#more narrow and underground > built into society

[raayllum]

One thing I noted watching The Dragon Prince is that the intro splits the same continent in half with the elves/humans so they started with the same amount of magical animals/plants each. There’s still some magical animals the human side but their presence is far, far reduced comparatively so do you think that’s specifically because of dark magic harvesting leading to more “normal” to our eyes species dominating?

I’m fairly surprised there isn’t a visibly established livestock industry’s for magic animals too (that way say your lunar moths can be renewably hatched each year, or a sheep population equivalent kept etc).

You seem very immersed in much of the lore so thought it’d be fun to at least pose as a query.

I think there's a few different things here to consider (that we'll probably never get a definitive answer on) but this is my best guess + what we do know about how dark magic operates:

Both regular animals and magical creatures can be used for dark magic. We know this because we've seen human blood be used in a couple of spells, Claudia puts grasshopper goop in Soren's mouth (2x08), and then later uses the deer in its entirety to undo Soren's paralysis.

That said, it does seem that magical creatures are more potent and preferred for dark magic spells. This makes sense - while you can use the life essence of anyone/anything for dark magic, creatures with magic inside them (any arcanum) are inevitably going to have more to "squeeze out" than a non magical creature would.

With that in mind, I think canon gives us a few answers and subtextual clues.

The most important one is something Viren refers to 2x05 (which has haunted me ever since), in which he cites that, "After centuries of fighting amongst ourselves, the five human kingdoms finally found balance, an era of peace." The Book 2 novelization gives a little more information about this period on conflict, explaining that "The first summit of the Pentarchy had been held centuries ago, and it had brought an end to the Mage Wars and created the modern order of the human kingdoms" (Ch17).

We don't know, of course, if this is precisely the same period of time. Maybe by helping to imprison Aaravos (and presumably disposing of the last king of Katolis), the Orphan Queen likewise helped put an end to the mage wars. Maybe she only came on the scene centuries after the mage wars! Who knows. "Held centuries ago" could mean three, which matches up with the Orphan Queen / Aaravos imprisonment timeline (and no more mister startouch elf preying on mages) or it could go back closer to 700-800 years. We'll just have to wait and see if we ever get more details!

Regardless, the Mage Wars and the fact they were likely fuelled by dark magic, since it was humans fighting amongst themselves, might answer why we see so few (known) magical creatures in the Human Kingdoms other than maybe glow toads: mages went after the most potent magical ingredients during the fighting, and reduced those numbers to virtually nonexistent or extinct.

I would imagine before the Mage Wars / even before Xadia split, maybe, more magical creatures were held and domesticated as livestalk. (Elves certainly do keep some animals as pets, such as Janai's flying hot cat, though I'd expect something like a Moonstrider to maybe have evolved as a sort of hunting companion.) However, humans on the eastern side and elves on the western side were likely forced to abandon any farms / communities they had in regards to animal care when the Exile / Schism happened. Information and resources might've been lost, as animals on one side of the continent were likely different compared to others, although some humans (who already lived in the west) and some elves (who already lived in the east) wouldn't have had to have moved.

That said, I think the simplest and shortest answer is just that there's not a lot of mages within TDP's world. For each group of people, we see a lot more warriors or diplomats than mages and they don't seem to regularly be employed in the military of kingdom we've seen, Sunfire or Pentarchy troops or otherwise. We can also guess that in the Pentarchy due to the specificity of the ingredients needed, sometimes, that Katolis by virtue of being closest to the Border would be primed to have the most dark mages and dark mage traffic / travellers (although I've HC'd that Evenere due to its isolation has a fair bit of lingering magic more than say Del Bar or Duren). But due to the amount of knowledge and ingredients required to seemingly do most dark magic spells, as well as the toll it takes on the body, I think it makes sense that most people wouldn't have the interest, access, or ability to pursue that kind of path when there's plenty of others that are less gruelling / easier

Magic is everywhere, and small pieces of magic (like Ruthari's moon opals) are everywhere, but outside of the specific skillsets of each primal (Moonshadow illusion spells and forgery, maybe cooking, forgery and healing for Sunfire elves) it doesn't seem like magic is something they readily depend on for food or livestock in their day to day lives. And if that's not the case for the majority in Xadia (only used in times of crisis, etc), I can see that need plummeting in the Human Kingdoms simply because it takes a lot more time/energy to maintain than might be necessarily utilized because of the low demand

This was all long winded speculation and hopefully mostly coherent. If you're interested in more deep dive worldbuilding thoughts I'd really recommend some of @kradogsrats stuff as it's great and a lot more eloquent / all encompassing tbh

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ғᴀʟsᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x F!reader | WC : 8.5k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | series masterlist

Summary : Your father is fed up with your shenanigans, so he arranges a marriage to Rome's famous general and gladiator, Marcus Acacius.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral F and M, Implied age gap, Scars, Misogyny, Spitting, both give switch vibes,

A/n : I put a dub-con warning just because it is a forced/arranged marriage also ty and enjoy @multiversed-daydreamer for listening to me yap about this all day luv ya 💕

The table was set, lit, and ready for a feast. Grapes, wine, cheese, and meats lined the table. Being the daughter of a powerful general had its perks, not that you liked the kind of life you had. You understood you were privileged, your place in society clear. You knew that if it weren't for your father's position, you would probably be a slave to the hierarchy. But it didn't mean you had to like your life.

You were 18 and shockingly unmarried—not that you cared. You had more fun sneaking away to the parties that would happen late at night. You were happy for the fact you weren't tied down yet. The thrill of escaping your father's watchful eye and diving into the forbidden world of Rome's underground festivities made your heart race.

You had a reputation, one that was far from ladylike. Wild child, they called you, and you wore it like a badge of honor. You knew what sex was, what things happened in the dark corners of those parties, but you were still a virgin. Your knowledge came from observation, whispers, and the daring escapades you had witnessed, but you hadn't crossed that final threshold. Not yet.

Your father, a stern and formidable general, was a man who worked with gladiators and other powerful figures in Rome. His influence was vast, and his expectations were high. He had grown increasingly frustrated with you lately, and you couldn't quite understand why. His annoyance with your antics was palpable, but there was something more, something beneath the surface that gnawed at him.

As you sat there, wine goblet in hand, you sipped slowly, savoring the taste. You knew he would tell you to only have a single glass, a rule you delighted in bending. The door to the grand hall burst open, and there he was, your father, his expression a storm of irritation and something deeper, something darker.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the hall. "Drinking again?"

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Just a single glass, Father, as you always insist."

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides. "You think I don't know what you get up to, do you? Sneaking out, causing trouble. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?"

You sighed, placing the goblet down. "I know, Father. But you can't keep me locked away forever. I'm not a child anymore."

He stood before you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're my daughter, and you will behave with the dignity and decorum befitting your station."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "And what if I don't want that life? What if I want to be free, to make my own choices?"

His frustration seemed to boil over, and for a moment, you thought he might explode. But then, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You don't understand the dangers out there. The people I deal with—the gladiators, the politicians—they're not like the ones at your little parties. They're dangerous."

You softened slightly, sensing the genuine worry behind his anger. "Then tell me, Father. Explain why you're so frustrated lately. What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated, the walls he had built around himself momentarily crumbling. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice quieter. "There are threats... to our family, to our position. I'm trying to protect you, even if it doesn't seem like it."

You reached out, touching his arm. "I want to understand. Help me see what you see."

He looked down at your hand, then back at your face, a mixture of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice resigned. "But you must promise me, you'll be careful. This world is not as kind as you think."

You nodded, determination filling your chest. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I won't be caged."

Your father's expression hardened once more, and the momentary softness disappeared. He sat down at the table, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping one into his mouth. "Enough. This isn't up for discussion," he snapped. "You are to be married."

Your heart plummeted. "Married? To whom?"

His eyes were cold as steel. "To a man who can protect you, who can secure our family's future."

You jumped to your feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "No! I don't want to be married off like some piece of property. I won't do it!"

He towered over you, his presence suffocating. "You have no choice. This is for your own good."

"Who is it then?" you demanded, your voice rising in defiance. "Is it Lucius? That lecherous old man who can't keep his hands to himself?"

Your father shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No, not Lucius."

"Is it Gaius, then?" you asked, pacing around the table, barely noticing your father grabbing a slice of cheese and eating it with deliberate calmness. "The pompous fool who thinks he's the smartest man in Rome but can't even string a coherent sentence together without tripping over his own ego?"

"Not Gaius."

"Then it must be Quintus! The brute who only knows how to solve problems with his fists, who would treat me like a possession rather than a person."

"No, it isn't Quintus either," your father snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a deep drink from his own goblet, trying to steady himself.

"Who then? Who could possibly be suitable in your eyes?" you spat, your desperation clear.

Your father took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's Marcus Acacius."

The name sent a jolt through you, and you took an involuntary step back. Marcus Acacius, a name whispered in both awe and fear throughout Rome. A man known for his prowess in the arena and his cunning outside it. A man with a reputation as cold and unyielding as stone.

"Marcus Acacius?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "You can't be serious. He's a gladiator, a killer."

"He's more than that," your father insisted. "He's powerful, respected, and capable of protecting you from the dangers you don't even know exist."

You shook your head, your mind reeling. "No, Father. You can't do this to me. I won't marry him."

"You will," he said firmly. "And you will do it for our family, for our future."

You felt the walls closing in, the life you had known slipping away. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the untouched food before you. "What if... what if I've already been with someone else?" you blurted out, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare.

Your father's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Have you been taken by another lover?"

You hesitated, the lie heavy on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath kept you silent. "No," you finally admitted, defeated.

"Then it's settled," he said, the finality in his voice chilling. "You will marry Marcus Acacius, and you will do so with dignity."

Tears of frustration and anger welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I won't be happy, Father. Not with him, not with this life."

He reached out, a rare gesture of tenderness, and touched your cheek. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford," he said softly. "But safety, security—that is something I can give you."

You pulled away, the weight of his decision crushing your spirit. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."

His hand fell to his side, and his eyes hardened once more. "Freedom is an illusion, my daughter. And you will learn that soon enough."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the grand hall, the weight of your impending marriage pressing down on you like a vice.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

It had been a month of plotting and planning, each day dragging on as your impending fate loomed ever closer. Today was your wedding day, the day your life would be sealed into a destiny you hadn’t chosen. Final preparations had been completed yesterday, and now you were meant to step into the role of a dutiful daughter and bride. You had woken up earlier than your maids would have roused you, knowing your father would want you to rest more so you appeared extra fresh for Marcus. Instead, your nerves had kept you up all night, the shadows on the walls morphing into ominous shapes as you thought of your future.

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, and you knew you couldn’t waste any more time. Your small bag, packed with bread, a few pieces of jewelry to sell, and the spending money your father occasionally gave you, lay hidden under the covers of your bed. The plan was simple: catch the slightest bit of rest before your handmaid came in to wake you, then escape before anyone noticed.

The door creaked open, and Lucia, your handmaid, entered with her usual gentle and serene presence. She glided to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a warm glow that felt almost mocking given your circumstances. You sat up in bed, the light highlighting the bags under your eyes from a sleepless night.

"Good morning, my lady," she said dreamily, her voice like a lullaby. "The sun is shining so beautifully today. It's a perfect day for a wedding." She moved to your side, her hands deftly beginning to arrange your hair with practiced ease. You watched her reflection in the mirror, feeling a pang of guilt for the deception you were about to execute.

"Your dress is so beautiful, my lady. It's like a dream come true. You'll look like a goddess, a vision of perfection," Lucia continued, her words meant to comfort but only adding to your anxiety. The dress she spoke of hung in the corner, a symbol of the life you were being forced into.

You let her continue, her words a soothing balm against your churning thoughts. As she began to apply a light makeup, using berries to tint your lips and cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a sense of finality creeping in. "You'll be the envy of every woman in Rome," she continued, her voice full of admiration. "Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You'll be safe with him."

Safe. The word echoed in your mind, tinged with bitterness. Safety was a cage, and you longed for freedom. Suddenly, you sat up, startling Lucia. "I need your dress," you blurted out, your voice urgent.

She looked at you, shocked and confused. "My dress, my lady? Why would you want my dress?" she asked, her hands frozen in mid-motion.

You gave her a reassuring smile, reaching under your bed to pull out a dress you had kept for a long time. It was a simple yet elegant gown, one she had always admired. "I have something for you," you said, handing her the dress. "I've seen how much you like it. Today, I want you to wear it and have fun. I just... I want to feel normal before the wedding."

Her eyes widened, and a smile of pure joy spread across her face. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much!" She looked at the dress, then back at you. "But what about you? Where will you be?"

You hesitated for a moment, crafting a believable lie. "I'll be eating breakfast with the soldiers. I need a moment to myself before the chaos begins."

She nodded, believing your words, and quickly changed into the dress you had given her. You watched as her usual plain attire was replaced by the elegant gown, the transformation bringing a genuine smile to your face despite the turmoil in your heart. "You look beautiful," you said, forcing a smile. "Now go, enjoy yourself."

Lucia beamed, her happiness palpable. "Thank you, my lady. I'll remember this day forever." She gave a small curtsy and hurried out, eager to enjoy the brief taste of luxury you had gifted her.

As soon as the door closed behind her, you sprang into action. Your heart pounded as you grabbed your small bag from under the covers and moved swiftly towards the door. The corridors of the castle were quiet, the early hour ensuring most were still in their beds. You moved with purpose, your sandals barely making a sound on the stone floors.

Every step you took was filled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. You had never been so bold, and the risk was immense. If you were caught, the consequences would be severe, but you couldn't live a life that wasn't yours. The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with Marcus Acacius spurred you on.

You reached the courtyard, the cool morning air filling your lungs as you dashed towards the farthest end where the horse stables were located. The sound of hooves and the scent of hay greeted you as you approached, your eyes scanning for a suitable mount. Freedom was within reach, and your heart soared with the possibility.

But then, a familiar, stern voice cut through the morning air. "Where do you think you're going?"

You sprinted, your sandals slapping against the cobblestones as the guards closed in. Heart pounding, you reached the barn, your fingers fumbling with the latch. The sound of pursuing footsteps fueled your frantic efforts, and finally, the door swung open. You dashed inside, the scent of hay and horses enveloping you. There was no time to lose.

Without wasting a moment, you chose the newest and fastest horse, a powerful chestnut stallion that had always intimidated you with its raw strength. It was your only chance. Your hands shook as you grabbed its mane, your heart hammering in your chest. The stallion snorted, sensing your urgency. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Hyah!" you urged, kicking your heels against its sides. The stallion reared, its powerful muscles tensing beneath you, then surged forward, galloping towards the gates. The wind whipped through your hair, the thundering of hooves drowning out the shouts behind you.

The gate loomed ahead, freedom tantalizingly close. You leaned forward, urging the horse faster. As you rode, you navigated the narrow alleys and sharp turns of the castle grounds, the stallion's speed making every twist and turn feel like a life-or-death gamble. The guards were not far behind, their yells growing louder, but you kept pushing, your eyes fixed on the gate.

You had run from the guards before, slipping through their grasp with quick wits and nimble feet, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the danger more palpable. The horse beneath you was your only hope, its powerful strides eating up the distance between you and the gate. But it was also a wild, untamed force, difficult to control.

As you neared the gate, you saw it beginning to close. Panic surged through you. With a desperate cry, you urged the stallion faster. The ground seemed to blur beneath you, the world a whirl of motion and sound. The horse’s breath came in powerful snorts, its muscles straining with effort.

Just as you thought you might make it, the stallion stumbled on a loose cobblestone. You were flung from its back, the world spinning around you as you hit the ground hard. Pain shot through your body, your vision swimming with stars.

When you opened your eyes, the sky above was a brilliant blue, and the scent of earth and grass filled your nostrils. You groaned, trying to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Easy there," a deep, soothing voice said. You turned your head and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of a stranger, his face handsome and strong, framed by dark curls. He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. "Who... who are you?"

A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. "My name is Marcus Acacius. And you must be my bride."

The revelation hit you like a bolt of lightning. This was the man you were meant to marry, the man you were running from. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw not the tyrant you had imagined, but a man filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Marcus continued his voice a mix of authority and kindness. "It's dangerous. Let me help you."

The irony of the situation was almost too much to bear. You had been fleeing from your fate, only to run straight into its arms. As Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands strong and reassuring, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your destiny was more complex than you had believed.

Marcus's strong arms guided you inside, each step a reluctant surrender to the fate you had been trying to escape. The castle's grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and courtiers, were eerily quiet in the early morning light. You were disoriented, the pain from your fall mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.

As you entered your bedchamber, a familiar and unwelcome face greeted you. Aurelia, one of your father's maids and his well-known mistress, stood there with a smug expression. Her presence was a bitter reminder of your father's indiscretions and the fractured state of your family.

"Well, well," Aurelia purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a surprise to see you here, my lady. Running away on your wedding day? How very unbecoming of you."

You shot her a withering glare, your temper flaring. "Spare me your lectures, Aurelia. I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious drivel."

Aurelia's smile widened, enjoying your discomfort. "You should be grateful for the match your father has arranged. Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You could do far worse."

You clenched your fists, your anger barely contained. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify spreading your legs for my father? That you're doing it for power and security?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she maintained her composure. "Watch your tongue, girl. You may not like me, but I'm here to make sure you fulfill your duty. Now sit down and let me get you ready."

Reluctantly, you sat down, feeling trapped and helpless. As Aurelia worked on your hair and makeup, her touch was firm and unyielding. Her presence was suffocating, her every word a reminder of the life you were being forced into.

"You think you can escape your destiny?" Aurelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're just a foolish girl. This marriage is your only chance at a future."

You bit back a retort, knowing it would only fuel her smug superiority. Instead, you focused on the mirror in front of you, watching as she applied the final touches to your appearance. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable—a vision of beauty and elegance, but one that felt like a mask hiding your true self.

Once Aurelia finished, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You look perfect. Ready to be a proper bride."

You stood, your heart heavy with dread. The grand hall awaited, filled with guests and the weight of expectation. As you made your way towards it, you felt the walls closing in, your fate sealed with every step.

The hall was decorated with lavish flowers and banners, the scent of incense filling the air. Guests whispered and watched as you entered, their eyes following your every move. At the far end, Marcus Acacius stood, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The ceremony began with the priest’s voice, resonant and solemn, echoing through the hall. The guests fell into an expectant silence, the only sounds being the faint rustling of their silk garments and the distant clinking of goblets. The hall, lavishly adorned with ivy and flowers, seemed to shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow, casting shadows that danced like phantoms along the walls.

You stood at the altar, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The priest’s words, though intended to be a comfort, were like a dark incantation, each syllable wrapping around you tighter, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your fate. Your eyes flickered over to Marcus, standing with his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He looked every bit the powerful man he was rumored to be—tall, imposing, with a presence that commanded the room.

You recalled the whispers you had heard over the past months—the stories of Marcus Acacius. The tales were rife with speculation and fear, his name often mentioned in hushed tones. They spoke of a man whose ambition knew no bounds, whose cruelty was whispered about in every corner of Rome. Some said his eyes held a darkness that could see through to the soul, while others claimed he had a penchant for the macabre, often indulging in extravagant displays of power.

As the priest began the traditional vows, his voice a monotone murmur, you tried to focus, but the words blurred into a cacophony. "Do you, Marcus Acacius, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"

Marcus’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do," he said, his tone deep and commanding, sending shivers down your spine.

When it was your turn, the words caught in your throat, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I do," you managed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, the weight of your submission crushing your spirit.

The priest nodded, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As the priest declared you bound by law and faith, the room erupted into applause, the sound a thunderclap that seemed to echo off the very stones of the castle. Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, leading you down the aisle. The guests showered you with petals, their faces a blur of congratulations and forced smiles. You felt like a puppet, each step you took dictated by an invisible string.

The reception hall was a whirlwind of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats. Long tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous feasts, while musicians played melodies that mingled with the laughter and chatter of the guests. The hall’s high ceilings seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled like stars.

You clung to the edge of the hall, the laughter and music a distant hum, your mind wandering back to the dark tales you had heard of Marcus. The rumors were impossible to ignore: they spoke of his ruthless ambition, his cold demeanor, and his unsettling fascination with power. Some said his parties were a mask for darker pursuits, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into obscurity.

As Marcus moved through the crowd, his demeanor was that of a king—gracious yet commanding, his laughter rich and resonant. He was surrounded by his closest allies, men whose eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. They raised their goblets in his honor, their voices melding into a chorus of congratulatory toasts.

You stood near a heavy oak door, the cool stone beneath your fingers a reminder of the stark reality you now faced. The night was growing darker, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows casting an eerie glow on the festivities.

Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the door. It was one of the guards, his expression grave. "My lady, you mustn't go near that door. Your father has given strict orders. Any guard who aids your escape will be put to death."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. "What do you mean? You can’t be serious. There’s no way out of here. You���re all trapped too."

The guard’s eyes flickered with a mix of pity and resolve. "It’s true, my lady. Your father’s command is ironclad. He has spies everywhere. If you try to leave, he will know. And the consequences for anyone who helps you are severe."

A knot of fear and frustration tightened in your chest. "What do you expect me to do? Just stand here and pretend everything’s fine?"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm softening. "No, my lady. But perhaps you could find a way to make the best of this night. Try to speak to him, learn his intentions. There may be more to him than the rumors say."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, your mind spinning with the guard’s words. With a determined stride, you made your way through the crowd towards Marcus, who was leaning casually against a pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes were slightly glazed from the alcohol, but his gaze sharpened as he saw you approaching.

"Marcus," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I wanted to thank you for your help earlier today. I... I appreciate it."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You mean when you tried to flee?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

You forced a smile, trying to gauge his true nature. "I only wished for a moment of freedom. But I suppose that is behind us now."

Marcus took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom is a fleeting thing, my dear. But power... power is eternal. And together, we shall wield it."

Your stomach churned at his words, the rumors about him echoing in your mind. "Is that all you care about? Power?" you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.

His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You misunderstand me. Power is not an end, but a means. It ensures safety, prosperity, and control over one's destiny. Is that so terrible?"

You struggled to see past the image you had built of him. "I’ve heard things about you, Marcus. Dark things."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "People fear what they do not understand. Let them talk. What matters is that I have the means to protect those I care about."

His words, though seemingly sincere, did little to quell your doubts. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your father’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Honored guests!" he called out, drawing everyone’s attention. "The hour grows late, and it is time for my daughter and her new husband to retire to their bedchamber."

A murmur of approval and knowing smiles rippled through the crowd. Your heart raced, a mixture of dread and resignation filling you. Marcus extended his hand to you, his grip firm and possessive as he led you through the throng of guests towards the grand staircase.

As you ascended the stairs, the weight of your future bore down on you. You glanced back once, seeing the guests' faces fade into the distance, their laughter and conversations becoming a dull roar. When you reached the door of the bedchamber, Marcus paused, turning to face you.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have much to learn about each other."

You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yes, we do."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside, the room lit by the soft glow of candlelight. The bed, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to loom ominously in the center. Marcus closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding like a final seal on your fate.

As he moved closer, you felt a mix of fear and curiosity. This was the man you were now bound to, and despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a part of you that longed to understand him, to find the truth beneath the rumors.

"Let's start anew," he said, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you fear, put it aside. We are bound by more than words and vows. Let’s see where this path takes us."

You recoiled from his touch, your anger bubbling to the surface. "I'd rather fuck a pig than you," you spat, your voice dripping with venom. The shock on his face quickly morphed into a cold, calculating expression.

"You need to learn your place," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on your arm. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me, especially with your reputation."

You glared at him, your temper flaring. "Lucky? Is that what you think this is? A blessing? I know what people say about you, Marcus. They call you ruthless, a monster. I'd rather die than be your plaything."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak so boldly for someone in such a precarious position. But let me make something clear: you are mine now. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you in line."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You can't control me. I'll never submit to you."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Tell me, my bride, are you truly a virgin, or have your wild antics already sullied you?"

The question caught you off guard, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "How dare you—"

"Answer me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. "Are you a virgin?"

You clenched your fists, refusing to be cowed. "Yes, I am," you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. "Not that it's any of your business."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. "So, you are pure, despite everything. Interesting."

"You think you can just claim me like some prize?" you retorted, your voice rising. "I won't be your obedient little wife. I won't be another notch on your belt."

Marcus's expression hardened, his grip on your arm like iron. "You will be my wife, and you will learn to respect me. You don't know the first thing about power or survival. But you will."

"You don't scare me," you lied, your voice faltering slightly.

