the case. Imagine you live under an oppressive government with really bad laws and the secret police come knocking saying, “have you seen this person?” In that case, lying and saying you don’t know who they are, or that you haven’t seen them for a month, or whatever, would be much more moral than telling them that the person’s hiding in your attic. Imagine, on a lighter note, you’re a superhero with a secret identity. If Lex Luthor asked Superman who he really was, Supes isn’t gonna tell him “Clark Kent” and lead Lex right to Jonathan and Martha. Or even imagine somebody gave you a gift that you really, really, hated, but you can tell they put thought into and they’re giving it sincerely. Do you tell them “I hate this!” and give it right back, or do you say “Thanks” and discretely take it to a charity shop later? While in most cases it’s good, honesty really isn’t a clear-cut virtue.

In addition, Deceit seems to be Thomas’s selfish instincts. Without any selfish instincts, then, as described in the section under morality, you’re gonna gradually turn into a martyr.

Bad things: If you lie all the time no one will trust you, which means no one will believe you when it counts and you actually need them to. See the story of the boy who cried wolf. If you’re too selfish, you will trample over other people’s needs in order to gain a trivial want for yourself.

Remus:

Good things: Remus seems to be great at imagining horrible, cynical things (as well as disgusting things, but anyway). This means that if you’re in a scenario, you’ve probably already thought of the worst way that things could go, which means if everything goes sort of ok, you’re not too disappointed, compared to if you’d only been imagining that things would definitely go really well. Remus seems to provide cynicism (which Virgil also feeds off). Cynicism, while not great by itself, is important as a counterbalance to Pollyanna optimism. Also, if you’re a crime novelist or something, the darker side of imagination will help you come up with some good grizzly deaths and crimes waiting to be solved.

On another note, there are certain types of recreational activity for which I doubt it’s Roman doing the imagining. ;)

Overall, without Remus, as an adult you’d come across as incredibly naive.

Bad things: Too much cynicism and imagining the worst all the time without any realism as a balance will lead to depression, as you stop being able to see the ways in which things could go right. Extreme cynicism is just as unproductive extreme optimism. And I think we saw the other negative aspects of Remus in the recent video.

So, as I said: each side has its good and bad part. It’s only how you see them that makes them light or dark.

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant (Newt Scamander X OC): Chapter 1: Pilot

I intend to write a miniseries on this, have some ideas on it, wanna try it. So bored with Valentines cheesy stuff. May range form comedy to Romance to drama. 

chapter Summary: Newt returns home from Paris (six months from the Grindlewald fiasco) and Bunty is gone. So he needs a new assistant. She seems okay, but things don’t go just as planned.

Word Count: 2064

Chapter theme:  Agitato I - Schlitten, By Alfred Schnittke, from The Story of an Unknown Actor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0iFW4sSgkE

“So what is your name again?” Newt asked while he skimmed through the papers the woman placed before him.

“Audrey Page. I passed Hogwarts at 1920, had potions, charms, transfiguration, Defence against the Dark Arts and Animal Husbandry at my NEWTs.”

“So why do you think you are fit for this job?” Newt asked the third entry of today.

That’s the third time he was saying this sentence and he was losing it already. Not because it was absolutely tiring when people just showed up to ogle at his face, and not for the job, but he was seriously bummed that Bunty left him for another man.

She was really good at her job.

“Well, I consider myself an animal lover, and over the years I have learned the art of patience and not to question my superiors.” Newt wasn’t really expecting this, because that wasn’t like the star-struck babbling that he was hearing from the previous interviews. That last bit struck a bit sarcastic to Newt, however he sensed that she was saying all this to butter him up, she needs this job and will do whatever it takes; unlike the other candidates who are just there to get a whiff of his fame and go. She was desperate and serious.

“That’s... quite diplomatic of you.”Newt commented softly, cautiously looking at her way, trying to be professional but his anxiety of making eye contact with another human was brushing on his mind now and then. Audrey, the interviewee was sitting straight without fidgeting. That comforted him to a degree, because sometime when Bunty fidgeted all over the place and it made him anxious that he did something wrong.