"Don't I?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "You should be scared. But perhaps you're just too stubborn to realize it."

"Stubborn?" you scoffed. "Is that what you call it when someone refuses to bow to a tyrant?"

His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he did something even more unexpected. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, passionate intensity.

You froze, your mind racing as his kiss deepened. There was a raw, undeniable heat between you, a clash of wills and desires. Your initial shock gave way to a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite name.

As his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, you found yourself responding, your body betraying your mind. The kiss was a battle, each of you struggling for dominance, neither willing to yield.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing. His eyes were dark and intense, a storm of emotions swirling within them. You stared back at him, defiance and confusion mingling in your gaze, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you like that."

His words, so out of character, only fueled your anger further. "Sorry?" you scoffed, pushing him back slightly. "You think a simple apology will make up for everything? For the way you've treated me, for the way you think you can just claim me?"

His jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't make up for it. But perhaps... perhaps we can find a way to understand each other."

You were silent for a moment, then your eyes narrowed. "Understand each other?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Understanding?"

A dark, reckless impulse surged within you. You grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. "You think you can control me?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You think you can just take what you want?"

Before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his again, this time with even more intensity. The kiss was fierce, a clash of wills and desires. You could feel the tension between you, the thin line between hate and something far more dangerous.

Marcus responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. The room seemed to spin as you lost yourself in the raw heat of the moment, your anger and frustration boiling over into something wild and unrestrained.

You broke the kiss, your breathing ragged. "You want me?" you demanded, your voice a low, challenging whisper. "Then take me."

His eyes blazed with desire and a hint of confusion. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Shut up," you snapped, pulling him closer. "No more talking. Just... take me."

With a growl, Marcus responded, his hands tearing at your clothes with a desperate urgency. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, and you pressed your bodies together, the heat of his skin igniting a fire within you.

"You're infuriating," he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And you," you retorted, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, "are a tyrant."

He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire, "I hate you. And I need to feel something other than this... this helplessness."

He captured your lips again, his kiss searing and demanding. "I hate you too," he whispered against your mouth, his hands roaming your body. "But I can't resist you."

The world outside ceased to exist as you gave in to the storm between you. Clothes fell away, and you were left exposed, vulnerable yet defiant. You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"You think you can control me?" you challenged, your voice breathless.

"I don't need to control you," Marcus replied, his hands gripping your hips. "I just need you."

Marcus brought his thumb to circle your clit, his rough touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned slightly, your head falling back in bliss. His voice teased you, dripping with arrogance. "What, haven’t you touched yourself before?"

You gasped, grinding down against the hard length of his cock straddled between your legs. His smirk faltered at your audacity. "Of course I have," you retorted, your voice edged with defiance, a spark of rebellion lighting your eyes.

Marcus gripped your hips, lifting you off him with ease before moving to sit back against the headboard, his arms casually behind his head in a display of smug dominance. "You want the virgin to do all the work?" you taunted, your eyes narrowing in displeasure as you crawled closer.

His smirk returned, darker this time. "The virgin, huh? That's what I get to call you now?" He paused, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "You're the one who's on me like a dog in heat."

You looked at him with a dark expression, sitting back on your thighs, your chest heaving with frustration and desire. With one hand, you began to caress his upper thigh, mimicking the movements you'd seen from the sex workers in your father's employ. Though inexperienced, you weren't ignorant; you'd read secret novels and asked questions of your father's mistresses. But nothing had prepared you for the raw reality of this moment.

"You know what to do?" he questioned a challenge in his eyes, his voice a low growl.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum on your tongue. The taste was oddly addictive. You wrapped your hand around his thick length, marveling at how it almost didn't fit in your grip. Steadying him, you licked the tip, eliciting a deep groan from him.

"Don't be shy," he patted your head condescendingly, his fingers tangling in your hair. Despite your nerves, you collected spit in your mouth and let it fall onto the tip of his cock, watching as he rubbed it around with a satisfied smirk.

You took the tip into your mouth, savoring the taste of his pre-cum, and groaned at the flavor. He moaned deeply as you sucked gently, guiding your head with his hand. You gagged slightly as you tried to take more of him in, your hand still gripping the base, your eyes watering with the effort.

"Spit on it," he commanded. You did as he asked, letting more saliva dribble onto his length. He patted your head again, a gesture both condescending and encouraging, and you resumed sucking, taking him deeper into your mouth. You gagged again, but he didn't let go, enjoying the sight of you struggling to accommodate his size.

"Come on," he urged, pulling you up to straddle his hips once more. You thought he was finally ready to take your virginity, the moment you'd both been building towards, but he surprised you. Gripping your hips with firm hands, he moved you so his face was between your thighs.

"What are you—" you began, but he cut you off, his lips attacking your clit with a fervor that stole your breath. He completed the arc with his tongue, taking your bud between his lips and sucking hard. You almost screamed, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Oh God," you moaned, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a predatory glint. "Marcus, baby… Marcus," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need and desperation.

He resumed his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You began to grind against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear, yet not nearly enough. The tension built rapidly, your orgasm approaching with a force that took you by surprise.

"Marcus!" you cried out, your fingers gripping his hair tightly as your body tensed and then shattered into a million pieces. He held your hips firmly to his face, lapping up every drop of your release as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue.

You fell back onto the bed, spent and trembling, and he crawled over you, his face slick with your essence. "Well, well," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features as he rubbed his cock against your still-sensitive pussy. "Are you all fucked out already?"

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

"You hear that?" His gruff voice asked, pulling you back to the present as his cock dragged from your cunt, pushing back in slowly. The squelch of him pushing deep inside you was loud, the sound of your arousal undeniable. You threw your head back, moaning his name.

"Yeah, you do," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Hear how wet you are?"

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, every scar and wrinkle telling a story, the grey in his beard adding to his rugged appeal. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

A moan escaped your lips as his thrusts grew more desperate, more hungry. He caught your wrists together in one of his big hands, pressing them down into the mattress with a grip that left no room for escape. Your thighs were splayed wide, almost uncomfortably so, pressed down by the width of his hips. His cock was splitting you open, and you were so impossibly wet that you could hear it every time he pushed back into you, a lewd squelching sound that only seemed to spur him on.

He grinned wildly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, don’t you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Only I can make you this wet, make you submit so completely."

You could only moan in response, your body arching beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. "Marcus," you whimpered, the intense pleasure making you delirious. Your mind was a haze of sensation, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a world where only he existed.

His grin softened slightly, a hint of something almost tender in his eyes as he looked down at you. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a low growl. His thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving home his dominance. "You're mine now."

You wanted to hate him, to deny the truth of his words, but with your body quivering beneath his, you knew he was right. You were his. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word claimed you, bound you to him in ways you had never imagined.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't get enough of you."

Your response was a garbled moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. His words, his touch, everything about him overwhelmed you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the coil of pleasure tightening in your belly, ready to snap.

He seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming even more deliberate, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough with his own need. "Let go. I want to feel you."

The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room, a testament to your surrender.

His weight pressed you into the mattress, his skin hot and slick against yours. You felt every throb of his heartbeat, every shudder of his breath. It was an intimacy you had never experienced before, raw and all-consuming.

As the waves of your shared climax ebbed, you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his body. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of passion.

As he lifted his head, his eyes met yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, but the softness in his expression was unexpected, almost tender.

"Well," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, "I guess the rumors were wrong. You're not a virgin after all." He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, not anymore."

You felt a flush of anger rise within you. "And what if I wasn't? What difference would it make to you?"

He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Just proves you're not as innocent as you pretend to be."

You pushed against his chest, forcing him to roll onto his side. "You're insufferable," you snapped, your breath still coming in short gasps. "You think you know everything, but you don't."

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe not everything. But I know enough."

You glared at him, the heat between you not entirely dissipated. "You don't know anything about me."

His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "I know you're stronger than you think. And I know you feel something for me, whether you want to admit it or not."

You scoffed, turning your head away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a shiver running down your spine. "Get over yourself," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your insides twist. "I could say the same to you."

You pushed at him again, trying to create distance, but he caught your wrists, holding them against the mattress. "Let go," you demanded, struggling against his grip.

"Not until you admit it," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Admit what?" you hissed, your anger flaring again.

"That you feel something for me," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

You glared at him, refusing to give in. "You're impossible."

He sighed, releasing your wrists and rolling onto his back. "Maybe I am. But so are you."

You lay there in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and palpable. Despite everything, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, the strange mix of hatred and desire that left you breathless and confused.

Finally, exhaustion began to creep in, your body heavy with the aftermath of your intense encounter. "This doesn't change anything," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned.

"Maybe not," he agreed, his tone equally soft. "But it's a start."

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you. "What do you want from me, Marcus?" you asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But I want to find out."

You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly comforting. "Then don't. Just sleep."

You turned onto your side, your back to him, trying to create some semblance of space. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from Marcus's body, the solid presence of him beside you. There was a strange sense of comfort in his nearness, an unexpected feeling of safety that contrasted sharply with the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay there, the exhaustion from the night's events slowly began to overtake you. Your muscles relaxed, and your breathing grew steady and slow. You felt the mattress shift slightly as Marcus moved closer, his arm draping over your waist in a possessive yet gentle gesture.

For a moment, you considered shrugging him off, but the weariness was too much. Instead, you let yourself sink into the feeling of his arm around you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back. It was oddly soothing, a stark reminder that despite the tumultuous start to your union, there was a potential for something more, something deeper.

"Goodnight," Marcus murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You hesitated before responding, the word barely a whisper. "Goodnight."

PART 2

[honourablejester]

I’m idly reading through 5e’s Guildmaster’s Guide to Ravnica, mostly the section on the ten guilds, because I enjoy reading about factions. And at the end of each guild section, they have a little box with the standard guild opinions on each of the other guilds, and some of them are fantastically bitchy. Like. Exquisitely bitchy. Each of the guilds has other guilds that they view either as ‘somewhat useful but just not us’ and other guilds they view as legitimate, competent threats, and then they all seem to have a couple of guilds that they’re just bitchy about. It’s fantastic.

Some of my favourite comments:

Azorius:

On the Golgari: "Their underground structures break numerous building regulations, but at least they fulfill their duties as garbage collectors."

(At least you’re doing your job. Your filthy, horrible job).

On the Rakdos: "An absolute blight on Ravnica. They are clowns who know nothing of culture and exist only to torment the functioning members of society."

(No pretences here, just seething hatred and condescension).

Boros:

On the Azorius: "Legalism. Arrogance. Hot air. The law in their hands is a bludgeon, and they use it to seize more power than they deserve."

(I just love ‘hot air!’. Arrogant douchebags who don’t do shit!)

On the Selesnya: "I almost envy the naiveté that leads them to retreat into their little communes and pretend they've built a just society."

(Wow, the condescension!)

Dimir:

On the Boros: "Not inherently dangerous. The true danger is that they'll drag down all we've worked for while chasing some romantic crusade. Continue to direct their righteous fury toward our strongest enemy—until the Boros threaten to become the strongest."

(Yes, yes, dear, just … go on a quest over there for me, would you?)

On the Izzet: "Even an overloaded, sizzled clock is still right twice a day. When Izzet experiments succeed, they can have unpredictable consequences for active missions. Their activities must be monitored at all times."

(Unfortunately, they don’t always blow up *just themselves*, and then we have to deal with it).

Golgari:

On the Izzet: "Perplexing. They are attracted to whatever flashes brightest and booms loudest. Their fascination with their toys will only hasten their own end."

(Idiots with ADHD who are distracted by the sparky boom booms).

On the Selesnya: "Their reverence for nature is the mark of immaturity and naiveté. They fear death, so they can't understand life. They can be dangerous when they fervently cling to their narrow-minded and inadequate view of life."

(Oof. Lots of people considering the Selesnya immature and naïve over here).

Gruul:

On the Rakdos: "The guild of fools. They waste their potential on acts of mockery while the real work of razing the city remains undone."

(Useless wastes of space who *could have been useful* if they put their minds to it).

On the Selesnya: "The Selesnya would coddle a wolf, teach it to fetch sticks, and call it a dog. We prefer to starve the wolf, let it hunt for its food, and make it a stronger wolf."

(Literally none of the other nature-based guilds have anything nice to say about the Selesnya, it’s amazing).

Izzet:

On the Boros: "All too often when we're on the verge of setting off a little explosion or a spell that tears a hole in reality, the Boros show up to spoil the fun."

(Just general spoilsports! It was only going to be a *small* explosion! Lighten up!)

On the Rakdos: "Steer clear of these senseless riot-fiends. Their enthusiasm is best appreciated from a distance."

(Just … leave them alone over there and don’t bother with them).

Orzhov:

On the Golgari: "Admirably resourceful and elegant, but tragically unhygienic. The swarmers may persist, as long as they don't try to force their aesthetic sensibilities on us."

(… ‘tragically unhygienic’. Wow. Lots of the guilds do condescension, but the Orzhov are *good* at it).

On the Gruul: "They know nothing of order and dignity, and therefore they serve little purpose as an organization."

(Again, just utterly useless. Just don’t bother).

Rakdos:

On the Dimir: "They crave secrets, but there's nothing they can get by eavesdropping that we won't freely scream at the top of our lungs. They lurk in the shadows trying to look mysterious, practically inviting our mischief."

(Aw, sweetie, would you like a trench coat so you can play spy some more? They’re just so condescending here).

On the Izzet: "Every performance benefits from prop masters and pyrotechnicians. They can be useful backstage, but they lack the charisma for the spotlight."

(Oof. Nice toys, darling, but you mustn’t let yourself be *seen*, you know.)

Selesnya:

On the Golgari: "They wallow in filth and rot, too preoccupied with death to appreciate the bliss of life's connections."

(The Golgari just get generally shat on, both figuratively and entirely literally, by basically everyone. They have a dirty job! That doesn’t mean they’re worthless!)

On the Gruul: "They are a desperate echo of what they should be, reaching blindly toward something greater. Such a waste. And a smelly, unreasonable, destructive one at that."

(Amusingly, the Selesnya, despite being a nature guild, just don’t seem to like dirty things. I love that with the Gruul, they start out all philosophical, and then just devolve at the end into ‘and they’re smelly and I don’t like them’).

Simic:

On the Azorius: "An absurd and inelegant construct, forever trapped in a maze of their own making. They would outlaw evolution if they could. And if any of them truly seek utopia, the rest are far too busy shuffling papers to notice. Avoid their attention at all costs."

(‘Far too busy shuffling papers to notice’. Oof.)

On the Izzet: "The Izzet have spent ten thousand years mimicking the appearance of research, producing more pyrotechnics than progress. Surely that is a performance to rival the Rakdos."

(… Ouch. The Simic are *bitchy*. Shots fired in science-land over here!)

-----------

It is just fabulous. The amount of seething contempt and condescension and generalised disdain in these sections is amazing and so much fun.

[wormwoodandhoney]

heey laura!! may i ask/request you books that "warm the heart" bc the world is so chaotic that i need a getaway, like asap hehehe or a cozy vibes, kindness, you know?? *sighs* i need that hehe

absolutely!! i ADORE cozy, so this will actually be hard to narrow down. i'm not sure what genre of cozy you want, because cozy transcends genre, so here's a little bit of everything! if there's a specific genre you want, let me know!

fantasy & sci fi

the very secret society of irregular witches by sangu mandanna is one of my all time favorite books. about a lonely witch who is hired by a found family to teach their three young witches.

legends & lattes by travis baldree is the definitive cozy fantasy, about an orc who opens a coffee shop. very little plot, mostly vibes.

a proper dragon by eb wheeler is a regency fantasy romance with dragons.

a psalm for the wild-built and it's sequel by becky chambers is about a tea monk who meets a robot looking for the answer to the question "what does humanity need?"

romance

the banned bookshop of maggie banks by shauna robinson in which maggie agrees to help a friend run her bookshop in a small town dedicated to a historical author, in which the town's rules only allows books by this historical author or his contemporaries to be sold. maggie starts a secret, underground book club. maggie herself learns to love reading when she makes a deal with the handsome town grumpy man, who agrees to step out of his comfort zone if she reads his recommendations.

the neighbor favor by kristina forest is about a shy bookworm who asks her handsome neighbor for dating advice, not realizing he is the author she's been anonymously emailing.

you should see me in a crown by leah johnson is about a teen girl who reluctantly joins the race for prom queen in order to get a scholarship, and begins to fall for another girl in the competition.

the miniscule mansion of myra malone by audrey burges is about an agoraphobic woman who blogs about the creation of her beautiful dollhouse, only to get a confused email from a young man who lives in an exact, real-life replica of the dollhouse.

general fiction

someone else's shoes by jojo moyes is about two very different women who accidentally switch bags (and some very important shoes).

a man called ove by frederick backman is about a very grumpy old man who reluctantly befriends his new, chatty neighbors.

remarkably bright creatures by shelby van pelt is about a grumpy old octopus who reluctantly befriends his new, chatty human janitor.

i'm gonna stop there, but if you want more cozy genres (mystery, the controversial concept of "cozy horror", or i could even see if i could get cozy nonfiction), hit me up!

[iibonniee]

Sweetest Devil Chapter One

Pairing: MafiaBoss!Minhyuk x Fem!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: threatening, mentions of violence

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist | Tags: @scuzmunkie

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the partially closed bedroom curtains and creating a serene and contemplative atmosphere. A cool breeze whispered through the city’s narrow streets, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and anticipation that managed to make its way between the barely shut window and into the spacious bedroom. In this darkness, the clandestine world of organized crime thrived, hidden beneath the surface of law and order.

Closely intertwined with the planned economy, there existed a vast underground economy comprising a spectrum of semi-legal and simply illegal activities involving state enterprises and households.

At the heart of this underworld stood Lee Minhyuk, a man shrouded in mystery and power. His iron grip stretched far and wide, his influence penetrating every facet of the city’s affairs. His reach knew no bounds, from the black market to the political arena. With caution in the enforcement of the criminal code slackening and the severity of punishment meted out softening, members of the nomenclature became, in association with organized crime, more and more involved in the underground economy, tapping a source of extra income and wealth. Misuse of privileges and power for personal enrichment, bribery, corruption, and economic criminality became commonplace among the ruling elite. 

Everything was always easy for Minhyuk. Everything was handed to him on a golden plate, feeding well into the world of privilege from a young age due to the stature and status of his father. His father, a prominent businessman, was the owner of a massive corporation, which served as a successful front for his actual operations within the mafia. The front of a well-known and highly respected company shadowed the illegal activities under its name.

Minhyuk grew up in a castle of denials. The days revolved around high-society engagements, elite schooling, and a future tied to a flourishing corporate legacy. Still, the flashes of raw power, the late-night secretive meetings, and the silenced whispers hinted at the reality hidden beneath their opulent lifestyle.

As Minhyuk matured and began to grasp the dual aspects of his father’s world, a sense of ambition and thirst for power started growing within him. However, it was not simply a handed-down legacy he desired but a footprint he yearned to create, his own legacy built on the foundation of power, fear, and respect.

And fear he created.

It was all too easy for Minhyuk. Everything was all planned and calculated the moment his father spoke to him while he was on his deathbed. Each plan was written in fine ink, ready to be put into play when given the proper chance. 

His manipulation of the power dynamics within the city was masterful, and instilling fear within his enemies became an integral part of his strategy. With the resources of the massive corporation at his disposal and a network of loyal individuals bred in the dog-eat-dog ethos of the mafia, he devised viably sinister ways of marking his territory. Word soon spread about the consequences of crossing paths with the young corporation leader, chilling tales that were sure to make even the most seasoned criminals think twice.

He mastered the art of psychological warfare by using calculated and detailed plans. He would watch and study his enemies, understanding their habits, weaknesses, and fears. He was the proverbial hunter, lurking in the shadows, observing his prey before making a move.

His preferred methodology was not necessarily immediate physical harm. Instead, he found joy in the slow dance of fear, letting his enemies sleep with the constant dread of an impending strike. He would leave his signature marks on their daily lives in places they wouldn’t expect, indicating that he was close, watching, and waiting. This induced paranoia turned their lives into a continuous nightmare, always fearful of when and where Minhyuk would strike next.

However, he was confident when the right time came to take action. It was a combination of cruelty and precision. Strikes would occur when they were least expected, ensuring the maximum psychological impact. He chose methods that would not just physically impair but that were designed to break the spirit.

His rule was a chess game, with every piece moving according to his plan and every opponent dancing to his tune. The dominion of fear was his kingdom, and he commanded it with awe-inspiring ease. He would only accept a deal if he knew everything about the company involved—its ins and outs, strengths and weaknesses. His knowledge of the workings of other companies was extensive. Beyond their financial statements and market position, he found a way to learn their most guarded secrets and their most critical vulnerabilities. 

He could easily take a company out if he cut off its lifelines, manipulated its networks, and turned its strengths into weaknesses. He could orchestrate the downfall of any entity he set in his sights. Whether it was a hostile takeover in the boardroom or a quietly executed maneuver in the market, he could crumble an empire with just a word or a pen stroke.

So he was ready when the call came from his rival, Taehyung. Taehyung might have been the head of a formidable empire. Still, Minhyuk saw only z chessboard, with his pieces primed for the checkmate. To Taehyung, it was a call for negotiation. Still, to Minhyuk, who had long since been studying Taehyung’s empire inside and out, it was an open invitation to initiate his detailed plan of destruction.

The phrase “making a deal with the devil” has a chilling resonance in the world that Minhyuk commanded. His peers were all too aware that entering a pact with him was a dangerous game. Minhyuk’s endgame was never in doubt: total dominance and the scent of fear lingering in the air. Whether it was in gleaming corporate boardrooms or murky underworld meetings, the name Minhyuk spelled a silent, impending doom.

He fostered relationships only to exploit them; he formed alliances only to break them when the odds turned in his favor. His uncanny talent to predict market trends, control financial ebbs, and anticipate his competitor’s moves underlined the fear he commanded. His rival firms understood the cost of crossing paths with him, for his punishments were legendary, as severe as they were swift, inducing a sense of living peril in those who dared to defy him.

No one dared to retaliate, for the rising tide of fear was overwhelming. This was Minhyuk’s world, his rules, and his game. When the word ‘deal’ was mentioned in association with Minhyuk, it signified not negotiation but surrender, not partnership but submission. Such was his reputation that even the audacious and resilient were wary, for they knew that those who danced with the devil eventually got burned. Every deal was a masterstroke in his favor, and each chess move brought him closer to absolute domination, upholding his reign of fear and power.

After all, everyone knew that their company was practically his once they made a deal with Minhyuk. 

The transfer of power was subtle yet absolute. Their independent operations would gradually be infused with Minhyuk’s influence until his dominion became inevitable. They were, in effect, handing over the keys of their empire to him, subdued by his power dynamics and shaken by his ruthless strategies.

Over the span of a year, Minhyuk’s influence began to grow at a pace few could match. As each month passed, so did the transfer of yet another company under his rule. Companies, once rivals, turned to allies, then gradually turned into chess pieces in his grand game of corporate warfare.

What started as fear turned into an uncontested rule of Minhyuk over most of the business empire in the city. And to those who thought they could weather the storm without repercussions, time soon revealed that none could evade the expanding shadow of Minhyuk’s influence. His strategic and relentless pursuit of dominance rendered him an irresistible force, and he rose quickly with an authority that was impossible to deny or defy. The trail left in his wake was one marked with the remnants of fallen empires and thriving ones that now bore his brand.

Accepting a deal with Minhyuk was a surrender to his rule and a testament to his strategy of control, a silent acknowledgment of the reality that had come to be: the reign of Minhyuk.

That was why when Minhyuk got the call from Taehyung, someone he had been studying for far too long, slowly watching in the darkness how his company slowly crumbled around him, he was far too thrilled to deny the chance at taking what should be his.

He remembered it as a meeting where Taehyung, once a fiery competitor, begged for help. His rival’s empire was teetering on the brink, collapsing under its own weight, and Taehyung was desperate to save it. He didn’t realize that by inviting Minhyuk in, he was unwittingly accelerating his own downfall.

At this meeting, he met Y/N, a sharp-witted, stern-faced individual who avoided hiding her disdain for him. From the first moment, Y/N’s eyes made it clear she was unimpressed and semi-aware of his reputation. But Minhyuk was enticed. For the first time in a long time, someone dared to challenge him and dared to look him in the eye without flinching. Y/N sparked a thrill within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time—an exciting prospect of a chase. 

His fascination with Y/N, however, didn’t distract him. For him, this meeting was a clear indicator of the scope of his victory. It reinforced his belief in an inevitable future where Taehyung’s company wasn’t just allied with him but firmly within his grasp, yet another chess piece in his grand scheme.

He had plans for her. He knew all too well the type of relationship Taehyung had with her. He was there to break that, too.

The moment the large oak doors shut behind him was when Minhyuk’s dark eyes met Taehyungs for the first time. Minhyuk didn’t try to hide the wicked grin slowly inching his face. Taehyung had signed off on the rights to what he and his family had built when he called Minhyuk.

Minhyuk waited a second longer, letting the silence permeate the room, emphasizing his superiority, before he finally leaned back, steeping his fingers in front of him.

“Here’s what I propose,” he began, his tone taking on a deadly serious edge. “Your company has potential, but it is sinking fast. I can provide the necessary resources to keep it afloat. In return, 70% of the profits go into my corporation. You can keep the remaining 20%.”

Taehyung whitened at the figures, but before he could voice his protests, Minhyuk cut him off, his voice icy calm. “I understand it might sound extreme, but let’s be honest. 20% of something is better than 100% of nothing. Besides, it’s your only viable option unless you want to witness the final collapse of your empire.”

The room fell silent again, the hidden threat hanging heavy in the air. Minhyuk continued, “One last thing, Taehyung. You attempt to cross me even once; you try to stab me in the back, and you will soon grasp the reality of regret. This is not an alliance of equals. You came to me. Remember that.”

Faced with the stark reality of his situation, Taehyung nodded his understanding. The look in his eyes had shifted from desperation to resignation; the reality of his impending loss was settling in. His empire was on the brink of becoming another pawn in Minhyuk’s game. The reign of Minhyuk had crept closer, consuming his world.

“Do we have a deal, Taehyung?”

“Well, under the circumstances, it appears I have little choice but to say yes-” he started, trying to inject some confidence into his voice with a snide remark on the tip of his tongue. Taehyung swallowed uncertainly, his bravado fading fast under Minhyuk’s unwavering gaze.

But Minhyuk quickly cut him off, his icy stare boring holes into Taehyung. “This is not the time for your wit, Taehyung. Do we have a deal or not?” His tone was chillingly calm, a stark contrast to the underlying threat his words carried. “Or else I will just walk away and watch you fall with your terrible company. After all, it will make more room for me to grow.”

Humbled, Taehyung took a deep breath and sullenly responded. “Yes, we have a deal.”

The reins of his once-thriving empire were being handed over to his rival, Minhyuk, and the price this alliance would cost was not lost on him. His snarkiness was a luxury he could no longer afford. As the reality of his situation sank in, Taehyung could feel the walls of his world crumbling under the reign of Minhyuk.

But Minhyuk was never stupid. Minhyuk knew the second he walked out of the doors, Taehyung would stab him in the back when given the right time. It didn’t take long for it to happen. Taehyung had thought he was smart with his actions, believing that Minhyuk was unaware of the underhand dealings he was scheming. Taehyung underestimated Minhyuk once again.

Minhyuk’s network was vast and wide, and whispers of Taehyung’s treachery reached him quickly. Hidden sources and embedded spies in strategic positions were all orchestrated to monitor Taehyung’s every move. Such subterfuge was pitiful, child’s play to Minhyuk. Minhyuk was aware of every whispered agreement in shadowy corners, veiled threat, and secret alliance Taehyung attempted to forge.

Unbeknownst to Taehyung, his betrayal was not a surprise but an awaited step in Minhyuk’s grand design. As he continued weaving the illusion of getting away with his actions, Minhyuk watched. But just as Taehyung had a knife aimed at his back, Minhyuk was ready with an entire artillery. With each passing day, as Taehyung sunk deeper into his deception, Minhyuk meticulously laid out his countermeasures. The impending downfall of Taehyung’s empire was merely a matter of time.

The dawn broke through the horizon as the sun began its daily ascent, slowly but determinedly painting the sky with orange, red, and pink hues. The chilly morning breeze danced through the open windows, carrying the sweet, tantalizing scent of blooming flowers from the courtyard. In these quiet, tranquil moments of dawn, the world seemed still, almost at peace.

Minhyuk, already busy since the sun started to rise, took a moment to appreciate the scenic transition from moonlight to sunrise before his concentration was interrupted. Three harsh knocks on his room door echoed in the still morning air, an important sound not lost on him. He knew what those three harsh knocks meant.

Instinctively, he put down his work, knowing that the rhythm of those knocks signaled urgent matters. Changkyun entered, holding a tablet tightly in his hands. His face was tense, lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes filled with a seriousness that immediately erased any notions of tranquility Minhyuk enjoyed a moment ago.

“You need to see this,” Changkyun said gravely, nudging the tablet in front of Minhyuk.

Even before Changkyun uttered another word, Minhyuk could see that it was something serious. His heart pounding in his ears, he took the tablet into his hands and pressed play.

The video started playing—silently, in black and white. It was grainy and shaky but unmistakably Taehyung. He was darting his eyes left and right as though checking for any watchers, and then he slipped into a building with a man Minhyuk recognized as one of his own associates.

“There’s audio, too.” Changkyun hinted, and Minhyuk turned the volume up. The incriminating conversation left no room for misunderstandings or assumptions. Taehyung was plotting against him and trying to sway his loyal personnel.

Bitter fury surged through his veins as he processed the video. The tranquil morning was tainted now, replaced with the harsh reality of the day. Minhyuk looked up at Changkyun, anger in his eyes but determination etched into his features, “It’s time I paid Taehyung a visit.”

Minhyuk’s entrance was as authoritative as his presence. The oak doors echoed a resounding bang as he thrust them open, their magnificence untamed, mirroring his determination. The Study, bathed in a subdued morning light, seemed engulfed in an uncanny silence, a sharp contrast to the storm that was about to unleash.

The absence of Taehyung’s secretary was evident, a small element that didn’t escape Minhyuk’s notice. A smirk played at the edges of his lips. This was confirmation, confirmation that his visit was indeed causing a ripple.

His eyes, blazing with fury, slowly took in the details of the room, eventually resting on Taehyung. Seated at his sprawling desk, Taehyung looked up - the interruption unexpected.

Taehyung’s initial surprise flickered into recognition as he met Minhyuk’s dark gaze. The foreboding look - burning, intense, burdened with accusation - made Taehyung stiffen subtly.

The tension, thick and tangible, enveloped the room. Added to the deafening silence that filled the air, the atmosphere felt palpable and ominous. It was clear - peace wouldn’t be a guest here for long.

“You know, when I make a second visit, it usually leads to the other party with a bullet in their head and the full fall of their company,” Minhyuk began, slowly walking towards Taehyung’s desk. “You can explain yourself to me right now, and I may find it within myself to forgive you, or I can watch you make up some sort of shitty lie to try to excuse this.”

A tablet crashed onto the desk, causing the silence to scatter for a fleeting moment as Minhyuk sat across from him. The playback immediately shows Taehyung in a confidential conversation with one of Minhyuk’s employees. The voices were hushed, but the audio was crystal clear.

The sharp intake of breath from Taehyung gave away his surprise at being confronted with undeniable proof of his deceit. Minhyuk looked at him, his gaze piercing and full of scorn.

“Play your game, Taehyung, and let’s see how far these lies carry you,” he said, his tone loaded with pure contempt. The threat, while implicit, was clear. This was not an idle visit. It was a reckoning. “If you think I wasn’t aware the second you tried going behind my back, you’re wrong. If you think I was stupid not to notice that I was only getting 65%, I can assure you, you’re wrong.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, a sound all the more sinister given the tense atmosphere. He met Minhyuk’s gaze squarely, not a sliver of fear in his eyes. “You always were a smart one, Minhyuk,” he mused, his voice steady as he leaned back in his chair.

“But here’s where you’re mistaken,” Taehyung continued, his grin striking a sharp contrast with his chilling words. “I never once thought you pointless. On the contrary, I counted on it.” His gaze held Minhyuk’s, his tone calm as he played with the edge of a silver pen. “Make no mistake, Minhyuk. I didn’t steal from you out of desperation. I did it because I knew I could.”

His defiant laughter echoed through the room, the sound as chilling as his cold, calculated gaze. His words held an audacious certainty, a cocky defiance that suggested he was not scared of his reveal. “So let’s continue this little game of ours, Minhyuk. After all, the grand finale is always the most thrilling part.”

Minhyuk’s expression turned cold, a silent warning to Taehyung. “Do consider this,” he began, every word laced with an ice-cold venom. “That grand finale of yours might not be as thrilling as you think if all you have left is a scorched empire.”

He leaned forward, giving Taehyung a piercing look that could cut through the hardest of stones. “Your bravado seems to have blinded you to the truth of your situation. Would I let something like that be brushed under a rug? My involvement in your company was the best thing that happened to it. And your games? They gave me the perfect reason to back away.”

Minhyuk straightened in his chair, his eyes never leaving Taehyung’s as he slowly smirked, playing his cards perfectly well. “I have enough information to expose every shady detail of your operations to the public. I could watch your empire crumble from up close or from afar. And you know I’m capable of both.”

The room fell ominously silent. The grin on Taehyung’s face vanished as he began to comprehend the gravity of his situation. His playful demeanor began to fade, replaced with a desperate realization. As the meaning of Minhyuk’s words settled, the audacious, fearless man was reduced to silence. A silence that spoke volumes.

“So I’m going to be generous just this once because I find it awfully amusing that you think you can get your way. I’ll continue to help your shitty company, but in return, I now get 95% of your earnings, and your secretary is mine.”

Minhyuk’s words seemed to echo in the room, reverberating off the sleek marble floors and the imposing bookshelves lined with countless achievements of Taehyung’s ill-gained empire. The silence followed was heavy, hanging in the air with a tangible presence, like the calm before a storm.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere was startling. Gone was the cocky playfulness that had so far characterized Taehyung’s demeanor. Instead, what followed was a quiet realization, dread seeping into his eyes that had once held defiant certainty. His proud posture slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to bear the weight of Minhyuk’s piercing gaze.

Minhyuk went to sit in the high-back leather chair, an arm casually draped over the armrest, his expression calm but his eyes displaying an evident victory. Not a word was uttered, but the message was clear. His proposition was not up for negotiation.

“Consider it as a small price to pay for the grand finale,” Minhyuk added after what felt like an eternity, breaking the silence. His gaze flickered to the grand chandelier hanging above, its crystal droplets reflecting the dim lighting of the room, then back to Taehyung. “Or, if you prefer, enjoying your last day in this office. I can picture-”

“Wait,” Taehyung’s voice hit the air sharply, like an arrow slicing through the tense atmosphere. The casual mention of Y/N had him now on high alert. His demeanor shifted, desperation tinging his voice. “Y/N has nothing to do with this!”

Minhyuk laughed, his low laughter echoing tauntingly in the room. “Oh, but she does,” he said, the glint in his eyes accentuating the chandelier’s dim light. “She’s your right hand, isn’t she? Someone, it seems you go to a lot. Losing her would hurt.”

Taehyung clenched his fists, his earlier cockiness replaced by a determined fierceness. “You can take my earnings, Minhyuk. Take 99% if you want, but keep Y/N out of this!”

But Minhyuk only shook his head, his entire demeanor radiating finality as he looked Taehyung directly in the eye. “Ninety-five percent of your earnings, and Y/N works for me. That’s not up for negotiation, Taehyung.” His words rang out, the final note of a song that signaled the beginning of the end for Taehyung’s reign. The end of his dialogue leaves the room held high in oppressive silence. “Either way, she’ll be working with me. It’s completely up to you where you find yourself in this spot.”

Taehyung sat there, forcibly trying to swallow back his anger as he processed Minhyuk’s final words. His defiance slowly gave way to a cold resignation. He knew he had no cards left to play. Minhyuk had trapped him in a corner, and all paths led to the same outcome.

With a defeated sigh, he managed a nod, the action almost imperceptible. “Fine,” he murmured, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “Y/N... Y/N works for you.” His voice felt hoarse, threatening to crack. He could barely meet Minhyuk’s gaze as he admitted his defeat. “You win.”

Minhyuk’s face broke into a cruel smirk, a gleam of satisfaction twinkling in his eyes.

“Great!” he chimed, clapping his hands together. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” He leaned back in his chair, gazing at Taehyung with unwavering confidence. “Call her in, tell her it’s important. Then, fire her.” His voice was icy as he instructed Taehyung, devoid of any empathy or regret. “If you say anything about our little deal... I’ll fucking kill you.”

This was a game, and Minhyuk was savoring his victory.

Minhyuk’s words rang in the silence that hung heavily for a moment. Minhyuk was precisely where he needed to be. He could read Taehyung’s face so easily.

Straightening his suit, Minhyuk strode confidently out of the office, his neat footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. He slipped out into the cool embrace of the outdoors, the early evening air crisp and fresh. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, nimble digits typed in a number he knew by heart—a contact he rarely called but one that held significant importance to his plans.

“Everything’s in place,” his voice was assured, filled with the finality their agreement held, as he indulged in a brief conversation. His eyes flicked towards the grand building he had just exited, his lips twisting into a satisfied smirk. This brief respite, secretive in nature, only served to fuel his sense of anticipation. “Make sure you are always a step ahead. I can’t have you slacking on me.”

The call ended briskly, leaving only the faint hum of the city around him. His thumb scanned over the illuminated screen before submerging his device back into the safety of his pocket. The gears had been set in motion—all there was left was to savor the unraveling of his carefully woven plan.

Upon re-entering the building, Minhyuk noticed a fresh presence. Y/N, Taehyung’s secretary, had finally arrived at the office. Taehyung, upon her arrival, had promptly pulled her into his office, closing the door behind them.

With a dismissive shrug, Minhyuk moved to Y/N’s vacated desk, lowering himself into her seat. He glanced around briefly before his gaze landed on her personal phone, left unattended on the polished wooden surface. An unbidden smirk curled on his lips as he reached for it—snooping wasn’t usually his style, but the situation demanded a bit of dirty play from him. As he began to skim through her files and messages, his smirk only grew wider as he read her incoming messages.

Upon the distinct sound of the office door creaking open and resonating shut with an echoing thud, Minhyuk lifted his gaze. His eyes locked onto Y/N, who had just entered the room, her face etched with surprise upon detecting an unexpected presence. A slow, treacherous smirk crept its way onto Minhyuk’s face as he reclined leisurely in Y/N’s usually occupied seat, the creak of the leather chair blending seamlessly with the palpable tension.

Minhyuk gave a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement as he tapped onto her phone. “Your phone has been going off like crazy. Your friend Joohyun wants to know where you went, and Kihyun... he wanted to know where you went too.” He narrated with a teasing grin, his voice carrying a deceptively smooth charm.

Her retort was instantaneous, the sharpness of her delivery slicing through the tension like an icy dagger. “Fuck you,” she spat out, enunciating each word with a venom that only heightened his amusement. Her face was hardened, and her teeth gritted together in a mix of defiance and infuriation.

As she marched over with hurried steps, Minhyuk met her with a smirk. She reached for her phone and kept it in his possession, but much to her surprise, he had other plans. His grip latched onto her wrist, a vice-like hold preventing her from pulling away. His eyes didn’t waver from her surprised expression.

“I think you should be nice to your new boss, Y/N. After all, I could be leaving you to fend for yourself. Business is an ugly thing.” He advised smoothly. His tone was cold, laced with a chilling sincerity.

The more she tugged, the tighter his grasp grew in response. It was a silent but potent display of his seriousness.

“You’re hurting me…” she murmured, her voice reduced to a mere whisper. 

“And you hurt me when you don’t respect me.” he countered, his gaze boring into hers.

Releasing her abruptly, he watched the quick flicker of her eyes. He could see her check for any residue of his harsh grip - any bruise he might have left - with a mixture of fear and relief on her face when she found none.

“I’ll see you Monday at 8,” he spoke nonchalantly, shifting his focus back onto her. “Do not be late.”

Minhyuk’s face transformed into a triumphant smirk as he watched her storm off, her swift strides punctuated with righteous anger. He continued to watch as she disappeared into the elevator, the soft ding of its arrival doing nothing to dissipate the stiff silence left in her wake. The swiftly closing doors served as a temporary barrier, obstructing their shared visual tête-à-tête. Yet the intensity of her piercing glare was etched vividly in his mind.

Once he was left alone in the gently humming silence of the now-empty office, he withdrew his phone from his pocket. His fingers danced swiftly over the keys, composing a succinct message to an anonymous recipient. ‘You better keep an eye on her,’ he typed, his smirk never leaving his lips as he dispatched the message into the digital ether. Minhyuk was content with the knowledge that his plan was smoothly unfolding, step by step, inevitably.

[spearxwind]

I really love the idea of bunker cities in broken horizon but you mentioned that the storms are basically extremely powerful hurricanes. This means they must be leaving behind huge flooded areas wherever they go, and that water must be a huge load on the walls of a bunker city whenever it does happen. How do they deal with that? Where does the water go? does it drain rapidly into aquifers and rivers or does it sit and stagnate? if it stagnates, do bugs become a problem? do the cities have canals and other earthworks projects to make the water drain faster? And also, the cities themselves must act as massively complex machines in order to be able to switch from bunkers to regular cities. How do they maintain that? Or is it just that they build in a way that creates a storm-resistant city, such as with very hard and durable materials and with narrow, easily sheltered streets without using many moving parts? do the bunker cities have permanent walls such as those used throughout history? How do these bunker cities have electricity or plumbing while keeping those utilities within the bunker? How do they deal with the toxic gas buildup (such as CO and CO2 and CH4) that would surely result from enclosing an industrialized city in a giant box? or are they not an industrial society?

Oh these are great questions the most of which I hadn't given thought to (yet anyways haha)

The hurricanes DO leave floods, however cities are built with extremely robust drainage systems. They've honed and maintained the systems for hundreds of years under these heavy storms. The cities are built on relatively high ground so that the water has places to go specifically to avoid stagnation. However in the penninsula the temperatures are pretty low, so bugs aren't that huge of a problem. The walls are also significantly slanted to reduce the pressure of the impacts on it.

The cities have giant walls that move into place to protect the buildings underneath whenever a storm approaches and armors it against the downpour. Yes they have huge machines in place for that but they are far from complex as the more complex they are the more prone to failure they are. They've kept the technology for that as simple as possible, and put their advancements elsewhere. Still, because of this necessity, the buildings in cities arent very high, and a significant portion of the walkable areas are underground (so the buildings you see would be like, the "surface" level of the city). It is ample enough that no one is ever missing out on sunlight or outside time <3

They do have electricity and plumbing, it's one of the biggest advantages of living in the cities as opposed to out in the world. Like I said, they're very robust. Ventilation as well, there isnt any trouble keeping gas from building up and bringing fresh air inside

The city is somewhat industrialized (they're where overland vehicles and other machines are made) but the factory areas are separated from the living areas, and even if there was a lot of emissions they would have been built in a way where it wasnt harmful to the citizens. They want to keep people in, not drive them out or kill them off.

I don't have more technical answers because I am not an architect or a physicist to think of every detail but I did put some thought into it ^^

None of these cities are old cities, all of those got destroyed. These all got built post-storm era (somehow!!) and have been maintained since. It was impossible to adapt the older cities and had to be rebuilt from the ground up.

[redhammermanifesto]

A spectre of justice is haunting Hurston: part two

/25 February 2954/

Ghosts in a cave on a Hurston-owned moon / by Svalbard Sleeper District / licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Meet the people creating little flickers of light in the darkness of Stanton corporatocracy

Sitting in a tiny, less-than-attractive hotel room in an indistinct district south of Area 11 on ArcCorp, you appreciate how these monstro-cities make their residents feel small and insignificant. Looking out from lower-level layers of towering megacities, these hotels were not built for anyone from higher echelons of the society even when they were first conceived. But now, after one upper stratum after another has been added above them during the top-heavy orientation of city-building over decades, they have become little more than a backdrop that helps notice the vertical depth of residential urban areas from above.

A chair, a small sofa, a narrow bed, a few desk spaces, some shelves on the wall and a modest cutout for a limited wardrobe are all crammed into these cheap rooms, where the "cheap" is more reflective of the quality than the price. I am not complaining though – the less comfortable the place you are staying, the less conspicuous your stay here. And I am not looking to catch any radar waves after the recent events. If there is one positive to the corporate ownership of this forsaken solar system, it is the relaxed manner in which their resentful attitude toward each other grants someone who has "transgressed" against one of them the ability to move into the jurisdiction of another and find if not a safe haven, then at least a local power that looks away from the visits of "radicals".

A reminder of my own transgressions is in this room with me. A beautiful little plant I received from a friend of A and E when she met me after last week's developments. The former two did not want to risk another absence from their warehouse shifts, but they sent messages of gratitude and this little present with their colleague. She told me the plant had been cared for by a worker who died from health complications a few months ago. I appreciate the symbolism of the gift, and the presence of this little planter life, as a reminder of a bit of justice we administered a week ago.

This plant was nurtured by an HD worker who recently passed away from health complications. It is now a reminder of all workers we are here to help / by Svalbard Sleeper District / licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

In the week since then, I have come to learn more about the Ghosts – collectively and individually. And I have also met their allies, including two people I have valued since our time together in a former group years ago. I asked them to put into words little insights into who they are, their journeys to the present, and their thoughts on the dynamic of power and injustice in the state we live under.

I have now brought all of their stories with me to this place, away from the eyes of the security offices of a certain corporation, to put them into writing and document what I see as the most promising emancipatory group in this solar system. Some of the names have been amended at their request, and some of them opted out of sharing more elaborate details on past events, for understandable reasons.

In my first round of conversations, I was in touch with those who became Ghosts out of fully ideological convictions. They either saw the inner workings of the state-corporate machine, and their outcomes for working-class people, early, or adopted their political viewpoints later in their careers or lives, and are now developing them in their work with GoA.

Profile: Ghost

"I come from the original colonists of Aberdeen before the UEE sold the system and its worlds to corporations. After the environmental destruction performed on Aberdeen by Hurston Dynamics, when the survivors remained in isolated communities underground, I ran away as a child, escaped to Hurston and used fake identities and illegal work to survive in the slums of Lorville. After working for Hurston Dynamics under a fake identity at 17, I fabricated another to join the UEEN and become a Citizen. I used my experience in the Navy to learn about the technology and tactics of the UEE e-warfare and communications capabilities. And I also had experience and skill in manipulating the corporate side when working on Lorville – stealing data, disappearing, getting a new name, etcetera.

After leaving service at 21, I returned to Aberdeen to discover my clan had been discovered and murdered by HD just weeks after I ran away as a child.

My judgements of the UEE and of the corporate state entities of Stanton had been long-established since childhood. However, these were immature in comparison to the technical grasp. How government works, how it can be manipulated, that sort of thing. These were all expanded into adulthood, especially while working on Lorville and during the UEEN service. [With the formation of GoA by myself and Scum] the more strangers we met and helped, the more stuck around and saw our cause as something worth fighting for. Disparate hearts and lonely wanderers who had either felt first-hand the crushing reality of life in the UEE, or saw it from a distance. Both types wanting it gone.

[When GoA was established to address the injustices of corporate persecution of indigenous Aberdeen communities] the survivors were small, scattered communities who luckily had access and the idea to utilise the mines and cave systems [on the moon]. For this reason, they are not a unified people, [but] GoA has done work to remedy this. We regularly provide food, medicine and more to the clans, however they are wary of outsiders and many are unapologetic about attacking anyone they see – not all bother to make a distinction between corporations mining their moon versus a worker. They don't know the difference. GoA tries to build highly secretive networks on Aberdeen among its cooperative clans to provide them the means to survive and fight back as needed.

The more difficult we make it for HD and the UEE to ignore [their issues in maintaining control of planets and moons here], the less able to hold onto their grip of the system they should have. Aberdeen, Hurston, Stanton – then we spread throughout the empire. Levski, Bremen, there are peoples living in caves across the whole of the empire, and once we prove to them that we can fight back, the UEE will have to change, or commit to a civil war while xeno factions outside the empire watch and either support the revolution or take advantage of the UEE giants beginning to stumble."

Profile: Kalagen

"I was in one of the first generations of civilians born in Shepard after it opened up to the rest of the Empire. I joined up with the military, marvelled by the hundreds of years of military history while at home. Majority of my time was spent in communications. Helping Marines and combat elements eliminate threats to the UEE. However, I started to piece together a disturbing picture. Rogue elements that were spotted by the big corporations usually had little to no resistance. Although I could never find definitive proof of wrong-doing during my service, those incidents formed the cracks that would eventually break me free from their propaganda.