“With four siblings grown up and a father as strict, one needs the best sets of skills one can find.” She added with a sardonic smile, but Newt found nothing funny about that. With his sensitive mind he felt a hint of oppression in her upbringing. This filled his mind with sadness and bitterness as she started to remind him of a certain old friend who died recently. He lost in his own train of thought, and then suddenly remembered what was in front of him.

“Well... you can start right away...“ Newt nervously asserted, and judging by the silence of his interviewee, he halfway looked at her again, she was quite in suspicion about his statement. “Well, did I not confirm your job...? “ Newt said a little more firmly, getting flustered whenever his assertiveness is misread. After all assertiveness is not his strongest suit.

“Oh-yes sir, thank you for this opportunity.” she took off her gauntlet glove and led it forward for Newt to shake it. Newt, taking her hand briefly, shook it and told her to come at 9 AM sharp.

With the last creak of door at 7 PM at the evening, Newt could finally breathe in peace. With the interviews over, he can now rest and go back with his life. To think more practically, he didn’t need an assistant at all before. But when he blew up half his apartment last time, his brother Theseus practically conjured Bunty from air.

“Hire an assistant, or someday I will have to read The Magizoologist found dead in his apartment: strange animal marks on him.”

And that really spoiled him to death.

He hoped that this time won’t be such a collateral damage. He really liked this young woman, Audrey. She has confidence.

CLANK

Whoever wrote the proverb ‘it will come when you least expect it’, must knew a couple of nifflers. Newt reminded himself to remove the shiny switch from his lamp... again.

...

The next day, as Newt was struggling to finish his breakfast with chasing the niffler babies around, a soft knock issued. Newt opened the door and found a stranger young woman standing at his door. Newt first became quite unarmed as she was quite elegantly dressed in navy-and-charcoal coloured silk, staring straight at him. On the other hand, he was halfway through his work dress. He peered behind the half opened door and asked nervously,

“Yes... may I help you? “

The woman stood speechless for a moment, “Mr. Scamander, I am your new assistant, I was to join today at--” she took out a fob watch out of her waist pocket, “at 9 AM sharp by your orders?” she added with equal amount of surprise and heat.

Newt slapped his head and opened his door fully, easing himself on the fact that she was no stranger woman, but Miss Page, the third candidate from yesterday, “oh yes... Miss Page, come in come in...”

Audrey came inside and Newt noticed she was avoiding his gaze; in fact she looked quite uncomfortable. Wondering what could have upset her he closed the door, and started to apologise about the morning, “you must excuse me, I am not good at remembering faces, so it will take me quite an amount of time to get comfortable around you.”

“That is quite fine, Mr. Scamander...” she added avoiding eye contact, desperately trying to look away, “... is the beast chamber that way?” she pointed at a random direction, and started to pace herself as soon Newt said, “second door down the hall.” and when the realization hit him that he was just wearing his long unbuttoned work-shirt and dressing gown only, he felt so embarrassed that he swore that he would die. Not only it was immensely unprofessional, but he also unintentionally flashed his perpetually elegantly dressed new young assistant. Perhaps that’s the reason Bunty left after all.

Decenting himself up, he descended to his basement, trying his best to focus on his job. He never flustered with his previous assistant, and he wondered what was happening now. As soon as he descended he saw Audrey’s navy-and charcoal robes were littered at a side, as she was now wearing some kind of coarse cloth smock, and getting comfortable with the some Occamies. He fondly saw the Occamies cheerfully slithering about her arm, and she like a fond mother tended them with care. There were very few people in Newt’s life who were liked by the Occamy; not even Leta could get past them. 

“I see they have taken a shine on you...“ Newt said softly, and Audrey, startled by his voice and relieved by his decency nodded modestly, “yes... I had the privilege to get familiar with them in Japan. “

“So you are also a traveler then?” Newt asked softly, getting his push-cart ready, filling them with food for the Graphon.

“Not really... Dumbledore forced me to a summer internship at Mahoutokoro.” Audrey added, while rocking the Occamy chick in her arm, “at first I hated it, but their Care of Magical Creatures programme made me fell in love with the beasts.“

“Oh...” Newt didn’t push it further. He wanted to initiate a conversation but she had this incredible presence about her speech that forced him to retreat in his shell. The incident in the morning plagued him again and to distract himself he proceeded with feeding the Graphon.  With its tentacles, it was obediently eating the pork pieces Newt held out and suddenly there was a will of speech that sprung in Newt’s head.