Due to Castra's connection to Pyro, we would occasionally get reports from Stanton PMCs about high-value targets -- usually described as pirates or smugglers -- and command would always heed those reports. During those operations, a familiar pattern would occur: targets would be located approaching the Nyx Jump Point; forces would briefly engage the targets, with little to no resistance; the ships would be escorted and handed off to whichever Stanton PMC and Klescher representatives [were] waiting at the Pyro-Stanton Jump Point. Procedure dictated that OPCOM wouldn't listen in to any adversary comms, leaving that information for field commanders. The one time I was able to listen in to the "enemy" comms for one of these operations, I realised what was happening. These ships were those fleeing their contracts, or at least this one was. As they identified themselves as former Hurston workers, they pled for safe passage to Nyx, then surrendered as the field commander refused their request. I sadly wasn't prepared to record that transmission...

When I brought it up in the mess, a couple of my mates told me to shut up. As lady-luck decided, my CO would be conveniently behind me as I brought it up. I was then never assigned to those missions again, and my fellow comms operatives refused to speak to me about said missions further. I then had to assume that my military issued mobi was listening to me, as after I asked about said missions, I was assigned a lot more to zero-G cleaning duties.

Since my service awarded me Citizenship, I decided to explore the "western" part of the empire. I visited from Bremen to Terra, making sure to avoid the tourist traps and to mingle with the people. From those wide interactions I saw a pattern, a subjugation of the working classes by corporations. Only local forces – planetary governments or civilian defence groups like the one at Bremen – properly restricted the greed of the corporations, while the UEE aligned itself with corporate interests for the majority of these tales. It wasn't until I made my way to Levski that I pieced it all together.

From Nyx, I signed up for a smuggling crew to rescue Hurston workers. After everything I learned, that damned company always came up in the worst stories. Sadly, the first mission wasn't successful. After we picked up the workers, Hurston Security engaged us. We were able to jump to Aberdeen but they had a Mantis waiting for us there. The smuggling crew had a mole – a complete betrayal from within. During the commotion, none of us noticed that Aberdeen's comms-array was down. A battle broke out as GoA arrived to save us from HurSec. After that, GoA offered to escort us all back to Nyx under their protection. Once there, I worked up the courage to ask to join and have been with them since.

Currently I'm a Chief within the Ghosts, with my main responsibilities being operations and logistics. Occasionally planning internal training simulations and coordinating medium-scale operations with other members of administration. It is challenging at times due to the wide variety of people that we've gathered. Coordinating everyone while aligning with their assets and interests is quite the feat. However, the reward of helping people and working with my community greatly outweighs those struggles.

We are still fixated on Aberdeen, and Hurston as a whole. I hope that in the future, as we grow and make alliances, that we can extend our influence to Levski and Castra. Not only to find more allies, but to help more people break free from their corporate chains. [I support] forming links with the People's Alliance and then us[ing] that to help liberate people from corporate chains together with them – since [People's Alliance] were the first ones to open my eyes, I believe that their ideals and goals align with GoA. Since they publicly need to stay within their space, allying themselves with GoA can allow their resources to be used outside of Nyx against the corporations."

Profile: Paco

"I had a brief but exciting career in the Navy, lobbing torpedoes across the black. Shortly afterwards I found myself doing the very same thing for microTech, Crusader, ArcCorp... but not Hurston. Something about that whole planetary system didn't sit right with me. An entire habitable planet wrecked for the profit of one megacorporation, a megacity filled with slums next to golden statues of the city's founder, and the massive private prison – Klescher. The whole thing was kind of rotten.

[Now I am] looking forward to melting down all those pretty statues some day. [And overall] I detest the corrupt corporate justice system in Stanton and I wish to see it dismantled. My immediate future goals are to establish a base near Klescher to assist with aiding escaped innocent citizens."

Profile: Saracen

"I was born a second generation immigrant in Lorville after my father left a fading nomadic community and headed to the city for work. He married a scientist, taking her last name as an opportunity to increase chances of employment and worked in administration. After initially failing the entry exam into the UEEN to follow my sisters, I started work with Hurston Security. Throughout my years in HurSec, I witnessed too many brutal injustices and cases of corruption favouring the Hurston Dynamics aristocracy. I was eventually discharged after getting into a drawn-out investigation when I got into a physical altercation with a colleague with a history of abuse of power.

Spent the following years doing occasional personal transport and private security detail between maintaining my mother's old Corsair and caring for my father who had fallen ill. Before my father passed, he told me to use his inheritance and his spark of goodness to make a difference, as my sisters have. My mother showed her support by putting the Corsair in my name. I stayed with my father until the end, and was soon exploring Staton, adopting his moniker. Unfortunately, shortly I came to find that even though the injustices faced at home were some of the most inhumane in the system, this imbalance of power existed everywhere.

"The most comparable experience I had was my first visit to Area 18, which to me only looked [like] Lorville but with more showmanship. The mass commercialism only really covered up the very familliar tone of poverty in the underbelly of the city. 'It just goes to show much customers are willing to tolerate when there's a lot of neon', I thought to myself."

"For me, [GoA] is a found purpose. Exploring this 'verse on your own is exciting, but there's nothing lonelier than floating in infinity without people you hold close. Tribes are built in the absence of shared struggle, and when you find people who struggle against the same thing, there's no challenge and all reward. The only challenges are the ones you give yourself to get better at what you do! And we do that together when you're with us."

Profile: Scum

"[I come from] an average family who lived on Davian II, a planet called Cestulus. My hometown, New Arden, was largely known for trading and shipping, which is how my parents made their living. Through a string of good luck, calculated trade deals, and determination, they finally owned a Freelancer MAX. Owning one’s own ship, free and clear, was not an easy feat, something especially abnormal for regular citizens of Cestulus. As Cestulus’ economy continued to decline, many of my friends moved away, their parents leaving the planet in search of better lives. Those who did stay were relegated to illicit activities, primarily "disposal" services for criminal networks.

When my closest childhood friend was killed in a disposal mission gone wrong, I promised to make an honest life for myself. Commissioning into the UEE military as an anti-terrorism officer, I finally left Cestulus to become a small cog in a very large machine. While attached to squadrons specifically created to combat outlaw gangs and terror groups, I [was said to have excelled] at personnel management and communications. My squadron was credited with multiple high-visibility missions, painting the UEE in an admirable light. I was affecting real change, for good, or so I thought. The turning point for me was during a special operations mission gone awry.

I had thought that we were out to dismantle terrorist cells, ones who were out to destroy our ways of life. [There was a Caterpillar heading to Levski that was designated as a] special target for us, command saying that there were some radical dissenters on board carrying destructive weapons. We were to destroy everything on board and leave no trace of the Caterpillar. We honestly shouldn’t have boarded it, but we did. We found crates of people and general welfare stuffs -- food, medicine, etcetera. Yeah, there were some boxes of small arms, but far from anything devastating. My partners opened boxes and just fired into them, knowing there were civilians inside. I later learned that they had seen some events -- maltreatment of workers, HD officials committing unspeakable crimes towards others, just general things that could have brought heavy shame to the HD family conglomerate and information that would have strengthened the resolve of the insurrection. The killing of civilians, as it turned out, was not a once-off thing, this type of order was common. Additionally, as Levski is a barren rock, food, water, and medicine was incredibly important to them; weakening Levski was a top priority to my sector of the UEEN. This was inhumane at the least, and downright sadistic at worst.

[In GoA] I want to see more people who are looking to make a difference in the well-being of others. People who want a community where they can be safe, heard and seen. In turn, we will give them just that, while also giving them the sense of purpose of doing that same thing for others. I'm personally, really proud of the group we have facilitated here. It feels really great when people tell us that they actually feel at home here, safe and seen. That's kinda the thing that keeps me in this. They are all really great people, and Im happy to have them around."

Re-reading these memories, only now am I starting to really notice a pattern here – service for the state or corporate interests, followed by disillusionment, revelation and rebellion. The system keeps producing its own enemies. And whenever that has happened throughout history, the only remaining question was whether there were structures and organisations in place to capitalise on this exodus, and offer those looking for answers outside the status quo an outlet. Like this group.

Other Ghosts have less ideologically motivated backgrounds. Some of them, or their families, have had to prioritise the daily struggle for material survival over choosing sides in the class war. Others do not believe all corporate power can be classified as hostile to their interests by default. And still others are simply not interested in guiding their actions through these worldviews – preferring to use what they are good at into ensuring positive, immediate ends for their friends, colleagues and relatives.

Profile: CapyBearUh

"I served in UEE Navy for ten years as an engineer, service ended ten years ago. Signed on with Crusader and participated in their humanitarian efforts for a number of years, even went to flight school under them. Came to Stanton ten years ago because Crusader was dishing out bonuses to beef up their security forces in the system through their Crusader Cares initiative. Parted ways with Crusader a little over a year ago.

Then I encountered Ghost about seven months ago. I was doing some medical rescues and at some point was invited to a flight slash combat training session the were having. My memory is fuzzy on the specific details.

[Here in the org] everyone takes care of each other, it's real nice to have back up when it's needed, or advice about life. Everyone is treated with respect."

Profile: Cern

"I was born and raised on ArcCorp by parents dedicated to the corporate grind. So rather raised primarily by siblings, who kept me off the streets and forced me to go through my Equivalency and apply for Citizenship. With no desire to enter the corporate arena just to sit behind a desk, and a friend from Equivalency prep starting a contract with BlacJac Security, I followed suit. Picked up the callsign Cernunnos during a joint op with microTech security forces in the deep woods tracking down some low grade pirates.

Eventually, growing tired of merc life, I applied to work in the medical rescue field, where I served as a squad leader and trainer for new recruits. Thanks to a level head, sharp eyes, and plenty of combat experience, I excelled at it, and yet the boredom started to set in again. At the end of the day, all I was working for was a paycheck. Just traded a desk chair for a dropseat.

Working out of Everus Harbor, I ran into a former Medrunner who’d become a friend and left for new horizons. While catching up, this friend mentioned he’d hooked up with a new outfit. One that fought for a reason, and one where you could make good money for an honest day’s work. A few operations and interviews later, and I was reborn in the dust of Aberdeen as a Ghost. For now at least.

While I probably wouldn’t say I'm dedicated to the cause of emancipation for the Hurston worker, I spent a lotta time operating out of Hurston space and have seen the scars left by the restrictive power structure on those workers firsthand. So kicking Hurston Security ass is a fun time. More than personal belief in the cause though, I think I believe in the GoA leadership. I admire the passion and dedication that I see in the org. I'm happy to lend a hand to help someone who really cares about something and believes they’re doing right."

Profile: Junior

"I'm still trying to find my thing in the 'verse. I had just started my journey when I came across GoA, who really helped me get oriented. Coming up on Area 18, I was given my dad's ol' reliable Cutter. Faced many struggles when on the come-up, and decided to make it my goal to get loads and loads of credits, to be able to help my friends and those who are new to the 'verse, so they don't have to live through what I did.

I came across my first friend in the 'verse only a month into my journey, where I met ShadowGazer -- then known as Walker, which I still tend to call him to this day. Walker was also pretty new to the 'verse, and so we learned things together. Walker was in the GoA, and was a big fan of cargo hauling. He singlehandedly introduced cargo hauling in the 'verse to me. Back to the GoA, Walker eventually convinced me to join the community, where I would eventually apply and read the Dissenter's Handbook, which really gave me an idea for the standards that the GoA have had in place. This all happened in the first weeks of 2953.

When it comes to Aberdeen, and it's people, if there is injustice, and it is something that is important to me, or the org, I'll be there and will fight for it until the last breath. Ultimately, though, the org, it's people, and it's operations are what are first on my list. Now, if saving the people of Aberdeen and fighting big corporations is a part of that, then that's priority one, but if that is put on the back burner for something else, I will redirect my efforts towards that 'something else'."

These individuals are the latest example in history that while an entity with overwhelming resources may take over a territory and expel its inhabitants, it will face the much more difficult task of having to counter asymmetric, guerilla action in the aftermath / by Svalbard Sleeper District / licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Profile: OHM

"I went into the corporate sector after my time in the Navy. But after seeing how some corporations treat people... Well, let's just say I didn't leave on the best of terms with my former employer.

With GoA, I've fallen into a bit of a quartermaster role, but tend to do a bit of everything. Tend to fly either a 315p or a 600i most often -- the 315 being black, and the 600i being a very dark grey.

I'm not native to Stanton, so have no dog in the Aberdeen-Hurston fight. However I do sympathise with [the GoA] cause."

Profile: Prancer

"Born to a pair of freelance box haulin' parents. Levski was a second home for me growing up; the Freelancer my parents used for most of the hauls was the first. I was in my late teens when my parents got caught up in a transportation incident on Hurston. Media called it an accident, but rumours spread that a few mid-level members of the United Workers of Hurston had been killed in it. The accident left my parents maimed, unable to continue working.

[Then I was] involved with a prison breakout just after having made contact with GoA. Several GoA members had just gone to Klescher on a trivial offence; I assisted with the rescue effort by picking them up, then clearing their crime stats.

[In the org] we're a bunch of rebels at heart. We're no loosely-knit org, either, growing members for the sake of members without finding a common core set of values. From what I've seen the Ghosts are good people. They care about each other and are democratic about how they handle large decisions. 'A rising tide raises all boats, not just the yachts', if you will."

Profile: Skeeter

"I grew up on a small moon called Daymar. The surrounding areas were once the home to small mining communities, and there was a small space station near Daymar called the Green Imperial Housing Exchange. This was the main trading port for bringing in basic provisions and for selling raw ore from the mining operations, and it contained cheap housing for traveling laborers or families looking for work.

The mining industry did not last long around Crusader, as the mines quickly ran dry. As with most impoverished communities, many people resorted to less honest work just to get by, and it was not long before criminals and gangs began to move in and take hold of the area. My father frequently ran cargo for the Nine Tails, but he never knew what he was hauling, and he never asked.

When I was about 16, my father was killed when he got caught up in some questionable dealings with some of his unsavoury business partners. A deal went south and my father was shot in the back as he tried to run away.

I was not a bad guy, and never particularly wanted to hurt anyone, but [after that incident] I would take whatever work I could good get, either ethical or less than ethical. Fortunately, I was clever and charming, and I could talk myself out of almost any ugly situation when it went south.

These life stories are only a small part of this overall group – I only had the opportunity to speak to the dozen or so Ghosts who joined me to fulfil my promise to A, E and their colleagues in Hurston factories. Many others work for other roles and purposes in the organisation.

What led me to being introduced to these people was an incident late last year, where their members came under fire from their then-ally organisation. These two, along with Redscar Nomads and ICARE, had formed an alliance. And I, being familiar with members of two of the four organisations, and approving of their perceived joint cause, had also joined their communications channels with the prospect of following them and covering their work. Many months – or maybe even over a year – went by without much taking place in those channels, as I was busy covering other groups, talking to individuals and penning critical articles on my past and present blogs. Then one day in the fall of 2953, the communications lines lit up with a heated debate over the incident. Without going into the details of what exactly happened, GoA and Redscar both left the alliance out of disagreement with the group that had opened fire on the former, and my inquiries during that debate – to find out where I would now be positioned in my affiliations between them – brought me to exchanging messages first with Ghost, then with Scum, later with their wider membership, and, ultimately in person, with the GoA squad that responded to my quest to help HD workers last week.

In their post-alliance existence, GoA are not alone in their quests – they maintain a close cooperation with Redscar. In their conversations with me, the Ghosts were clear in their appreciation for this joining of forces. Kalagen told me he was looking to join as many events with the allies as he could, and saw the joint operations as practically useful, while also appreciating the socialising aspect. "Humans only thrive when their communities thrive. These people are a part of GoA's community, so socialising and networking are crucial to maintaining that community," he said.

We have a lot of people out there who consider us villains due to our goals and ideology. Our community lets us defend ourselves physically and mentally from their attacks, so we must strive to maintain it. - Kalagen

The network we have with other like-minded orgs is a strong bond, with the Redscar Nomads in particular being the folks I've interacted with the most. We've learnt a lot from each other on how we run things, the Redscars have always been very scalpel-efficient, and we excel with large scale organisation – something we've worked very hard to facilitate. - Saracen

Our partners at Redscar are valuable allies, and I often wonder how things would have gone if I’d met the Nomads first. That aside, working with our allies is enriching, enjoyable, and [we keep] making individual connections that keep the overall organisations well-connected. - Cern

Bob and Cass, two of the Redscar Nomads joining GoA in collective endeavours, photographed onboard Araminta Ross -- a vessel used by the Ghosts for smuggling people out of Klescher Rehabilitation Facility and moving refugees to safety / by Svalbard Sleeper District / licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

And the feeling is reciprocal. Two of the Redscar Nomads I've come across via GoA – Bob and Cass – are no strangers to me. We were members in a former organisation a few years ago, and as I spoke to the Ghosts over the past weeks, I also wanted to mention these two in the same breath.

Cass was born on a Reclaimer owned and operated by her family in 2931. She says she is quite proud of the fact, even though she shares it with some other members of the Saunders clan. Nowadays, the clan's fleet of salvager, miner, hauler and other ships "drifts around the galaxy in clusters, looking for things to do," she previously told me.

"Some settle on stations and planets, but usually not for long; sooner or later they pick up and move on, either because of some gray area business dealings coming to a screeching halt for one reason or another, or just wanderlust taking over again," she also said. "My family tried settling on Borea and running a scrapyard for a while, but times were lean, and I had to look for work elsewhere."

When I asked her about joint operations with GoA, she said she saw them as opportunities to "hang out with friends and help out". "Ninety percent of the time, I don’t even ask for a payout, unless I’m beyond broke. So I guess the practical benefit is socialising. I don’t join all of them [though], what with being a misanthrope hermit," was her comment.

And that is how these people forge links -- they call out former allies when they see them being wrong, and push each other in continuing to practice solidarity in fights, work and leisure. I thank the Ghosts and their allies for what they make possible, and consider the present received from workers earlier this week to belong to them just as much as it does to me.

[me-bike]

Blog #7

One of the greatest deterrents for transit oriented development in the United States, is the reluctance of the population to embrace change. The American two party political system has created an environment where opposing parties refuse to cooperate. This polarization affects the general public and often prevents people from thinking independently. For large scale transit infrastructure to be completed, there needs to be a government’s initiative. The controversy is a result of needing increased taxes to pay for infrastructure projects, and in a car centric society where large swaths of the population are opposed to change there is bound to be push back. Many Americans use the counter argument to TOD development and similar concepts like 15 minute cities of an “infringement on their freedom to drive.” While this is simply not true, it makes a difficult political landscape to navigate. There is not an immediate solution to this problem as it is so woven into American culture. One thing that could be done is the presentation of these projects. Avoiding buzzwords and presenting more as another option, adding to their freedom of choice could be a way of gaining more public support from both sides of America’s political system. 

One way to de-stigmatize the development and use of more robust public transportation is through public education programs. By fostering awareness and understanding of the benefits of public transit, such programs could effectively communicate the positive impacts on individuals, communities, and the environment. Targeted campaigns could highlight the economic advantages of investing in public transit such as, traffic decongestion, and lower long-term infrastructure costs. Additionally, emphasizing the social equity that public transit provides. Wherein it allows for better transit options for lower income families and/or those without a car, can resonate with a wide range of audiences. Finally, education on the environmental benefits such as reduced, carbon emissions and better air quality, can underscore the importance of transitioning to a more robust transit system.

One barrier to TOD can come from the bridge that crosses the Ohio River. The bridge that crosses the river is mainly accessible by car. The narrow lanes and crossing of state lines are two reasons for cars to be the main transportation. Narrow lanes make for more traffic when drivers are attempting to switch lanes causing more traffic congestion, slower driving rates, and potential crashes. Three main bridges allow pedestrians to cross the Ohio River on foot. Each bridge is roughly a mile long, so traveling by foot is a possible idea if the intended destination is also within walking distance of any of the three bridges. 

Cities have been established on waterways for as long as humans have congregated together. In the US, cities built upon the banks of the Ohio, Mississippi, or on many of the other rivers darting through the continent are a common sight. Pittsburgh, a midwestern city similar to Cincinnati, is geographically forced to tackle the challenge of intersecting rivers. Pittsburgh has constructed multiple bridges to enable traffic flow and counteract the barrier that waterways pose to TOD. Four of the bridges connecting areas of Pittsburgh are walkable in addition to public transportation access throughout the city. 

Multiple lanes on I-75 crossing the Ohio River

One barrier that comes with density in a city when referring to Transit Oriented Development has to do with centralized walking. A lot of high density areas lack good centralized walking within the city. Without a good plan for centralized walking, it can cause a lot of congestion in high density areas.This is why it is especially important to try to incorporate a good plan of centralized walking within high density areas. A good example of a high density city making the city walkable and pedestrian friendly is Hong Kong. Hong Kong incorporates underground and above ground walkways to keep traffic moving in such a high density area. This is extremely beneficial for high density places because it would allow a better flow for the city. 

https://www.scmp.com/yp/discover/lifestyle/health-fitness/article/3069405/walkable-hong-kong-making-city-more-pedestrian 

Density is an important factor in Transit Oriented Development. In order for people to be able to conveniently use public transit, it needs to be within close proximity to where they live and where they work. Ideally, there will be a mix of residential, business, and public spaces within a short walk of public transit. Less than a 10-minute walk is good for ensuring that it is accessible and convenient for people to use. It is also good to have a lot of businesses surrounding the transit stops. The area close to transit stops should be high-density and mixed-use. As you get further from the stop, things can spread out and can be less dense. This is illustrated in the image below. 

https://www.researchgate.net/figure/TOD-compact-nodes-linked-by-mass-transit_fig2_355277720

The Washington DC region provides a good example of ideal density for Transit Oriented Development. Arlington, Virginia specifically shows how TOD can transform an area. Arlington used to be low-density and most people primarily used cars to get around. Arlington is now dense and walkable. The neighborhoods in Arlington are also a great example of mixed-use. There has been so much development of urban areas surrounding public transport including many high-rise buildings. This former suburb has almost been reinvented and is now an urban and exciting place that many people visit. There has also been an increase in people moving outside of DC to this area as they get the benefits of urban life and being so close to DC at a cheaper price. With the great access to public transit, it is also very easy to quickly get downtown without using a car. Cincinnati should take inspiration from Washington DC in general and especially Arlington to implement TOD. This would greatly benefit Cincinnati and the people living here.

[baya-ni]

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

~

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy​ finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

[plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows]

Part 2 of the frametypes headcanon ramble.

Under a cut this time bc it’s l o n g.

↠ PART ONE : read first otherwise this prob wont make sense lol 

Notes on Groundframes

↠   Light standards are like your basic sedan, they're fuckin everywhere and most people can't tell the subtypes apart. They make up just under 20% of the population on their own, and tend to be thought of as the ‘average Cybertronian’, for better or worse. There are nine subtypes based on location of origin:

Iaconic — tallish, slim, kinda plain otherwise. Very common.

Meridian — tend to be dorito-shaped, with big spoilers or vents. The most common of the subtypes, theyre fuckin everywhere.

Tagani — smaller than the others, compact and flexible design specs, have a reputation for being the 'sportsmecha' of the frametype due to being made for getting around in big honkin mountains. Fairly rare outside of the Tagan rus.

Kaoni — big and stronk for an average sedan, curvy design aesthetic. Common in the southern hemisphere, less so in the north bc having ‘Kaon’ attached to ur name is an instant popularity nerf.

Tarnais — big and often kinda boxy, probably turns into a small ute. Also common in the south and less so in the north.

Praxian — average in every way except for the doorwings. Not actually that common anymore. The 'doorwing' aesthetic originally comes from Praxus but at this point it's present in most of the northern subtypes because Fashion. 

Polyhexi — the northern equivalent of the Kaoni type, generally kinda short and stocky. Super common.

Tyresti — tends to be tall and slim. Design aesthetic leans toward big audial fins, spoilers, generally more flourishes than strictly necessary. Not super common outside of Tyrest.

Tyger Paxi — smallish, often Round. Most notable trait is three-fingered hands, also tend to be enframed with a colorful paintjob. Not common outside of Tyger Pax.

Despite the subtype names being based on locale of origin, they can generally be found all over the planet. There are more of the Polyhexi light standard subtype in Helex than in Polyhex, for example.

Average heights tend to range between 16′ to 20′ or so. Modding for occupation, hobbies, or just plain fashion is very very common and there are a load of different frame blueprints anyway, which makes identifying who’s got what frametype even more difficult. (Functionists hate this.)

↠   Heavy standards are also super common and can be hard to tell apart, though less so because there’s only six subtypes. The Towers subtype is particularly difficult to identify unless you have experience; they can potentially be shorter and weigh less than those aforementioned really large light standards. Heavy standards tend to be more heavyset than light standards, but aside from being slightly larger the main difference between the frametypes is in armor and engine grade  — heavies have heavier armor and more powerful engines; they're made to carry a bigger load.

Hesperidus class — more or less the 'ancestral' type. They tend to be leggier and a bit slimmer than other heavies. Spot a hesperidus mech by the deep chests and the big feet.

Equatorial, Boreal, and Austral types were the result of semi-deliberate selection for large long-distance haulers, in the ages before throttles and dexters. They tend to be boxy, heavyset, probably have a van alt.

Towers class —  was developed much later than the rest, to fit the Second Generation nobility's aesthetic ideals because what's the point of having a capable servant if they don't look good? (Second Generation noble culture, incidentally, is where the seeds of Functionism came from.)

They also tend to be found in lower-ranked castes than the light standards (with two exceptions being the priestly castes and medics, the former because size is a useful visual shorthand for authority and the latter because working on bigger patients is easier if u are also Big). You'll occasionally see them with offroad tyres and utility altmodes, whereas that's very much Frowned Upon for light standards under a Functionist viewpoint.

↠   Throttles came from the same semideliberate selection process as the bigger heavy standard classes. Cybertronian society in the rebuilding years of the First Generation was mostly made up of small frametypes (because the small frametypes were those who found it easiest to hide underground from the Cataclysm!), and so once they emerged from the cavernous underworld, they found they had a great need for larger, stronger mecha capable of going long distances without the need for refueling. (This is also the same process that gave rise to the durus and efficiens system configurations.) Throttles were the largest and heaviest of these mecha, and for a long time they were actively prized - up until supply outstripped demand and they became associated so strongly with the labor castes that as the social value of the labor castes decreased, so did the status of the throttles.

There are two subtypes:

Southern — developed in the First Generation settlement of the Austral rus. They’re Extremely Common in the labor castes due to their size, strength, and physical endurance. Their armor pattern is usually kinda blocky and/or pointy because that was the height of Fashion for ages and ages. Probably turns into a small truck or some other specialised work vehicle.

Northern — developed about the same time in the settlement of the Tagan rus. Much less common as a result, because the Tagan Heights turned out to be a huge pain in the ass to colonise. They’re often Extremely Round and very well-reinforced, could probably fall off a mountain and their reaction would be like “oops my bad.” 

↠   Minibots are the one frametype to have thrived in the Cataclysm. Cybertron's underworld is full of cramped and narrow spaces, so smaller mecha were able to take shelter much deeper and in many more places than larger mecha. The original minibots tended to look like a standard, simply scaled down. Modern frametype subdivisions occurred once Cybertronian society moved out of the underworld into the wide open plains and proto-cities of the First Generation, and suddenly being small in a world of increasingly large mecha was a scarier prospect. 

Compact minibots — selected for resilience and the ability to take a pounding and bounce back as quickly as possible. They’re flexible, with simple internal system design and often end up looking a lot like one another, aside from paintjobs and other personal decorations.

Articulates — selected for agility and the ability to get into spaces other mecha can’t. Often built with non-standard proportions, long limbs and occasionally extra limbs and tails. 

Sylph minibots — selected for speed and the ability to avoid getting hit in the first place. Common as a frametype, especially where space or other resources are at a premium.

It's culturally quite common and accepted for the articulate and sylph types to physically climb all over their larger brethren (provided they have the appropriate relative ranks/social status). This serves the dual purpose of putting the minibot on more or less the same level as their interlocutor, and making sure the minibot is out of the way of getting stepped on or whatever.

↠   Dexters were one result of a deliberate bioengineering project during the Quintesson Wars, at a time when Cybertron was losing the fight and thus was getting desperate enough to throw whatever the heck they could come up with at the invaders. Researchers took code inheritances from heavy standards, throttles, and heavy warbuilds to create a new type of mech, one with the inherent combat capabilities of the warbuilds and the size, strength, and most importantly the endurance and resilience of the large groundframes, which could serve as an all-rounder both in combat and in supply chains and behind-the-lines defense. Unlike some previous attempts at bioengineering, this was a roaring success.

Dexters are also quite common among Towersmecha despite their size and the perception of them as being suited best to labor, hauling and fighting. The Towersmecha are deliberately invoking an older perception of dexters: this is the shit that won us the Quintesson Wars, so put up or shut up.

Aegis dexters — often interestingly lanky in appearance - think TFP Optimus and pre-war Soundwave - and heavily-armored enough that the warbuild inheritance is visible. They are the most common subtype; you'll find them most often in the military and ground freight castes.

Eurus dexters — some of the biggest groundframes, often outstripping the largest heavy warbuilds and coming second only to their dexter cousins, the rayets. They are much more heavyset than the aegis subtype, though again visibly well-armored. They tend to have something of an hourglass shape, and altmodes are basically limited to large haulers, tanks, and guncars.

Rayet dexters — the largest groundbound transforming mecha bar none. They are often tall and leggy, though not to the same extent as aegis dexters, and the vast majority take on rail altmodes and work in rail-based castes. The largest can have difficulty finding accommodation and furniture that's rated for their size. Some absolute madman once had the idea of creating a combiner entirely out of rayet dexters and these guys are now basically the biggest celebrities on Velocitron. (Literally.) 

Notes on Flightframes

↠   Light jets are most of what came through the Cataclysm unharmed; jets have always tended larger than groundbound frames because of their engines (both physical size and the size of the tanks needed to hold enough fuel to keep them going) and also their wings. The frametype subdivisions among light jets are divided by engine grade and how far a jet can fly without needing to be refueled, and therefore size.

Flightframes in general can be easily modded for aquatic altmodes, but it is most common among light jets. This is a fairly comprehensive mod, involving most bodily systems, but it's not considered a reformat because it's not really changing any of the frame's basic architecture (although wing area is usually significantly reduced). By contrast, modding a warframe or a groundframe for a fully-aquatic altmode requires a full reformat.

Super-light jets — the jet equivalent of minibots, fairly common and especially well-suited to city life. Often small and agile enough to fly indoors, and like groundbound minibots are prone to climbing their larger brethren. Flightframes tend to dislike this more than groundframes do, so this subtype has a reputation for being particularly scatterbrained and tactile.

Aurora-class — a little larger, match well to the light and heavy standards in size class. Usually leggy with wide shoulders and dorito torsos, engines often slung on the back between flexible wing-joints. Accounts for probably like 25% of all flightframes because they strike a handy balance of ‘can fly’ with ‘relatively cheap to build’ and ‘won’t drink you out of house and home.’

Comet-class — larger again, roughly dexter-sized. Cuts a striking figure with long wings and legs, but aren’t particularly economic either in enframing costs or fuel intake. Mostly they turn up in rich clades, which then gives them a secondary reputation for being Pretty.

↠   Heavy jets diverged from light jets twice - once during the Dynasty of Primes, and once again after the Cataclysm. The largest Dynastic flightframes were simply too large to take shelter underground as the meteorites began to hit. As such, while light jets are one of the five most common frametypes, heavy jets are much rarer, and tend to be limited in the jobs they do and the castes they occupy. Socially, they’re also limited by their sheer size - a common refrain among the larger flightframes.

Like light jets, the subtypes are divided by engine grade and range, and overall size:

Notos-class — the smallest, but only relative to the other classes. Usually identifiable by not having delta-wings, and a relatively slim v-shaped frame. 

Lipara-class — delta-winged and often built like a flying brick. You can tell they were built for cargo, although these days they’re somewhat outdated. 

Erebus-class — delta-winged, extreme long-distance fliers built for speed and coverage. Often mistaken for smaller shuttles, but generally not capable of spaceflight.

↠   Shuttles diverged from heavy jets relatively late; during the Quintesson Wars, as a product of the increased need for rapid long-distance transport. The smallest shuttles usually look very similar in root-mode to the Erebus-class heavy jets (and even their frame blueprints and code inheritance is extremely similar at a glance), but where heavy jets are limited to atmospheric flight, the shuttles are capable of spaceflight. Consequently the heavy jet >> shuttle reformat is one of the easiest to do.

Delta-class — the vanguard of Cybertron’s moon colonies, designed for local space exploration. Tend to have the classic flightframe dorito shape with large delta wings.

Iota-class — capable of longer-range spaceflight, generally built to be extremely self-sufficient. Usually not an atmospheric flier; wings are small if present at all and tend to get tacked onto unusual places in root mode.

Omega-class — these guys are the biggest transforming Cybertronians, period. Extremely rare, extremely valuable; all those in existence were created by cold-construction in several waves during the Imperial expansion period, explicitly to augment imperial Cybertron's colonial forces. Can be very expensive to maintain, don’t tend to be economically independent in their own right.*

↠   Satellites diverged from heavy jets during the Second Generation, in an experiment which took the lonely high-altitude communications relay hubs and stationed them on the edge of space, orbiting Cybertron like the moons. These first satellites were heavy jets which underwent a fairly simple reformat to make them spaceworthy and give them powerful inbuilt communications hardware. In the early years, these mecha underwent many more mods to make them more efficient at their jobs, and new satellites were designed according to a particular psychological profile - many of those early recruits were simply too social to tolerate extended periods of solitude. Quickly, a new frametype emerged.

Perseid & Lyrid — very similar subtypes originating from Praxus and Tarn respectively. These are common in public, private, and military enterprises alike, and are capable of limited atmospheric flight. They tend to be lanky and full of interesting cables.

Eridanid — rarer, larger, and less maneuverable in atmospheric flight. Most satellites are faceless because why bother? but eridanids take this to an extreme and sometimes lack normal arms or heads entirely. 

Tryptid — the largest, are not capable of atmospheric flight at all beyond what is necessary to reach orbital altitude. Like eridanids, they can be identified by fuckin weird body plans.

Satellites and shuttles both contain base coding that prepares them for long periods of solitude. Satellites especially spend most of their time hooked into various planetary networks and often have lively online presences, but depending on their jobs they may go entire vorn without being in the physical presence of another mech. They have a reputation for being very self-sufficient as a result, and often experience culture shock upon returning to their planetary bases.

↠   Rotaries were created in the same no-holds-barred frenzy of military experimentation that created dexters. These are the odd ducks of the flightframe family, inherently flight-capable but sharing more of their code blueprint with groundframes than with flightframes. Cybertronian rotaries are augmented with adjustable jet engines, increasing their load capabilities and range to an extent. Their specialty is in slow flight and hovering; they were designed essentially as aerial assault platforms. They are heavily-armored, usually have two or three different engine systems, often bristling with gun placements, and most of them are rather large. 

Zephyr-class — smallish, usually angular and winged. Historically less common than their larger counterparts because of their smaller size, but also an unfortunate tendency to be aggressive little fraggers.

Bolide-class — bigger, more common, best defenses of any of the flightframes, primarily because they’re easy targets. Tend to be built like bricks, with about that much subtlety too.

Notes on Warframes

↠   Light warbuilds and heavy warbuilds are primarily distinguished from each other by armor grade and intended combat role, with heavy warbuilds taking on direct combat roles and light warbuilds primarily intended for ancillary roles (though they are perfectly capable of combat if required and do share the combat optimization of the warframe class as a whole). Light warbuilds have a lighter armor grade, and do not get quite as large as heavy warbuilds, but otherwise they can be very hard to tell apart.

Skirmisher class — optimized for ranged combat and awkward terrain. Light and agile with a lot of gun emplacements and highly developed sensory processing with built-in targeting software. Often mistaken for ur average sedan.

Scout class —  optimized for information gathering and being very sneaky. Look like minibots, usually.

Ranger class — combine the two previous types with a focus on long-term missions and endurance. Also tend to look like nothing in particular.

Executive class — are the rarest subtype, with a focus on large-scale data analysis, communications and command. Lots of variation in body type and armor pattern; the internal stuff is what’s characteristic of the subtype.

Heavy warbuilds are divided into three subclasses based on size, armor grade, and intended combat role:

Chevalier class — optimized mainly for speed in close quarters combat. They range across four size classes and account for the largest percentage of the warbuild population. Could be mistaken for an average sedan, but the armor grade tends to be a giveaway.

Reinforcement class — optimized for holding a defensive line; they have the heaviest armor and generally the biggest weapons. Brick-shaped, sometimes wider than they are tall.

Frontliner class — optimized for breaking the other side's defensive line; they have the second biggest weapons and are generally the biggest scariest mecha on the field. Tend to be what others think of when they hear the word 'warframe', despite being relatively uncommon.

↠   Flighted Warbuilds are often called Seekers, a reference to their tendency for target fixation. The nickname caught on in common parlance for being less of a mouthful than the original term. Seekers originated from the same source as dexters and rotaries; their initial code blueprint was a blend of flightframe physical capabilities with warframe armor, weapons systems, and skeletal architecture. Despite having inherent flight capabilities, Seekers are counted among the warframes because they possess all the extra bits that make warframes what they are. They are by far and away the most successful of the warborn frametypes, with a population nine times larger as the dexters and nearly thirty times larger than the rotaries.

Seekers are divided into three subtypes by size, intended combat role, and range. 

Skirmisher class — the smallest, agile in the air and best against aerial opponents, but also have the smallest range. Tend to be slim and leggy in root mode.

Bomber class — the largest, with the longest range, the highest top speed and the biggest guns, but also the least maneuverable. Tend to be solid and heavy-limbed in root mode.

Multirole class — strike an elegant balance between skirmisher and bomber, and are generally considered the archetypal Seeker. Classic long-legged dorito shape in root mode.

↠   Triplechangers also originate from the wartime developmental period, but remain exponentially rarer than the other three warborn frametypes, primarily because of the truly ludicrous cost associated with building a triplechanger frame. If you see a triplechanger, chances are they’re either high-ranking military or out of the Towers.

They are divided into two subtypes by size and potential altmode groups: 

Ouranos class — generally take one large grounded altmode such as a freight hauler and one small jet or aquatic altmode. Roughly brick-shaped.

Atlas class — generally take one very large grounded altmode such as a locomotive or a tank, and one large jet or aquatic altmode. Roughly house-shaped.

Notes on Monophase Frames

↠   The defining characteristic of monophase frames is that they do not transform. They are a product of the Golden Age colonial push, built to sacrifice transformation ability for defensive size and self-sufficiency. The latter means that they are their own transport, accommodation, and energy-production facility. They do require an intermediary to act for them in the physical world of Cybertron, due to being too large to participate in most real-world social environments, but otherwise are entirely independent. This intermediary is called a keynote, drawing from the much older practice of symbiosis between Cybertronians and minicons, wherein the Cybertronian 'host' is referred to as a keynote. (Similarly, the heart of a gestalt network is also referred to as a keynote.)

↠   Sparked ships came first; the logical conclusion of the Omega class shuttle program. The enormous spark of a sparked ship, created by energy drawn from the Well of All Sparks over a full day, allows such ships to support bodies and systems exponentially larger than an Omega class shuttle - large enough that transformation became impossible, and even larger; enough that the loss of transformation capability was worth it. Sparked ships could carry propulsion systems capable of reaching far-flung corners of the galaxy; necessary in the years before the space bridge network, and could monitor and control their own life-support systems, making decisions in extremis and allowing mecha on board to be placed in suspended animation for the length of the journey to ensure that the ship reached its destination with plenty of resources with which to build a colony.

↠   Sparked cities followed soon after, as an extension of the same program. The first sparked city, named Boreas, was placed on Cybertron, becoming a satellite city of Protihex. 

The advantage of sparked cities over traditional cities was that they could be built with extremely limited mobility. Place a sparked city by a rich mineral vein as a convenient residence for all your workers and smelters/refineries, and once the vein runs dry in the future, the city can, over several months, recycle or cast off much of its mass, allowing for efficient transport to the new location and in the process reducing itself to its most fundamental skeleton, at which point it it can simply pick itself up and walk to the next location.

Notes on Unclassified Frames

This is where the mad science happens. :D

↠   Unclassified frames are built from scratch. They might start off from the skeleton of a recognised frametype (most do because it's slightly cheaper) but then be modified past the point of recognition for some reason - usually, to fulfil a task that requires unusual specs. It takes a lot to make such a frame 'unclassified' - you have to change multiple systems in a pervasive manner. One example are the handful of 'living gun emplacements' that were created during Nova Prime's colonial wars, mecha whose entire frames were built around an enormous plasma gun. These mecha did not live long or comfortable lives; the stresses of firing that gun ultimately proved too much and the design was shelved indefinitely.

Red Alert is the only unclassified frame I've thought much about; he has most of the outward features of a standard Cybertronian (he looks like a particularly tall heavy standard) but his 'alt mode' is basically him wiring himself into a very special supercomputer, one of three that monitor the Grid at all times. He's stuffed full of interesting nanocircuits that don't look like anything much until he's in that alt mode form, at which they reveal themselves to be thousands of very small processors geared toward a single purpose - data monitoring. (If you're doing stuff on the Grid, you've got a one in three chance of Red Alert being your own personal FBI agent meme.)

Notes on Other Shit

↠   Economic independence (or lack thereof) is an unfortunate Golden Age construction related to the buying and selling of debts, and the economic exploitation of those subject to said debts. Larger shuttles and satellites, triplechangers, and especially monophase mecha tend to end up in contracts where their entire lives are controlled by whoever’s paying for their basic upkeep. The individual mech cannot be bought and sold - but their creation debt and upkeep costs can be.

As u can imagine, this went down the plughole with Optimus Prime’s accession to the Primacy; he narrowly escaped a similar fate mainly bc the Hall of Records head honchos had slightly too many Morals. Unfortunately, by then the Great War was well underway.

[alirhi]

Loki ranting

Okay. I had this thought in my head of like just compiling links of all the Loki shit I've posted/reblogged so far so that when I get into a conversation about the show and how it fucking disgusted me, I can just be like "here. here's this masterlist post, go read all this shit. This is my entire argument, and not only mine, but a lot of stuff posted by people far more intelligent and level-headed and eloquent than I am, whom I happen to agree with." Because the alternative is constantly getting fired up all over again, and that is exhausting.

BUT! I'm stupid and don't know how tumblr works. Apparently I can't just be like "give me all the Loki-tagged shit I've got" I can only search all the Loki-tagged shit on all of tumblr. And I'm not scrolling back through all of my posts. I talk too fucking much for that shit 😂

So, I'll try to remember all of my grievances with how the MCU has treated Loki, and all of the excellent posts made by other, equally upset fans, and put it all together here under this nice, neat little cut for everyone else's sanity and scrolling convenience...

For people who actually read my shit fairly regularly - bless you, you crazy, patient people. I love you! - this is going to be a lot of repetition of shit you've already read. Probably at least twice. I'm passionate and I have a terrible memory lol. Sorry.

Anyway, first, for those who don't know me and haven't been following my explosions of rage for the past couple of months, some quick background: I do not read comic books, so Loki's Marvel comic canon means nothing to me. I know almost nothing about it. The reason I'm so in love with the character in the MCU is because I am an eclectic witch and the deity I've actively loved and worshiped the longest in my life (literally for as long as I can remember) is Loki. So when he was mentioned in The Mask, I squeed. When they named Matt Damon's character after him in Dogma, I cheered.

When Thor came out in 2011, I just about died from happiness. I was hungry for any representation of this underappreciated god, no matter what it was. I didn't even bitch about how underpowered he was, because at least he was there. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

I can hear anyone reading this going "Why Loki? Isn't he, like, evil? Like basically the Norse version of The Devil?" Because I heard all this shit irl all the fucking time. And no. So let me give you a quick rundown of who Loki actually is.

Loki is a Trickster God. He's often referred to as the God of Mischief. He is not and never was evil, simply chaotic and hedonistic. Loki Laufeyjarson was the son of Laufey (that's mama; they changed her to a man for some reason in the movie) and Fárbauti. Right from the start, from his name, we get a sign of how Loki goes against traditional norms of the time, because in Norse culture, families were patrilineal, and surnames were "son/daughter of father" (which would have made him Loki Fárbautitason), not the mother. But Loki's surname is matrilineal. Feminist icon woo! lol

Though he's a Jotunn, Loki is counted among the Gods (Aesir) in Norse tradition. Depending on his mood, he is alternately helpful or disruptive to the other Gods. I'm not gonna sit and teach a whole text class on him lol but I'll use my favorite example of Misunderstood Loki - the conception of Sleipnir!

So, get this shit. This is also part of why I DO NOT follow Odin and never fucking will (a very small part, but still part of the reason). So, the other Norse Gods are petty motherfuckers, and they wanted some shit built but didn't want to pay the dude doing the building. So they were like "okay, if you can get it done in X amount of time, we'll pay you, but if you can't manage it NO MATTER WHAT, this whole thing is free." And they made sure he had NO help, nothing but him, his materials, and his Very Good Horsey. And this guy and his horse were fucking BAMFs. So it was looking like he was definitely gonna get it done in time, and Odin was like "nah, fuck that shit. I'm cheap." and so he sent Loki to distract the work horse. Loki transformed into a mare and lured the horse away, got fucked, got pregnant, gave birth to the 8-legged (for some reason) horse Sleipnir. Odin rides Loki's son into battle. Um. Kay.

So Loki helped Odin be a petty mf, and Odin got himself a new pet out of the deal.

Oh, also, because he's smart af and a shapeshifter and a master magician and genderfluid, Loki "fails" to fit the super fucking toxic and narrow Norse/Aesir view of "a real man". He prefers intelligence and manipulation to solve problems rather than violence, he's not afraid to behave like a clown if it gets shit done, and that grosses the Aesir out, so they constantly ridicule him for being "less than a man".

Loki is the God of the outcast and the misunderstood. The marginalized people from all walks of life. He is the God of the LGBT community. In modern terms, he's pansexual, polyamorous (married to Sigyn and they are deeply in love, but boy gets around and I've never seen any indication that Sigyn gives a shit) and genderfluid.

Okay. Focus, Ali. This is part of why I usually post multiple rants instead of one big long one XD The longer I ramble, the more I get sidetracked and forget the original point.

So. Loki's awesome, and being a Trickster, is powerful as all fucking hell. There's not much he can't do.

And now we come to Thor (the movie, not the deity). Loki's there! 24-year-old Ali is spazzing! All is right with the world!

Oh lord, they've actually done him justice?! Amazing! He's complex and nuanced and emotional, just like the real Loki! I loved this movie. Loved. It. The climactic thing with trying to blow up Jotunheim never really made much sense to me until someone made an excellent point the other day about Loki being raised in a racist society that was racist against his own race, he just didn't know it yet, poor child. Baby Thor was never corrected when he pledged to commit mass genocide, so Baby Loki probably absorbed the lesson then that Jotunns=evil and killing them all will win his father's love. Anyway, 2011 Loki was a beautiful, heartbreaking portrayal of the God I've loved all my life and spent 24 years longing to see depicted on the big screen.

Then The Avengers happened. And I saw another Loki very close to Norse mythology - mainly, how he's treated. In the beginning of the movie, he's sick, exhausted, and in pain. He can hardly stand, he stumbles and needs help when he walks. He was very obviously tortured, and the sickly blue light of the scepter's control is in his eyes. That gets less and less pronounced as the movie goes on, showing Loki working his way free of it, but in the beginning, he's a mess. Because he was tortured and used by Thanos. Marvel directly confirmed this, and that he was under the scepter's/Mind Stone's control. Loki's actions are not his own in The Avengers. He's under both threat and Thanos' direct control. The movie actually shows The Other directly threatening him to keep him on task, because this is not Loki's plan. It is not what he wants. He's being used and villainized... Just like in real life. It hurt to see this done to him, but the accuracy was too beautiful to ignore.

Thor: The Dark World comes out. I've heard people complain that this movie is the weak link in the Thor trilogy. I disagree. I think that's Ragnarok, for a bunch of reasons, but we'll get there. (And for the record, I loved Ragnarok, too. It was a funny movie. Infinity War and the Disney+ series are the only portrayals of Loki in the MCU that I truly fucking hated.) Anyway, good, fun movie. Had its faults, as all movies do, but it still followed Loki's real-life arc in a way. How? By having Loki dragged back to Asgard in chains and imprisoned underground. Again, not super happy that this happened to my love, and having to see it on screen was painful, but at least in the MCU he's not chained to a rock with venom dripping on his face for eternity, so there's that. (poor Sigyn. how tired do her arms get, holding up that bowl? best wife ever, amirite?)