‘Do you know that the name Occamy comes from the Japanese phrase Oo-kami--’

Audrey was so engrossed with the creatures that she was quite startled with Newt’s speech and dropped one of the chicks. This sudden alarm wasn’t quite accepted by the creatures and one of them buried their beak deep into Audrey’s right arm.

“Argh.... my arm... ” Audrey collapsed on the floor while Newt came running towards her. “I am extremely sorry... I didn’t realise--”

“It’s okay Mr. Scamander... I am quite fine. You don’t have some Murtlap’s essence laying around on your workshop do you?” Audrey stood on her feet, almost staggering towards the stair as the perforated place in her arm started to turn blue.

“Absolutely not...” Newt paced himself and grabbed her arm and sat her down, “you will sit right here while I fix something...” Newt ran to his little workshop and Audrey heard several sounds of crushing and thudding, and sat quietly on the staircase, near the replica of the River Beauly where she could see the Kelpie’s weedy fins surface often.

Audrey turned around as Newt descended quickly with a stone pestle and mortar in his hand. Audrey attempted to stand up, with her eyes roaming all over him. He at first put the mortar at levitation near where Audrey was standing. For a few moments she wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and then with a soft motion, she swore she heard him mumble,

“Excuse me for this....”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, but what he did next was beyond her imagination.

“I am going to s-suck the venom out of y-your arm...” Newt babbled and as soon as his speech was over he engaged in his act. It was strangely endearing that he successfully hid beneath his tuft of hair and as soon as he was done, he brought the mortar and applied the cool bluish gray paste on the wound.

“You would have endangered yourself if you applied Murtlap essence over that.” Newt asserted with his usual nervousness, and Audrey felt quite relaxed and soothed as he was softly applying the ointment, “Murtlap essence doesn’t work on animal bites... it is more for the human made wounds, like swords and stuff.” His long thumb gently circled around and flattened the paste. “Occamy venom loses its power on a willing receiver... they are too pure to be vengeful you know--” Newt stood up on his feet and avoiding eye contact with Audrey swiftly descended. She was left speechless at that kind of an act.

Although it was her first day, she was sure that bosses and assistants don’t usually go like this. He had a reputation of being random, that she knew but it was way too much. 

On his defense, he did inform her about it though... although he barely mentions anything about “Occamy Venom” in his books. 

-- Besides it’s like performing CPR, there’s no beef about it!

Maybe it slipped his mind... better note to down in case it happens again.

...

Extended Ending

Finite...

The charm lifted from the front door and the lock moved itself to open. Audrey slipped in and locked the door with another charm, and then with another wave of wand lit the lights of the living room. Slipping off her fur scarf and pointed hat, she impatiently looked towards the right.

“Lampito, I want my tea...” she called out a little rudely and scampered when the flames in the fireplace started to flicker.

“Hello papa...” she courteously leaned in front of the fire, facing a middle aged man with dark hair and sharp eyes. Although it was hard to mark the features through the fire but he looked like a person who wasn’t to be crossed at any circumstances.

“Good evening, my dear... ” he said with sternness, “how was your day?”

“It is great papa” Audrey added with a false cheeriness, “as always. Mr. Scamander is a cordial superior; he does not strain me too much. With Grindlewald around we are always on our toes, aren’t we?” she tried to laugh it off, but her voice shook a little.

“Good... I hope you will soon be promoted to have your own office.” Her father commented, “Everything’s well here... I wish you good night.” and with abruptness, the fire was out.

“Your tea, Mistress...” a whizzy voice called her from the behind. A rather old house-elf placed the china set on the glass top baroque coffee table, and was taking Audrey’s satchel-bag to its rightful place.

“How many times I have to tell you... leave my bag alone!!!” Audrey screamed at Lampito, who, after breathing an apology disappeared in the dark. After the house elf disappeared, Audrey sealed the room with a charm so that no one could spy on her, and took a black bordered, ominously formal looking letter out of her bag. Under her well shaped finger, filigree like script peeked out, that read--

From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,

An Order for Termination and Further discontinuity of Service

I am definitely testing the water around here. I never wrote an Hp fanfic even though it was the first fandom that I ever gotten into. Newt is an interesting character and I like to write about him.