In TDW, we're shown Loki's love for Frigga, who favored him and taught him magic as a child. We see his bravado; his attempts to mask his true feelings, especially grief. We see him slowly coming back to himself after the events of The Avengers, and slowly mending his relationship with his brother. He accepts that Odin will likely never love him, but Thor just might, because they were close when they were young. "I didn't do it for him." No, no my sweet, you did it for your brother, and a little out of guilt for what happened to your mother.

At the end, Loki fakes his death and escapes, taking the throne, and I have mixed feelings about this. Not the writer's choices here; I love that completely! A natural progression in Loki's story. But my joy is tainted by how closely they're following the Eddas now. Because Loki's escape from his prison heralds the beginning of Ragnarok. And Loki will die in Ragnarok. I don't want to see that play out in front of my face. I won't be able to handle the grief (spoiler alert! IW broke me. I almost walked out of the theater. Loki's death was legitimately fucking traumatic for me. I don't even care how pathetic that is. That grief was real, it was intense, and I still shake and cry when I think about it.)

Marvel announces that Thor 3 will be called Ragnarok. The internet treats this as a shocking revelation. I roll my eyes and mumble "duh" to myself and move on XD

Then they say Ragnarok will be a buddy comedy. I throw up a little in my mouth and no longer want to live on this planet. If they're going to make something called Ragnarok, could they at least treat it with even a fraction of the respect they've shown these characters thusfar? Jfc. I mean, I'll see it anyway, because I'm a whore for Tom Hiddleston lol. But come on, people!

I hated that they made Hel the long-lost older sister and Fenrir her fucking pet/attack dog. Those are my favorites of Loki's children! Hel is such an incredible badass that the early Christians named their dimension of eternal torture after her! They were terrified of her, to the point of naming the place that terrified them most after her. That's awesome! And Fenrir's just the best. I love wolves. Those two details, and Odin's retcon of "we're not Gods! ...lol, except your sister. she's totally a Goddess. and def gonna kill literally everything, so... good luck! byyyeeeee" pissed me off royally.

The rest was great. I genuinely liked this movie. Still do. And they finally used The Immigrant Song! That was pretty cool. If they'd thrown in Bring the Hammer Down and Thunderstruck, I might've called this movie perfect. XD

I wasn't totally in love with their portrayal of Loki in Ragnarok. Yes, the falling for 30 minutes line was funny, as was "I have to get off this planet" and "YES! That's how it feels!" And "Get Help" was funny as hell. But also, like... There is no way Loki would have been the dumb one in that first encounter with Hela. Also, he can teleport and project copies of himself and shit, so... He would not have been that desperate to go straight back to Asgard and bring her right along with them. Loki's not stupid. But whatever. Movie's gotta movie.

What I did love was seeing the slow mending of his relationship with Thor continuing, and the badass fighting on the bridge. I also loved that, like Real Loki, Movie Loki helped when help was needed, was quick and clever, and while he was carrying out the main plan, he was also planning ahead and grabbing the Tesseract. Yes, that drew Thanos right to them, but that's a whole other thing. Loki never would have left that thing on Asgard to be destroyed or lost.

And now Infinity War. Hooooly fucking shit. You know what? No. I'm not going into this. He was killed, years of character growth were erased forever, my heart fucking shattered. The end.

Endgame. IW hurt me so bad I didn't see Endgame until this year. I actually watched Civil War first (for context: I had actively avoided all Cap movies until this year because I fucking hate Steve Rogers. I find him insufferable. Did not realize what I was denying myself until I watched CW and finally saw the charms of Bucky. When he appeared in IW, I was so lost. XD I was like "...who dis? Murder Jesus?" also I just... didn't care. I was numb by then from crying through most of the movie over Loki)

So, anyway. Endgame. Loki picks up the Tesseract in alternate 2012, escapes, fans go "yay! he didn't actually die!" I go "yes he fucking did. Five years of his life, gone. Five years of growth and change, erased. Loki is dead. This will not be the same."

I was more right than I could have predicted. Now we come to the point of this rant. Sorry it took so long, but you were warned lol.

The Loki series makes me so angry I actually get sick to my stomach. It was fucking TRASH. When I praised Marvel for following Norse mythology so faithfully earlier? Yeah. I DID NOT MEAN TREAT HIM THE WAY THE OTHER GODS DID. I did not mean paint him as a pitiful clown, a joke, a caricature of who he truly was, with his pain and suffering played for LAUGHS.

This is supposed to be 2012 Loki, newly freed from Thanos' control. The Loki we saw in the beginning of TDW - snarky, exhausted, nihilistic. The Loki who rolled his eyes and said "get on with it" expecting to be killed.

The bumbling clown flipping on a dime from posturing to calling himself weak is not 2012 Loki. That is not ANY Loki. That is Tom Hiddleston in a black wig doing what he's told by a shitty writer who had no fucking idea what he was doing and was salty about his (bad) original script (for something totally fucking unrelated) getting killed.

In Episode 1, Loki is mocked, imprisoned, stripped against his will, tormented, belittled, and given a flippant summary of all the trauma Actual MCU Loki suffered that this one skipped out on, with no context, no acknowledgement of the trauma he's already lived quite fucking recently, and with the narrative twisted to not only erase all the abuse he's suffered, but to make it all his fault. And this is supposed to make him want to help these people?

And worse, IT FUCKING WORKS. WHAT?! I CAN'T- FUCKING WHAT?! Remember when I said LOKI IS NOT FUCKING STUPID?! So why is he STUPID?

Episode 2, he's a child. Mentally, this Loki is a fucking child. Now we've erased all the growth and development of his entire adult life. He's dopey, impatient, impulsive, desperate for a pat on the back and actually shows it. Yes, abused and neglected children crave the positive attention we never received, and we often grow up to be a bit emotionally stunted. But not all of us, and not Loki. Not as we've seen him EVER in the rest of the MCU. Playful and a bit callous at times? Absolutely! But not a big dumb fucking puppy.

Episode 3, a ray of hope, despite Sylvie! (I hate Sylvie) Loki casually admits he's pan/bi; labels never come up, but he admits to being with both men and women! He sings! Not really relevant to whether I approve of his portrayal or not lol but Tom has a beautiful voice, Norwegian ("Asgardian" lol) is a gorgeous, entrancing language, and I could watch that one bit on loop for eternity and never get bored. And then, finally, we see a glimpse - a glimpse - of Loki's power! He stops a falling building and pushes it right back up! Are we finally getting to see what he can really do? Will the next episode bring us Loki in all his glory?

Nope. 4 and 5 we see him mocked and pushed around and utterly irrelevant. Again. We see tiny reflections of what he could maybe theoretically do in other random Loki variants, but the "main" (lawl. main. it was the Sylvie and Mobius show. Loki was never the main anything.) Loki? Nothing. He wears his heart on his sleeve for no reason, bonds with the man who imprisoned, taunted, and gaslit him, is killed, and continues to be a moron and a joke. Always the clown. Always the dumb one. The one with the bad ideas. The inferior Loki.

Don't even get me started on that finale. I can't. This already took so much out of me. Fuck Marvel. Fuck this fucking show. I just... I'm done.

[woman-loving]

Who is a Malaysian lesbian?

Selection from “Queering the State: Towards a Lesbian Movement in Malaysia,” by Rais Nur and A.R., in Amazon to Zami: Towards a Global Lesbian Feminism, ed. Monika Reinfelder, 1996.

This selection from a 1996 book discusses lesbian identity in Malaysia from a lesbian feminist perspective. It acknowledges a range of meanings that “lesbian” can have, and selects one defined by sexual practice. Note that many women didn’t identity as “lesbian” themselves, and that the term was defined and applied here according to the authors’ goals. The authors also touch on multiple “butch” identities, “femme” identity (“femmes” weren’t seen as unable to be with men), and potential political dimensions to lesbian identity.

We felt it was necessary to give our definition of the term ‘lesbian’, given the multiplicity of definitions in currency. These range from extremely broad definitions of the word, which include metaphorical[2] (e.g. notions of ‘lesbian’ as a space or positionality) or emotional dimensions (e.g. a woman whose primary emotional attachments are formed with other women, though she may not necessarily have sex with them), to definitions which are strictly narrow and literal, and which have sexual intimacy between women as their lowest common denominator (i.e. a woman can be called a lesbian only if she has sex with other women, whatever the other dimensions of her relationships with, or the depth of her feelings for, them). However, despite the diversity of meanings of the word ‘lesbian’, and the rich range of experience it can be said to cover, we believe that our purposes in this essay would best be served by limiting our use of the term to apply to any woman who has sexual relations with other women.

This definition is not unproblematic, as such a narrow definition necessarily excludes many people who consider themselves lesbian but do not practise lesbian sex, such as lesbian celibates or other women-identified women. In fact, early on it our research, we wanted to include women who identified themselves as lesbian as part of our definition, and therefore hinge our definition on the self-identification of the woman concerned. This, however, became untenable, because as we progressed we came across many women who have sexual relations with women but do not use the word ‘lesbian’ to describe themselves. For some of these women, such a word was alien to them, and in some cases they were hardly aware that other lesbians existed. Others were familiar with the concept of homosexuality, but used words other than ‘lesbian’ to identify themselves. Thus we decided that our use of the term would refer to women who have sexual relations with other women, regardless of whether or not they used the word to describe themselves.

Our knowledge is primarily of urban and middle-class lesbians, although we have made attempts to access the experiences of others. Lesbianism is a phenomenon which exists very much underground, in the sense that there is very little public discourse about it (and what little there is frequently pathologizes it) and very few safe spaces in which lesbians can be out or come together to share their experiences. Furthermore, the experience of being a lesbian in Malaysia is heavily influenced by ethnicity and class. These two factors make it difficult to extract an account of lesbian experiences which can address lesbian existence in both urban as well as rural areas, and apply across class and ethnic divides.

Unlike gay men, who have been united through work against HIV/AIDS, there has been no similar phenomenon which has sparked this move towards a sense of community for lesbians, so that by and large there are many tight-knit groups, based on race or class, which do not intermingle with each other: Malay lesbians generally have a different network and socialize at different places from Chinese and Indians, working class from middle class, urban from rural, etc.

The players

In as far as it is possible to generalize, one aspect which can be said to be common to all these different subcultures is role-playing, or the construction of lesbian identity around notions of the ‘butch’ and the ‘femme’, with their attendant ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ traits. While Western countries like the UK and the USA have recently seen a resurgence of the butch and the femme in lesbian culture, this has mainly been dictated by fashion and the ‘lesbian chic’ trend, which in the UK saw many straight women dressing like dykes and lesbian characters suddenly appearing in various soap operas, and partly by postmodern notions of parody, irony and ‘genderfuck’. That is to say, while some lesbians do take butch/femme roles seriously in these countries, many others see adopting these roles as a fashionable thing to do and/or a way of subverting essentialist notions of sex and gender, and parodying notions of identity/sexuality as stable and immutable rather than fluid and constantly changing. So a lesbian who dresses as butch one day may very well decided to dress as a femme the next, and vice versa.

In Malaysia though, butch/femme roles are taken very seriously by the majority of lesbians, and there is no element of playfulness or parody to them. The word ‘butch’, though generally used to refer to a lesbian who adopts or exhibits traits and behaviour socially deemed to be masculine, in fact covers a continuum of identifications or definitions. At the lower end of the scale is the ‘tomboy’ who dresses in a boyish manner, generally looks like a cute boy, and yet is still possible to tell that she is female. The tomboy figures in all cultures.

‘Peng-kids’ occupy the middle of the continuum, and are generally associated with Malay working-class lesbians. The word ‘peng-kid’ is derived from ‘punk kid’, as they are deemed to have borrowed heavily from punk culture in terms of their attire. Peng-kids often feel that they are men trapped in women’s bodies. They bind their breasts as well as use men’s underwear and aftershave. They are renowned as very loyal and extremely attentive and generous to their girlfriends. The peng-kid phenomenon, which can be traced back to the 1970s, is now very widespread and exists in both rural and urban Malay communities. The term has also been adopted among some Chinese lesbians, who abbreviate it to ‘PK’.

Finally, there are the ‘hardcore’ butches. In the West, what is known as a ‘bulldyke’ or ‘bulldagger’ would be the closest equivalents to the local hardcore. Whereas peng-kids feel that they are men trapped in women’s bodies, and thereby acknowledge their femaleness to some degree, in many cases, these hardcore butches do not even perceive themselves as women, and pass as men whenever possible. Many consider the idea of sex-change operations seriously as some stage in their lives. Hardcores exist in all cultures in Malaysian society, but appear to be predominately working class.

Butch identifications in Malaysia are therefore multiple and complex. Things become simpler when we come to femme identity. Generally, femmes are perceived to be straight women in disguise, or women who, although they might be involved in a lesbian relationship, have the option to ‘become normal’ and conduct relationships with men. A femme’s lesbianism is therefore not seen as essential or fixed; whereas butches see themselves, and are perceived, as having no choice about their sexuality--they are definitely and incontrovertibly lesbian. Many femmes have lesbian relationships in order to avoid the complications of becoming pregnant, which might happen in heterosexual relationships. Another reason why femmes prefer butches to men is that they believe they are more secure in a relationship with a butch, since it is not as easy for butches to abandon one woman for another as it is for men, given the relatively small lesbian subcultures which exist in Malaysia.

In many senses, this emphasis on roles is very restrictive, and those who resist defining themselves in such a way often find that they are treated with distrust and hostility by their peers, as are lesbians who change identifications. There is some degree of policing within the lesbian communities in Malaysia, and what is acceptable in terms of clothing and appearance, sexual practices and roles is clearly defined and strictly enforced. This means that lesbians who reject such pressures and constructions of identity are excluded. More importantly, in their insistence on butch/femme identifications such lesbians reinforce the stereotypical notions of lesbians and lesbianism harboured by society at large, rather than challenging them or presented alternative constructions of identity, alternative ways of being lesbian.

Partly, this dependence on roles has to do with the fact that lesbians feel beleaguered by the homophobia and hostility of society as a whole, and therefore do not trust people easily--choosing a role and sticking with it signifies a willingness to belong, to play by the rules, and indicates that one is an ‘insider’ rather than an ‘outsider’ and therefore can be trusted. But we feel it is also partly to do with the lack of any political dimension to lesbianism in Malaysia, restricting it solely to the sexual dimension.

Lesbians in the West have played a prominent role within feminist campaigning since the 1960s, and have contributed greatly to, and learned a lot from, feminism and its insights. Lesbian and queer theory, as it exists in the West today, has its roots in the feminist movement, and has built upon feminism’s interrogation of the categories of gender, its assertion, for example, that, as Simone de Beauvoir put it, ‘one is not born a woman, one becomes one’. ‘Masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ were shown to be states of being which were socially constructed and therefore avoidable, rather than biological and inevitable.

While, on the one hand, many feminists made the political decision to become lesbians in the light of feminism’s analyses of gender relations, and as a logical extension of their politics, on the other, many lesbians used and extended the analytical foundations laid down by feminism to challenge and deconstruct the institution of heterosexuality--to expose it as an instrument of patriarchy or, at any rate, something which is neither more natural nor more inevitable than any other sexual preference or tendency. Lesbian feminists, in line with the early feminist tenet that ‘the personal is political’ therefore identified the realm of sexuality and sexual practices as the locus of much patriarchal power and oppression, and proceeded to problematize heterosexuality and politicize lesbianism, arguing that it represented a subversive force in its refusal to fall in with dominant/patriarchal concepts of what is natural or permissible in society.

This perception of lesbianism as having a political dimension rather than simply a sexual one, of being not simply something restricted and limited to the bedroom, but having wider implications and political resonances, is, however, largely absent in Malaysia. There is very little sense (or perceived need) here that lesbianism is or can be a political force, or that it can be used to critique or challenge dominant patriarchal and heterosexual ideologies and institutions. We believe that his has to do with the fact that feminism, which is closely connected with the lesbian movement in the West, has not translated well here, nor has it had the impact which it had in the West. As a newly industrializing country, Malaysia faces different challenges and has different priorities to that of ‘first world’ or Western countries, and often feminism is not perceived to be, or made relevant to, the needs and lives of women here.

At any rate, without feminism’s insights on how patriarchy works to oppress women and how gender roles function to reinforce patriarchal power, many lesbians simply adopt heterosexual notions of gender and replicate heterosexual relationships without questioning or problematizing them. It may, of course, be argued that these lesbians adopt butch/femme roles as a conscious eroticization of difference.[3] But we believe that it is rather a case of a lack of alternatives. The invisiblizing of lesbians in society, and the lack of roles models who practise alternative ways of defining themselves or conducting relationships, of course reinforces the above.

[littlemisswriter]

Saving London - Part 1

Summary:

What if the Frye twins never grew up to be assassins, yet to be working men and women in the city of London along with the others? What if Lily had been the only assassin to respond to Henry Green's plead for help? And what if she recruits the twins to work alongside her to stop the oppression and fight against Templars?

[Here is my promised written imagine, there will be more parts soon so don’t worry! Let me know if you like it; I am trying new concepts around the Syndicate storyline, types of AU’s that I don’t see much in this fandom, let alone this game specifically! So hope you all enjoy :)]

-

Society had been they way it had always been for the last hundred years. A biased dictatorship working in favour of their own gain and allowing those under them to indulge in nothing but their scraps. The world was a large place, with London in the very centre.

The blue skies above were being met with black hazes from the factories below, and those situated in those said factories were not faring any better. Day in, day out were workers worn to the bone. Hands calloused and dirty from maintaining the machines that built the technologies around them. Men spent most time away from home, doing their best to support families in spite of their decreasing health. Though it had not only been men that were subjected to this environment, but women and children as well.

Morally it had been frowned upon to have such a vast amount of workers, but business wise… those who held power could get away with whatever they wanted. Well, had been able to get away with what they wanted. Times were changing, people were oppressed, and a certain underground gang had taken it upon themselves to answer London’s calls.

Outside the factory walls in Southwark, the sun had begun to descend behind the horizon; the chilly night air settling in for those still out and about on the streets. But for those in the factory, the temperature had been nothing less of humid and uncomfortable. Those workers that kept away with their tasks had been there for hours, body’s aching and spirits broken, yet still desperate to cling onto what little pay they could get.

Among those had been a particular young man, muscles built deeply by his youthful ability to complete his tasks and those around in need of help. He had built up a sweat, resulting in the first few buttons of his shirt being undone to provide some form of air to his skin. His hair had been hard to maintain on its own, strands consistent to fall upon his forehead and block his view irritatingly, so he simply kept it slick back with the help of his newsboy cap. “Oi Jacob!”

The call of his name had distracted him momentarily, hands gripping around the broom as he watched an older worker approach him cautiously. His eyebrow raised.

“What is it, Tommy?” Taking a proper stand with a lean on his elbow and hand to his waist, he stood waiting for the chap to spit out whatever sat on his tongue. Tommy pointed behind him and Jacob’s gaze followed.

“Little Charlie seems tired, he does. Poor lad can’t barely keep his eyes open.” The mention of the young boy had Jacob’s brows furrow in concern, their eyes landing to watch the child struggle to pick up a basket from the corner. Tommy had not spoken a tale, the boy’s legs weak as he struggled to carry his own weight, and face red from exhaustion of working more than half the day. “Do you think you could ‘elp? I know it’s a bother to ask-”

He was interrupted by a raise of Jacob’s hand and a quick reassuringly smile. “No bother.” The older man sighed in relief, hands rubbing together stressfully as the lines on his face etched a smile to replicate.

“Thank you. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” The thought given a moment to linger at the consequences of those if Jacob were not there to aid them. It was chilling, and most unwelcome.

The broom was leant on the wall he found it, forgotten as Jacob made way quickly over to help the young boy. His pace was quick, but not quick enough as Charlie’s knees gave out and he slipped down to the floor. Jacob’s eyes widened as he came by him, hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, Charlie?” The young boy could only nod and wipe his elbow out from under his nose, as if to hold back tears.

“I’m just tired, sir.” As would be expected.

“Jacob,” he corrected, not fond of the title from a boy he knew relatively well, “and don’t worry. Go take a rest out of sight, and I’ll take care of this.” Charlie’s eyes glimmered in relief, offering only an eager nod. But before either could move, they had been called. And not kindly in the slightest.

“You two!” A pair of Blighters had caught the workers dawdling, meaning now a confrontation was imminent. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Impulsively, Jacob stood with furrowed brows, his arm outstretched to the boy behind him as he acted as a barrier.

“I made the mistake, not the boy. I was about to rectify-”

“Stop your babbling, boy!” Jacob was shoved back, his footing catching his fall easily as he narrowed his eyes up to the guards. “What I see is two slackers! And you know what happens to slackers?” The brute standing behind the accuser had grinned evilly, knuckles cracking as he came forward. Slight panic rose through Jacob as he once again placed himself between Charlie and danger.

“I’ll take punishment, whatever it is. Just let the boy go.” A mere cackle came his response as the two made ground towards them.

“Boss told us to give a thrashing to those sitting idle.” As he would, seeing as that man had been the least compassionate foreman Jacob had ever come across. His only concern was himself and everything that he reflected. Ministered beatings had not been uncommon here, yet nobody seemed to adjust to the mistreatment or became brave enough to stop them.

The scene had many eyes turn, some stopping to witness the horror of the Blighters. Though nobody moved. Most had uttered a few courageous words before, but nothing drastic to make a change. They all knew their place, as uncomfortable as the reality of it was. And the truth was, if you wanted to eat, you did as you were told and took what was given to you.

Jacob stepped back a few paces, keeping Charlie hidden well behind him as he did his best to appear brave. If anybody had a shot at countering hits and supplying their own, it was Jacob. But that had not meant it was going to be any less brutal.

They came closer, almost cornering the man as the boy did nothing but whimper behind him; all in all, they had felt helpless. But yet… it appeared fate had other plans.

“I’m gonna hit you so hard, I’ll-”

A commotion could suddenly be heard from higher up, stilling the Blighters as they bore witness to yells and thumps at the top of the factory. It had not sounded too promising, especially when no one knew whose yells they belonged to and why they were suddenly prominent. Then, a body came tumbling down to the bottom floor, everyone gasping in horror as it lay limp and lifeless for everyone to see.

Jacob blinked back profusely, glancing back to Charlie before allowing himself to recognize exactly who lay dead before him.

The foreman. His throat continuously bleeding out as well as two stab marks to his chest. A sight that most may and did feel faint from. And so, panic ensured as the workers let down their tasks easily and made way for escape. Charlie had been one to catch himself in the mass of the crowd, yet Jacob’s feet were planted firmly to the ground. It was a horrible sight, yes, but he was also oddly intrigued as to what was going on.

“Oh shit!” The brute muttering, looking over to his partner before hesitantly making way to the body. Though he did not get far when a figure had abruptly dropped done next to the man. They had been covered head to toe in robes, their identity concealed with a hood though a belt masked with weapons had been on display for all to see.

A lump caught in Jacob’s throat as he and the few others that still remained quickly pieced together that whoever was under those robes had been the culprit to the foreman’s death. And rightly so, ruminating on the behaviour that led the man to his own demise.

“Who the hell are you? What have you done?” The figure stood straight, turning to face what appeared to be the last remaining Blighters in the factory. It was quiet, too quiet, and that had sent up an unnerving chill through their spines.

“Now, that is not a polite way to speak, is it?” The voice was female, a surprising notion in on itself. But yet it had been cocky, the calm demeanour of someone having just murdered another was terrifying. And her dry laugh that followed after had both Blighters step back in hesitance. “This man is dead,” she pointed to the body, allowing Jacob to capture a look at a glistening blade attached to her forearm. He swallowed back harshly.

“You’re the dead man!” The shorter Blighter had been snapped back into anger as the stranger merely found humour in his boss’s death. He yanked a blade from his pocket and charged at the woman, all bodies tensing as they waited for the clash. Though she had easily ducked his swing, her speed impeccable as she twisted the same arm intended for harm back behind his back. A crack had been heard, the Blighter yelling in agony as she took his own blade and ended him with it.

No sweat was broken, neither had her spirit. As if she was simply strolling through a park with infinite time on her hands. The brute had been next, fighting back resistance as he too took charge. His hits were hard, the man built on nothing but sheer muscle and height. Which left his weak spot open, something she took great advantage of.

A slip between his legs and a kick to the back of his leg brought him to his knees. He swung against vigorously, though his attempts had been in vain as she used her height advantage to slide the very same blade on her wrist down into his neck.

Blood came and sept through as he lay limp in it, all threatening seeming to disappear as now stood the workers and the dangerous stranger. She looked around, taking a moment to ensure that the factory had been completely wiped out of all Blighters before echoing a large whistle. It was a call, and soon enough, as if waiting for the signal, a handful of Rooks had stepped into the building and immediately made claim.

“What in the…” Jacob could not fathom what was happening, or how it had actually been done. Who was the stranger? Why go to all the trouble for a factory in Southwark? Why had he been more intrigued than fearful of it all?

“My fellow companions!” The stranger began, finding refuge on a crate as she stood centre of attention to all those around. “I know you may be confused, and even frightened, but fear not! We are not here to hurt you or any others that do not belong to the Blighter gang!” Precuring the safety and wellbeing of those who had feared had them relax, but not entirely. Their bodies still tense and hesitant as they gathered around.

Jacob had been one to come closer, arms crossed over his chest as he stood in the small surrounding crowd. His brows furrowed as he kept all attention to the stranger.

She looked around her, nodding to her Rooks before gently pulling her hood back. It was if his heart had stopped as he first lay eyes on the woman. She had been beautiful, no doubt about it. Yet she was foreign, dressed to what society would deem inappropriate for women. She was cocky and dangerous, a small grin still etched to the corner of her mouth as she spoke to those openly around her. “My name is Lily Harvard, and these here are my Rooks!” Arms out wide as she gestured to the green coated gang surrounding. “I am here to make you all an offer. To help us take down the Blighters in all boroughs and liberate London back to its people!”

An honourable quest yet a large ask. She had taken employment from those under an authority that much less cared about the health and wellbeing of its workers. But did not come empty handed.

“Join me! Join the Rooks!” Some had already taken to the idea, a few more Rooks entering with spare jackets to pass to those that were eager to be invested in something, and others that did not want to be left stranded. “You do not have to do anything you do not wish, but bear in mind that you will be apart of something larger than yourselves! Help us destroys Crawford Starrick’s hold on this city, and we in turn will welcome you like family!”

The coaxing appeared to deter a few, those leaving subtly out of the eye of others though most stayed, agreeing to the terms and enlightened to be better looked after in this new emerging gang. Jacob had not peeped a word, his eyes still drawn to Lily as she looked happily to those around her. A nudge had suddenly caught his attention and a woman holding a green jacket extended it out to him. “You in, sunshine?”

Jacob took a moment, looking from the jacket to the Rook, to Lily, and back to the jacket. Well… it could not possibly be worse than working in this factory with little to no regard. Plus… redemption for him and those around him did sound quiet appealing.

“Why not?” The Rook offered him a toothy grin and chucked the jacket in his hands. The man grasping to the material before ridding his own jacket and replacing it.

It was the start of something better, and he couldn’t wait to tell Evie.

[neesieiumz]

All The Stars {Tamaki Amajiki x Reader} - Chapter 5

Summary: Tamaki has been a sidekick at Fatgum’s agency for four years, going up in ranks and becoming Fatgum’s right-hand man. That’s when a transfer hero comes in, Y/n L/n. Born and raised in Southern America, Y/n comes to Japan for a fresh start and interviews and aces Fatgum’s interview. Partnered with Tamaki and Fatgum to get used to Japan, Tamaki finds her interesting, and can’t help the fact he wants to get to know her. As Y/n’s past slowly gets revealed, will her demons allow the two of them to prosper? 

A/N: I KNOW, I KNOW I’M LATE!! But I really wanted to proofread this cause I don’t know if I’m setting this up as I want to... I want this story to last and I wanted it to grow which caused me to write over 4k words, which makes this the longest chapter yet, this is how long I want to keep my chapters so it may take longer to get them out, so I wanted make sure I have everything set up so without further ado...

Word count: 4k words

Chapter 5 - A new chapter

“Welcome everyone, take a seat and we can get started.” Fat gum greeted everyone as all the major pro heroes in the cities filed in and took their seats. 

Fat gum took a deep breath before turning to Tamaki and Kirishima who were the two sidekicks he brought to the meeting. 

“We’re here to discuss the arising group, who call themselves Resist, my two sidekicks Red Riot and Suneater can catch everyone up to speed. 

Tamaki looked at Kirishima who nodded and turned in the PowerPoint they both slaved over the last two weeks. 

“We’ve been noticing a rise in flame and explosive based attacks all across Japan. They usually happen in places like shopping malls, college buildings, places where a lot of people convene in a confined space basically,” Kirk started to explain, pressing the button to bring up different reports of buildings on fire which included Tadashi Shopping Center. 

Tamaki took over the presentation at this point, “we’ve noticed that in the reports we receive about these attacks, all of the opposition had these jackets with a symbol either etched on the back and the chest. We believe this is what Resist uses to distinguish themselves from other villains, and anything with this type of organization needs to be squashed before it can grow. We’ve seen this type of thing before,” He explained before narrowing his eyes. 

“We don’t want a repeat of what happened those years ago. It’s taken a long time to rebuild hero society and it’s still on the rocks.” Tamaki finished his part before looking back at Kirishima to continue. 

“Since we know what symbol they use to distinguish themselves, that allows us to see when they pop up in cities and how many times they do as well. From what I found out, they never popped up in cities more than two times except for one, here in Esuha city.” Using the IPad, he flipped through the city and a map of Japan popped up. 

In all the other major cities, they had either a one or a two except for one, Esuha City which had a nine beside its point.”

“Oh wow,” a hero mumbled.

“Nine attacks? That’s crazy,” a female hero said. 

Tamaki started to speak, “with this, we hypothesize that Resist’s HQ is somewhere in the underground of Esuha city. This is the only evidence that supports this, and will be one of the main objectives of this meeting, figuring out where they reside so we can take them down.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, so we don’t know where they are?” A pro hero, Nova, asked, looking at Tamaki with skepticism. 

Kirishima stepped in, noticing Tamaki beginning to crack, needing a few minutes to collect himself again, he can only go so long before his thoughts intrude. 

“We only have an idea, the Fat Gum Agency already has heroes and sidekicks staking out possible locations where they might be but there’s always a chance that this lead may lead us nowhere. This leads us to one of the purposes of this meeting!” Kirishima ended with a smile and a thumbs up. 

His contagious smile made Tamaki feel a little better and he stood a little straighter and tapped the IPad to bring up the next slide. 

“The way they’ve been attacking reminds me a lot of The League of Villains and we all know how they’ve left a stain in Japan’s trust in Hero Society. Some of us in this room knew how hard it was fighting them,” Tamaki lamented, looking over at his partner and they both slightly nodded.

“We lost a lot of lives and a lot of good heroes with them, and we were lucky to prevail from that fight but everything changed with that fight. The fragile state that All Might left the country was crushed and the public hated most heroes. We need to squash any threat to what we’ve built over the years and that starts with Resist,”

 Kirishima and Tamaki remember the fight with the LOV, the screams, the blood, the bodies, the cleanup, the tears, waking up in a cold sweat for months on end. Tamaki remembers lifting some debris and seeing a bloody Barbie doll and throwing up in an empty alleyway. 

Both of them did not want to go through that again. 

“Okay, we get it, but honestly I just don’t see how this “Resist” organization is any trouble. They’re just blowing up buildings without any objective.” Another random local hero spits out, leaning against his arm. 

“You idiot!” 

Kirishima and Tamaki slightly smirked at who spoke up. The six-foot Explosion Hero: Ground Zero stood up, glaring at the man who just spoke up. 

“The League of Villains were like that too, just destroying with no objective, then they found one and that’s why heroes are looked at as fucking trash!” Katsuki Bakugou spoke up, slamming his hand on the desk. 

After Best Jeanist retired, he entrusted his agency to the loud ash blond man which shocked the rest of his sidekicks. Since then, he’s been his hero, signing on Denki and Mina after they had no agency to take them in. 

“I would know, me and Shitty hair,” he said, pointing at Kirishima, “we were there for a lot of them. We were also there when they found a purpose and that’s when they took me when I was still the first year. We underestimate them as we did with LOV and it could grow into a situation that we don’t want to see! Shouldn’t you fucking know this shit already?!” Bakugou finished before sitting down after Denki tried to calm him down. 

“Calm down Ground Zero, don't want you popping a blood vessel,” a cold voice called and everyone’s attention turned to the Half and Half hero who took over his Father’s agency once he graduated. 

After his father’s career was shot after the fight, his agency fell apart since Todoroki was still a first year. But as soon as he graduated, most of his father’s old sidekicks came back to him and his father even left the building to him. Deciding that he only knew his father since he interned and did his work-study there, he decided to revamp the agency as his own and remove the bad memories since then. 

“Come on guys, let’s not fight, this is a serious matter,” came the nervous voice Deku, the one everyone was looking at as the one who would replace All Might. 

He was the only one out of his class to start a hero agency right out of high school without having to inherit it, the rest of them becoming sidekicks. Izuku Midoriya replaced Hawks as the youngest pro hero ever. 

“Shut up Deku!” 

Kiri shook his head and facepalmed at his alumni antics. 

“Somethings don’t change, huh Kirishima?” Tamaki whispers to him which made the Unbreakable hero sigh and nod. 

“Alright!! Let’s get back on topic!” Kirishima yelled, clapping his hands to get the attention of his old classmates. 

“Sorry Red.”

“My apologies.”

“Tch, whatever Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima let out a breath of relief before looking over at Fat gum to take over the rest of the meeting. Fat gum nodded before smirking and rubbing his hens together. 

“Let’s get started.”

***

Tamaki was ready to go home. Everyone was arguing about the best next steps to take to defeat this new organization and so far, no one was agreeing. Some wanted to start their investigations in their cities but some wanted to blow up every building until the “Resist Turds” showed themselves so we could kill them. 

Tamaki sighed as he slouched in his chair, listening to his boss and other pro heroes argue about their next move. 

“We can’t ignore this issue anymore, but that doesn’t mean we lose morals when it comes to this. Heroes and the public still have a rocky relationship and we can’t get into anything rash!” 

“What?!? What’s waiting? I say we find them right now and smoke them out!” 

“You haven’t changed at all.”

Tamaki looked over to the clock and noticed it was getting real close to 3:00 pm, they’ve been here for almost 2 hours and some of these hero’s had long trips to get to. Tamaki tapped Kirishima and Gat gum and showed them the time. Fat gum slammed his hands against the desk before standing up, effectively silencing the room of arguing heroes. 

“We need to decide before we get overtime and something happens in your cities. So what’s our verdict, because this isn’t the only meeting we’ll have, we’ll have more in the future that we need to prepare for,” Fat gum said. 

Everyone refused to look at each other in the eye, that was before Deku decided to speak up. 

“If so many, I believe that their HQ could be possibly located here end think that the Fat Gum Agency should focus all resources in finding said hideout, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of us shouldn’t look for clues,” He said, pointing to the screen. 

“For those whose cities that were only hit once, keep an extra eye out if they ever come back. Those cities who were hit twice, you all should go back to where they hit you and see if they left behind any clues. They aren’t as organized right now so now’s the time to stop them and give the public something to believe in again!” 

And just like that, like the future Number One Hero he was destined to be, he raised everyone’s spirits in this new mission. To eradicate the Resist before they gain a name as big as LOV.

Y/n sighed as she walked in the building, headphones blasting a Megan song. She waved hi to the receptionist before turning the corner and jogging to her office. Sipping in her She opened the door and turned the light to reveal her office. She’s been so busy with the rise of villains since the two months she’s been here, that she hasn’t had a chance to finally decorate her office the way she’s wanted to. She paused her music and pulled out her headphones to be able to take a better look at her workspace. 

It had a window in the right wall of the room and her desk right in front of, facing the front of the room. The walls were bare and painted white and the room littered with unopened boxes from things she ordered. She looked down at the bag of decorations she recently bought to complete the rest and smiled. 

“Alright, I got 2 hours before the meeting with Fatgum and the other heroes. I better finish this before then,” she mumbled to herself before walking over to the biggest Amazon box. 

She turned on her speaker and connected them to her phone before continuing the song she was listening to while she was walking in the agency. 

’Simon says, put your hands on hips’

She rapped along the song under her breath as she cut open the box that was her storage shelf. As she was pulling the wrapped contents, a knock sounded off from her door. It was so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear over her music. She lowered the volume before opening her door. 

Standing outside of it was Tamaki who was dressed in very casual clothes, a pair of jeans, and a white tee shirt. Y/n stood there surprised, not expecting the Manifest hero to stand outside her door. Last she heard of him, he was working with Fat gum with a major mission. But that's what she heard. 

“Amajiki-san! This is a surprise? What brings you here?” 

Tamaki jumped at her sudden answer but collected himself, “I have something to talk to you and Aoi-san, is he here?” 

Y/n shook her head, stepping out the way for him to allow him inside her office.

“Today’s both of our days off, he went to see his mom and I decided to use this to come in to finally set up my office after two months of being here!”

“No, no it's my fault, I should have contacted you before I came over,” he shook his hands in front of his face. 

She waved him off, “It’s okay, I wasn’t doing anything important. So what’s going on?” 

She hopped on her desk and sat down and gestured for Tamaki to come closer. Tamaki hesitated to say anything, but time was of the essence and Fatgum didn’t tell Tamaki that the pair had the day off. He was about to start to speak but he looked around the room and noticed different boxes scattered around the room and looked back at Y/n who was bending down to pick up tape she threw around the room. Tamaki’s ears turned red and he quickly looked away right as she stood up. 

“Sorry it’s a mess,” she huffed, balling up the tape, “I wasn’t expecting for me to have any guests.”

He waved her off, “no it’s fine? What’s with all the boxes anyway?”

Y/n walked over to the biggest box and turned it around to show the picture of her bookcase shelf which still wasn’t open. Tamaki saw this and looked around and saw other office supplies and decorations still wrapped in plastic and packing peanuts all over the floor. 

“I decided to use my day off to finally decorate my office the bay I wanted it to be, but I may have… overspent on somethings,” she trailed off sheepishly, taking in how many boxes were in the room. 

Tamaki saw how exasperated she was, it would take her a long time to assemble the shelf and it's already 2:30 pm. He was all finished with his paperwork and was gonna go home after telling the partners before going home. He wasn’t even that tired after all. So with a deep breath, he called out Y/n as she was cleaning the peanuts away from the chairs to give them a place to sit. 

“Hey, Y/n?”

She stopped, loving her things, and turned to look at Tamaki, “yes?”

“I have the rest of the day off, I’d… I’d be more than happy to help you with your office. If... if you’d let me?” His voice got significantly quieter as he spoke. 

Y/n’s eyes brightened up, running over to take Tamaki by the hands. 

“Really!”  She exclaimed, pulling him closer to her body. 

Tamaki blushed at this sudden movement, “tried” to move his body and nodded his head, yes to confirm what he asked her. Y/n squealed before pulling the violet-haired man in a full-blown hug. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am honestly CLUELESS when it comes to putting things together and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to do it! This helps so much! Thank you!”

Tamaki’s face went red as a cherry as he tried his best to make his words conceit but his thundering heart, increasing body temperature, and his burning ears made that quite difficult to do. He gave her his best smile and she gave him an even bigger one back before dragging him to the biggest box. 

“Let’s get this over with, it’s the hardest one here.”

Together, the two of them opened the box and started taking the parts out. While the two of them set up her office, they got to know each other more, from him telling her about her times as a pro hero in America. 

“Yeah, America is so different from Japan,” she mused, ripping open the smaller boxes, “Here you get your license from the Hero Commission which is a branch under the Federal Government. You can work anywhere in the country! In America, you can only be licensed in the state you take your test in!” Y/n explained, grabbing the instructions to see which parts she had. 

“Wait, how many states are in America? I know there’s a lot,” Tamaki asked, making Y/n giggle and cover her mouth. 

Y/n shook her head, “there’s fifty of them, and I could only work in Texas, where I’m from.”

Tamaki shook his head, “but what if you’re out of the state and an emergency appears and they need help?”

Y/n shrugs, “I have to leave it to the heroes there, interfering could cause me to lose my job.” She laid out all the parts and counted in her head to make that all the parts were here. 

“When I’m not in my licensed state, I’m just a simple civilian with no permission to use their quirk.”

“America’s really different from Japan, I should have known though,” Tamaki let out a little chuckle as he said that. 

“Yeah, just the size of Texas is bigger than Japan. A different system is to be expected I guess,” Y/n shrugged her shoulders. 

She picked up the boards and the poles and started putting them together but for some reason, it wouldn’t go in. Feeling frustrated, she continued to struggle with the pieces, confused as to why they weren’t going in the hole. 

“Stupid piece of,” she hissed under breath as she continued to struggle, “you doing too much for me, just go in the thing!”

Hearing her mumble under breath in English, Tamaki turned around from building his own part to seeing Y/n struggle. He smiled slightly before getting up and walking to her. Y/n saw him move over to her and before she could process it, he grabbed the pieces from her. 

“No, I think it goes over here,” Tamaki reached over behind Y/n and flipped the pole, and slid it in the hole with no problem. 

Y/n smiled at Tamaki as he did the rest of the poles, doing it effortlessly. He was about to screw everything in whenY/n stopped him.

“I can do this part but thank you!” She grabbed her screwdriver from him and before she knew it, she placed a kiss on his right cheek. 

Oh lord, Y/n thought, her head running wild, oh lord, oh lord, oh lord, what the fuck did I do?!!? Why the fuck did I kiss him???? Well, it was only on the chek, BUT FUCKING STILL!!

Tamaki was frozen, his face red. His heart pounded in his chest, and he stood there frozen. She just kissed him on the cheek, a kiss, her lips were on some part of his body. His face, his right cheek. A girl, a girl he liked. 

Y/n on the other hand took a deep breath before going back to her unfinished bookcase and continuing as if nothing happened. Tamaki looked at her quietly putting her shelf together before Tamaki decided he should do the same. They both didn’t mention what happened.

---

“Oh yeah, Tamaki what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” Y/n asked him, using the screwdriver to carefully tighten the screw in her new desk. 

Tamaki was pulled out of his thoughts, looked at her confused, before remembering what he had to talk to them about. Why he even came to her office in the first place. 

“It concerns both you and your partner, I was hoping he would be here with you since I didn't see him in his office,” Tamaki replied, standing up and stretching his back. 

“He’s using his day off to visit his mom,” she said, remembering the conversation they had while he dropped her off, “he hasn’t seen her in a while and he said he’s finally caught up with paperwork so yeah,” 

Tamaki nodded, not caring about what Aoi did. 

“But I’m sure I can relay to him what’s going on, so what’s up?” She asked, leaving on her desk for support from being on her feet all day. 

Tamaki nodded, “It’s about a case I’ve been working on, you remember your debut fight and the explosion at Tadashi Center right?” Tamaki started, going in his bag and pulling out his flash drive with a conceded version of his and Kirishima’s presentation. 

Y/n nodded, tilting her head at the question. He handed her the flash drive and began explaining what the mission was about and its ties to her debut fight and the attack in Tadashi Center

“We believe that the people who attacked during those two times are a part of the same organization, looking to gain the same infamy that the League of Villains gained. You know about the League right?”

She nodded, “anyone who has access to news worldwide knows who they are. They left a hole in Japan’s hero society, a ginormous one.” 

Tamaki nodded, “and we believe this group is trying to continue what they left and destroy society as we know it. This is what I’ve been working on for a while and we are finally making some moves. This is where you and Aoi-San come in,” Tamaki reported. 

“Comes in?”

Y/n used her fingers to replicate quotes as she said this. Tamaki nodded. 

“Your quirk is the most effective, the ability to swallow fire and make it your own, you’ll become a big help if more explosions ever come up. Aoi-San comes as extra backup, never go wrong with extra hands, c-considering he’s your part-partner,” Tamaki finishes, sweating profusely when he mentions Aoi as your partner. 

“So out of the sidekicks here, you want me and Aoi to join you?” 

Tamaki nodded, “we’ll have other heroes from other agencies join us, we didn’t want to take any chances with them, so we made sure that we made other heroes who were affected aware of this. This was a last-minute decision made by Fat gum after seeing reports on how you were able to put out the flames in less than 5 minutes. ”

Y/n stared at him with a look he didn’t recognize, he could feel his heart pound at that. 

Oh no, did I say something wrong?!? Oh no, I didn’t mean to offend her, what do I do?! This so weird, why the fuck do I do- Tamaki’s thoughts started to overrun him again, he almost fell into the deep put before hearing low chuckles echo through the office which pulled him out of his thoughts. 

Tamaki looked at Y/n with confusion as she continued to laugh. She then stopped laughing and jumped off the desk and stretched her back out. 

Y/n nodded her head in understanding, mumbling under her breath, “that makes sense.” 

Tamaki perked up, “so you’ll join us?”

Y/n blinked at him, confused at what he said, “I had a choice?”

It was Tamaki’s turn to look at her confused, why would she think she doesn’t have a choice in this? Tamaki ignored this and just nodded his head. Y/n smiled at that and gave him a thumbs up. 

“I’m all in! And I’m sure that Aoi would be perfectly okay with it, I’ll make sure of it!” She exclaimed. 

Aoi? He thought to himself, deflating slightly before giving Y/n a last nod and turning to leave. As he did that, he heard a gasp and Y/n asking for him to wait. Tamaki turned back around, heart pounding in anticipation and he started to sweat. 

“Ye-yes?” He stumbled out, cursing at himself. 

She smiled before handing him her phone with ‘New Contact’ pulled up.

“I’ve wanted to ask you for your number for a while because I think your quirk would be very suitable for some training together?” She smiled, crossing her arms. 

Tamaki still didn't say anything as she pushed herself up from leaning against her desk and picked up her phone. She typed away at it before handing it to him. 

He stared at it confused before realizing he was supposed to put his number in it. He quickly grabbed the phone and typed in his number and his name before handing it back to her. 

“H-here you go.”

Y/n smiled and took her phone back, tapping away at it before putting it away, “thanks! I’ll text you?” 

Tamaki's eyes widened and his ears went cherry red, “yeah, just...just text me.” He stumbled out before heading to the door

[disenchantedhq]

AURADON CITY: THE CAPITAL OF THE UNITED KINGDOM

Auradon City was once a broken down old parrish where an abandoned palace sat but following the Cauldron War, His Majesty King Adam had decided to rebuild upon the barren town bones to create a city of such magnificence and splendor which could be seen from the southern foreign lands. It is the stronghold of The United Kingdom of Auradon, its most crowning achievement, and it is here that the royal palace was constructed. It had taken twelve years of nonstop building, starting in 1801, and has since become the permanent home of the royal family. Split into Eight Districts, each boasting their own unique businesses and points of interest, it stands as the largest city in all the land. Between the shopping of Centre Commercial, the entertainment of Upper District, the magic of the Enchanted Hills, and the pristine townhomes of the Garden District, there is much to be seen in Auradon — even in its Low Town and Seaside Ridge districts, which boast some of the best foods (and admittedly seedier delights). Welcome to Auradon City; we hope you have a splendid visit.

Below the cut is a tour of all eight districts of Auradon City, as well as information on the 22 points of interest labeled on the map. Starting here on it is suggested you mention location/time frame of your threads based in and around the city. Characters are free to journey to any district, with the exception of the Garden District which is home of the nobility and the only gated district in the city. Refer to the information below for more help in understanding the city and its layout. And as always — reach out should you have any questions.

THE ROYAL PALACE

Slightly off center from the city, where the gated Garden District and Central Auradon meet, lays the Royal Palace. Home to their Majesties King Adam and Queen Belle, and their daughter Her Royal Highness Princess Emma, Auradon Palace is the newest castle in all of Auradon. While there was the abandoned Catherine Palace in the north of the city, King Adam and Queen Belle desired to create a brand new home to raise their family and rule over their citizens. It is what took up the majority of the twelve year construction project to create the capitol, and prior to its construction the family lived at either the chateau or King Adam’s former castle by the Enchanted Forest. At approximately 680,000 square feet, it is the largest palace in the entire continent. With a large guarded gate around it, and vast gardens between, it is an impressive sight to see from beyond, though few have been close. In the early days of Auradon, the King and Queen allowed for the citizens to come and visit frequently, to stroll the gardens and even tour the halls, particularly to spend time in the grand ballrooms (of which there are four within) and the library. But in recent times the gates closed off to the public as concerns over the royal family’s safety came into question. With over 2,300 rooms, 2,000 windows, 1,250 chimneys, and 67 grand stair cases, it is considered the most impressive architecture in all of Auradon and is home to many yearly events such as Queen Belle’s Ball, the Yuletide Ball, Rose Day Festivities, and much more. To get an audience in the castle is highly rare — state business is conducted often at The University or even at Queen Belle’s Chateau. Along its border gates are four guard houses where the elite members of the Royal Guard are housed on duty, with the castle grounds having a 24/7 security intel of over 100 guards on the grounds, spread throughout.

GARDEN DISTRICT

Despite its name, the Garden District actually lacks in gardens but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a colorful nor beautiful sight. The only district in the city, aside from the palace, which has a gated perimeter (of which it shares gates with the palace) the Garden District is home to the other former royals of Auradon, those who relinquished their crowns for lesser titles when uniting the kingdoms in one grand country. At least, when they gather in town. With rows upon rows of gorgeous town homes, the sizes of which are far more impressive than meets the eye, the Garden District is the one district that is quiet for half the year. It becomes let when the social season begins and the noble families travel from their various home territories to the city to mingle. The townhomes have been built in likeness, tall and narrow from the outside, but deep and long, with balconies and tall windows from which the nobles may look outside onto the well polished paved roads. The fronts are beautiful colors, pastels that befit the families within, and from the back they have long lush backyards which many have manicured in the stylish designed gardens of the palace. Carriages are rare within the Garden District, where most walk around on foot, gayly greeting their neighbors. Gentlemen callers step into the charming stylish salons to call upon the refined ladies, who sit by the windows as they needle point. There are few buildings outside of the homes within the Garden District, and as such it is the smallest district within. The closer your home is to the castle, the higher your status. As such, the three Dukes and their families have town houses which are slightly larger and grander by the gates closest to the castle. The Earls are placed near to them, and the Viscounts and Barons are the furthest housed from the castle on the noble lines. On the northeastern end, facing the N. Rue De Destin you can find the untitled members of society in town homes which are still brightly colored but are all a bit smaller than the noble town homes. And on the north western side, facing Upper District you can find a few social clubs for men and women alike to attend, one public garden (though private to the citizens of the gates) and an assembly room for small gatherings of the Garden Elite.

CENTRE COMMERCIAL

Sitting to the east of Town Square and the Garden District, and bordered by the outer city tenet farmer lands, is the Centre Commercial. As it’s name suggests, this district is where the vendors and tradesmen of Auradon have settled. While there are small stylish apartments, it is known mostly for its Rue de Magasins where the most frequented shops for noblemen and women alike are situated. The most skilled Modiste in all of Auradon City can be found here, conveniently just a couple blocks away from the Garden District gates. Young ladies are constantly floating in and out of there, wearing the latest fashions and trends which originate right here in the capitol city. Its seamstress is the most heavily regarded in all of Auradon, and she makes her clothing with fine needle and the assistance of only the most skilled birds and mice in all the kingdom. Likewise the ‘Chip in a Cup’ Tea Shoppe can be found nearby, and is considered one of the prime cafes to take a sweetheart to when you wish to be unsupervised in public. Just outside of the Garden District Gates along Evermore Parkway sits a Gentlemen’s Club, a private society club for the noblemen to mingle and jest. While it is rumored some nefarious dealings happen within the clubhouse, it is overall a pristine company which devotes itself to charity and good works. Along with these hot spots there is a general shop, bakery, blacksmith, cobbler, and artisan guild centered here, among many other restaurants and shopping experiences. Centre Commercial’s motto is this — should you desire it, then you will surely find it right here!

LOW TOWN

The southeastern most district in Auradon City, Low Town earned its name and reputation from a number of sources. Primarily because it is “lower” than the other districts, both physically and socially (though the beaches of seaside ridge are more southern), but also because of its poor maintenance and dense poor population which gives the overall district a less than savory public image. Similar to its neighboring Old Town, Low Town has cobbled streets which would be charming if they were cleaned and swept more often. While society on the other districts is more polite and the streets better taken care of, Low Town is full of foul mouthed sailors and vagrants that relieve themselves on the side of the road and who toss chamber pots from their second or third story windows. Most of Low Town is made up of banged up tenement houses and run down older buildings from prior to Auradon City’s construction. Housing the most docks on Auradon City’s coast, it’s one of the first places where poor foreigners dock when they wish to move to the city or see it. Among its points of interest are some seedier places, such as the Poison Apple Pub, oldest pub in the entire city which is hidden in a twisting alleyway, and a Brothel which is run by a Madam Plaisir and is said to be somewhere among the broken down buildings by the docks. Most of the Royal Guard and Royal Navy men can be seen patrolling the streets, supposedly on duty, keeping the citizens of Low Town ‘in line’, though they’re also known to frequent the establishments there — you can especially see the former at Madam Plaisir’s following a long voyage at sea. Any form of deviant behavior and entertainment exists here. Rumor has it that there is another private underground club, for those of certain persuasions which may not feel comfortable expressing themselves publicly just yet to meet other likeminded individuals, but its not public knowledge whether this place exists let alone where it may exist. It is also in this district where the Shadowborn boarding houses are, just by the border of Low Town and Town Square where they were first presented.

OLD TOWN

Old Town is the oldest and mostly untouched part of Auradon City, with the exception of preservationists who try to keep it looking relatively nice. It borders the tenet farms and is less city than any of the other parts. More so a widely spread country parish, it’s the quaintest area in all of Auradon City. Old Town doesn’t boast many things of interest — there is the old Hall of Records here (though most relevant documentation is now housed at the University) and there are a couple older shoppes and a general store there. Among its more interesting finds is a large Farmers Market where the tenet farmers come to sell their stock, and then the most frequented stop of all is Maurice’s Emporium, a large and odd looking workshop run by the Queen’s aging commoner father. Here one can get a glimpse of the sort of mechanics and curiosities that will ‘become the norm’ of the future, all done at the hands of the master scientist and inventor. Aside from that oddity, Old Town is also home to the only orphanage in all of Auradon: Granny Willow’s Home for Orphaned Children. The orphans are known for wearing long red capes (for girls) or coats (for boys) and can often be seen walking single file through the village. They rarely visit the city itself, but make occasional trips to see the shoppes or catch a concert whenever the royal family is generous enough to pay entry for them. Old Town is mostly quiet, a small taste of country living within the borders of the big city, and is a great place to go for a little stroll or to get away from the hectic frenzy of the city.

SEASIDE RIDGE

The other southern district to the west of Low Town is the Seaside Ridge. With the eastern coast of it at a higher elevation, on a rocky cliff featuring a single lighthouse, and the western coast a vast sandy beach, Seaside Ridge is the picturesque brother of Low Town. With sand strewn streets lined with darling Tudor homes and colorful “beach houses”, it’s sometimes jokingly called the “mini Tirulia”. Within Seaside Ridge there are two docks which the Royal Navy call their ports, as well as the official entry way for foreign visitors. It is here that the world famous Benbow Inn, run by Sarah Hawkins, sits. Here you can find the best accommodations and breakfast in all of Auradon. But if the shepherd’s pie and in house brewed ale can’t tempt you, then look no further than a few blocks to the east where you can find the Auradon City location of Tiana’s Place — the restaurant owned by Lady Maldonia herself, serving up the Bayou de Orleans’ most cherished dishes, such as gumbo, jambalaya, po’boys and the best beignets in all the continent, at all hours of the day. Tiana’s Place is considered the crème de la crème of fine dining establishments in the entire country, and has only been open for three years now. Aside from the top notch dining, Seaside Ridge’s biggest boast in the long stretch of untouched, undockable sandy beach. A favorite place to take a stroll in the wind sand, or to dip one’s feet into the cool waters of the Audratic Sea; modest “bathing machines” have been showing up on the beach, giving visitors the chance to dress and take a dip in the somewhat murky waters of the southern shore — without the nudity common in Tirulia Beach. Come here to relax and play some cricket or take in the sun and salty sea air.

CENTRAL AURADON

Central Auradon is, funny enough, not in the center of the city but is still named as the center district. The largest district in all of Auradon City, it is technically the district which houses the royal palace. In Central Auradon there sits two docks which are heavily in use by the Royal Guard, and where foreign dignitaries, such as Imperial China, Agrabah and Kuzcotopia, dock when they are visiting. Here there is a large watch tower run by the Royal Guard, as well as the largest Guard’s Barracks. The latter is often the sight of commoner balls and parties, practically every weekend, which the elite rarely take part in but are known for being the most fun Royal Guardsmen get while on duty in the capitol. A perfect place to go and dance with a sweetheart when royal balls are not scheduled for the upcoming weeks. Aside from the Royal Guard headquarters, Central Auradon is also home to Town Square, a lot mostly in the center of all districts where a large statue of King Adam sits, watching over the citizens of Auradon City with a noble scowl. The statue itself is enchanted, being able to shift between the king’s human and beast forms, and is made of a shimmery almost iridescent stone. It was a gift from the Emperor of China following the incorporation of the city and has sat in town square since 1814, one year after the city’s official opening. Further west of town square lies the grandest cathedral in all of Auradon: Notre Dame, where the royals and nobility hold their grand wedding ceremonies and the majority of Auradon City’s populace attend church. A gorgeous and tall gothic building with large bells which are rung by the bell keeper Quasimodo on the hour and on special holidays / events. There is also a cemetery here, St. Lazarus, full of marble mausoleums where the nobility bury their dead. It is considered a great honor to be laid to rest in Auradon City under the watchful eye of the royal family, and some nobles even prefer to be buried there than back in their homelands.

UPPER DISTRICT

Upper District is ironically a quieter part of Auradon. This statement is ironic only because it is home to Auradon’s Grand Theater House, the largest and most impressive opera house in all the land. Here the soprano Madame De La Grande Bouche preforms regularly, and the greatest composers and royal orchestra call home. It is a highlight of the social season to attend the opera in Upper District and it is during that period in which the nobles are in town that the grandest shows and concerts are had. On the off season, the opera house is a bit quieter but they’re always ready to rev up a performance should any nobles appear in town on the off season. It isn’t cheap to get tickets so it mostly caters to the elite. It is rumored that within the opera house there is also a higher end gentlemen’s establishment, for those noblemen who don’t want to risk sullying their reputations by seeking out the brothel in Low Town, though there is little evidence to this. The singers and actresses of the theater are rather pretty and can easily win the favor of young amorous lords with or without a Madame managing. Aside from the opera house, The Univeristy of Auradon is also found in Upper District. A college (sadly) exclusively for male scholars, it is here where men come to study the law and science, and where the magistrates and lawmakers meet. The University is home to the Hall of Records, a museum on Auradon History, the biggest scholarly library, and a hospital where medical students practice on the ill. It has a gorgeous courtyard with incredible marble statues and is popular for strolls rather than stately visits.

ENCHANTED HILLS

The northernmost district of Auradon is actually one of the oldest parts of the city, and heavily reconstructed. That’s because what is now Enchanted Hills used to be the Imperial City of St. Petersburg. Here there sits the abandoned Catherine Palace, the castle owned by Czar Nicholas and the Romanovs before their assassination in 1788. The palace and surrounding city went to disrepair and was the inspiration for King Adam to convert that entire southern area into the grand capitol Auradon City is today. Catherine Palace was originally suggested for the royal family, but they didn’t want to take up the home of the Czar. Not when rumors persisted that his daughter still lived somewhere. Instead they took the Czar’s country home and made it into Queen Belle’s Chateau, and spent much of 1810-1812 reconstructing Catherine Palace. It is now rebuilt and its maintenance kept up should the Grand Duchess prove to be alive. While it’s a beautiful sight, Catherine Palace isn’t the big draw of Enchanted Hills. It is the park which it is named after, The Enchanted Park, which gives it its reputation as the most beautiful district. This large park brings much needed greenery to the city, miles of labyrinthine gardens, winding paths through weeping willows, lanes with cherry blossom trees lining them, and an enchanted lake where the water is said to have magical properties which can heal from all manners of spellbinding enchantment. It boasts four grand fountains and over 75 marble statues all depicting various legends from Auradon history, as well as a large memorial in commemoration of the Cauldron War. It’s a garden made of fairy magic which preserves its beauty and flora through all seasons, always comfortably warm and sunny even if it’s snowing outside. The perfect place to take a stroll with a prospective spouse. Last of all, Enchanted Hills is home to the Fey Borough, or the neighborhood where the faeries live, much like the Garden District is for the nobles. Faeries from all over, even Pixie Hollow, come to settle here throughout the year to learn from elder faeries and to assist the royal family of Auradon. Their parlors are always open to those good hearted folk in need, and even just for an ear to listen to your troubles. Here they promise that that wish, that dream your heart makes, can truly come true. Just have a little faith and trust, and maybe even some pixie dust, and see it all become reality right before your very eyes!

And that my friends is Auradon City! As the roleplay continues and my vision of Auradon expands, I may continue to add to this to give more and more details on our main setting. Please refer to this page often to catch up on updates and have an understanding of the city, and please use as much of this as you can for reference! Auradon City has a lot to offer setting wise and culturally do have fun with this information and use it for your plotting and threading going forward. If you have questions about specific places mentioned or how to use them in threads, simply post in the #questions section of our discord or DM me directly. I’ll expand upon anything you guys want, this is mostly to give a general idea. You can use the images as reference as well but remember they’re more inspiration and not exactly the rule. Obviously the Royal Palace ISN’T Versailles, but it has a similar vibe. And note that each district has more hotspots than what has already been labeled, I’m just giving you guys a few places to use and offer a broad spectrum of settings within the city. You can be creative as well and talk about alleyways, homes or the kinds of stores and establishments that should exist within a regency or georgian era city that weren’t detailed here. And if you have suggestions for any hot spots — let me know! I will gladly take input and add to the ever growing Auradon of disenchanted!

As always, hit me up with any questions you have! I hope you’re all able to find this post helpful and to use it to further flesh out the universe. ☺️

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

A Journey to France to Uncover the Mysteries of the Carnegie’s Grand Staircase

The Carnegie Institute has been in existence for 125 years and is one of the greatest architectural buildings ever designed in Pittsburgh. In 1985, Carnegie Institute President Robert Wilburn invited Dr. Cynthia R. Field, the Smithsonian’s Architecture Historian, to assess the artistic value of the museum. He asked, “what do you think is the most valuable specimen or painting in the museum?” She said, “The Building Itself is the Greatest Object of the entire Museum Collection” (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1: Carnegie plaque

The internationally-famous architect, I.M. Pei, who designed the Louvre’s glass pyramid that sits in the Louvre’s central courtyard in Paris, France, opined, “Architecture is the very mirror of life. You only have to cast your eyes on buildings to feel the presence of the past, the spirit of a place; they are the reflection of society.” In 2018, Architecture Digest ranked the Carnegie’s Grand Staircase the 8th best museum staircase in the world. The Grand Staircase was built by the Pittsburgh architectural firm of Alden and Harlow at the apex of America’s Gilded-Age building boom. During my research, I discovered that the architects employed multicolored classic marbles and fossil limestones in the interior design from Algeria, Croatia, Greece, France, Ireland, Italy, and the United States. The commission to build the Grand Staircase in 1907 incorporated two classical French fossil limestones in the columns and pillars, floor tiles, steps, walls, balconies, and water fountains. This monumental Beaux-Arts style staircase is modeled after the L‘Opéra Garnier ‛a Paris, Grand Staircase in France, c. 1875, and was visited by a French Delegation with Andrew Carnegie (Fig. 2). The architecture described as Beaux-Arts was taught at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, from the mid-19th century until 1900. It drew upon the principles of French neoclassicism and used modern building materials, i.e., iron and glass. And as such, it became a preferred architectural style in the United States from 1895 until 1910 in cities such as, Boston, Chicago, New York City, Pittsburgh, and Washington D.C.

Fig. 2: French delegation and Andrew Carnegie

In 2019, The Carnegie’s Grand Staircase and Music Hall Foyer were recognized in the book La pierre de l’Échaillon Une histoire locale, une renommée international for the use of Échaillon jaune (yellow) ornamental stone in the museum’s columns, pillars, and walls (Fig. 3). This book was published by S.P.I.A. (Sauvegarde du Partrimoine Industriel d’Autrefois, a historical society founded by Jean Paul Rey, president) (Fig. 4).  In the book, they describe how a small French village of l’Échaillon, pronounced Esh-ee-own, received recognition for its white marble (a limestone) used by famous French architects in 64 classic buildings and sculptures from 1875 to the early 20th century (Fig. 5).  I first met Jean Paul in October of 2016, when I was invited to give a presentation at an S.P.I.A. meeting on my research on the Carnegie’s l’Échaillon.  The meeting was held in an old schoolhouse in the village of Saint-Quentin-sur-Isère, Département de Isère, in southeast France.

Fig. 3: The Grand Staircase

Fig. 4: Jean Paul Rey and Albert D. Kollar

Fig. 5: Book cover

The French Limestones in the Carnegie’s Architecture

The Carnegie building stones research project progressed significantly, once we obtained the digital images of the architect’s blueprints from the Carnegie Museum of Art’s Architecture Department. With the assistance of my co-authors, Rich Fedosick and Kay Hughes of the Section of Invertebrate Paleontology, we examined the blueprints to understand the architects Marble Index terminology (Fig. 6). Eventually, we were able to interpret and recognize the location of the two French limestones based on the Marble Index letters, E for Échaillon and H for Hauteville. From a nonscientific perspective, the architects considered the Carnegie’s interior stones to be marbles. However, the geological definition of a marble is when a rock defined as a limestone or dolomite is subjected to high heat and pressure from geologic forces forms a metamorphic rock.  The six stones listed in the Marble Index as marbles, are limestones, a sedimentary rock enriched with fossil seashells. The characteristic rudist fossils and yellow color that distinguish the Échaillon stone are found in the 18 pillars and the 22 columns that rise 3.8 meters or 12.5 feet about the Grand Staircase, and in the walls of the Music Hall Foyer (Fig. 7).

Fig. 6: Marble index E and H letters

Fig. 7: Échaillon fossils

The other French limestone used in the Carnegie is Hauteville. This limestone was quarried from the Plateau d’Hauteville in the Ain Department, in eastern France. I visited this quarry in 2016 to investigate the geology of the quarry operation, to uncover evidence of the common fossil snail Nerinea in the quarry rock (Fig. 8), and to learn more about the cultural history of the region (Fig. 9).  The Hauteville limestone was used in the Grand Staircase walls, balcony features, water fountains, vestibule steps, and as floor tiles. Other locations include, the Hall of Sculpture and Hall of Architecture floors, the walls along the grand hallway, the Music Hall vestibule floor, the Founder’s Room vestibule floor, the floor and steps in the Smoking Room (now offices), the Forbes Avenue vestibule entrances to the music hall, carriage drive, and museum and fine arts. Moreover, the Hauteville floor tiles are distributed throughout the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh main entrance corridors. The Hauteville stone is beige in color and contains many visible fossils, none more distinctive than the robust Nerinea, a 12.7 cm/5-inch-long snail that serves as the index fossil for the limestone identification (Fig. 10).

Fig. 8: Hauteville Quarry fossil snail

Fig. 9: Hauteville directional signs

Fig. 10: Nerinea snail in Carnegie floor

Introduction to the l’Échaillon Carrières

There are three carrières or quarries in the Vercors cliffs located in the Isère River Valley that were excavated for White Echaillon or “Echaillon blanc,” Yellow Echaillon or “Echaillon jaune,” and Pink Echaillon or “Echaillon rose” during the 19th and early 20th century (Fig. 11).  These unique color combinations became popular for various interior and exterior architecture features in 194 buildings in western Europe, North Africa, and the United States. In 2016, Jean Paul Rey and members of S.P.I.A. led me on a field trip to the abandoned classic l’Échaillon white quarries (Fig. 12). We explored what is thought to be a 2,000-year-old Roman quarry and walked through a maze of underground caverns and narrow tunnels that contained abandoned mining equipment.  The other two Echaillon carrières are located several kilometers south in the small villages of Lignet, where the Pink Echaillon was quarried (Fig. 13) and Rovon, where the Yellow Echaillon was excavated (Fig. 14).

Fig. 11: Echaillon quarries locations, S.P.I.A.

Fig. 12: Visit to Echaillon

Fig. 13: Lignet Quarry Marker

Fig. 14: Rovon quarry

Cularo, Grenoble, and the white l’Echaillon stone

A fortuitous discovery was made by S.P.I.A. for their book while searching for evidence of the white l’Echaillon in the Gallo-Romans era 4th century Cularo or Grenoble, France today. In the Saint Laurent crypt that is preserved many meters below the modern-day street level tramway, a white capitol on top of a white limestone column was identified as l’Echaillon. This white capitol stone is presumably from the Roman quarry adjacent to the white l’Echaillon underground caverns. When Emperor Gratian ruled the Roman Empire from 367 to 383 A.D., he renamed Cularo after himself. Cularo thus became Gratianopolis, which through a later phonetic shift became Graignovol and then Grenoble. Although hard to find among the narrow streets and passageways of Grenoble, is a section of a Roman wall that once encircled Cularo, a portion of which is protected by a fence. This historic wall can be seen at Passage Sainte-Claire on the corner of Rue Lafayette, in the central city of Grenoble (Fig. 15). I suspect some of the white cobbles embedded in the wall may have their origin from the white l’Echaillon Roman quarry. Undoubtedly, more research will be necessary to make an affirmative conclusion.

Fig. 15: Roman wall

“Geology of the l’Échaillon Carrières”

The drawing of a new geologic map on the l’Echaillon carrières by Professor Thierry Dumont of the Université Grenoble-Alpes, confirms stratigraphically, the ages of the three limestone quarries. Among the three, the white Echaillon limestone is late Jurassic in age, whereas the pink Lignet and yellow Rovon limestones are early Cretaceous in age. The formal geologic name for the rose and yellow limestones is the Urgonian Formation. Fossils are abundant in the three limestones. Dr. Claudie Durand of Le musèum d’Histoire naturelle de Grenoble (Fig. 16) curated a diverse collection of 163 species of invertebrate fossils from l’Echaillon first published in 1919. Geologically, the three limestones were deposited in the tropical Tethys Seaway a circum-equatorial ocean of the Mesozoic Era. The strata form the Vercors carbonate platform, a buildup of late Mesozoic rudist (bivalve mollusk) reefs spanning 25 million years of evolution from (late Jurassic 140 million years ago to early Cretaceous 165 million years ago) (Fig. 17).  

Fig. 16: Dr. Claudie Durand

Fig. 17: Rudist (bivalve) reef fossils

The Rovon carrière provenance and fossils

The primary goal of this research is to define the geology and authenticate the specific provenance of all marbles, fossil limestones, sandstones, and the singular igneous granite rock used in the Carnegie building. The search for the provenance of the Carnegie’s yellow Echaillon was initiated in December of 2017 by Jean Paul Rey, when we were introduced to the Forman of the modern-day Rovon quarry. After a long discussion about our objectives, he granted permission to visit the old quarry. As darkness fell, we met with a local farmer who directed us to the quarry location in the Vercors cliffs that rise some 538 meters above his snow-covered field (Fig. 18).  

Fig. 18: Verors cliffs and old Rovon quarry

In October of 2018, the S.P.I.A. team pre-arranged to have several 4-wheel trucks transport ten people including Professor Fabienne Giraud-Guillot of the Université Grenoble-Alpes to the Rovon quarry. We ascended the long steep road that ended some 500 m from the main quarry. Surprisingly, the quarry was filled with massive limestone boulders that were cut by mechanical wire saws from the cliff rock (Fig. 19). Such large boulders make it virtually impossible to break with small hammers. For actual fossil collecting purposes, it is better to search for smaller size rocks to break apart (Fig. 20). This past October, transport to the Rovon quarry riding in a 55-year-old Russian built farm tractor was a treat (Fig. 21). And the fossil collecting was a success with 21 complete specimens collected for the museum of the diagnostic Caprina rudist bivalve clam (Fig. 22). The shape of these fossils closely resembles the fossils preserved in the Echaillon limestone in the Grand Staircase and Music Hall Foyer. Additional geologic data is being reviewed by colleagues from the Geology Department at the University of Zagreb in Croatia and the University of Ireland at Galway.  

Fig. 19: S.P.I.A. team

Fig. 20: Collecting fossils

Fig. 21: Russian tractor

Fig. 22: Caprina rudist clam

“Carnegie’s Grand Staircase in the 21st Century”

A study published this month by the BMJ, formerly The British Medical Journal, suggested that “when people of all ages participate in the arts and visit museums once a month or even every few months, they are likely to be more engaged in the world and may actually live longer.” Years ago, the Oscar winner actor Russell Crowe was in Pittsburgh, and he was asked what he did on his days off. In reply, he said, “I ride my bicycle to look at buildings and the architecture of the city.” I. M. Pei states, “Architecture brings people together.” I agree.

Maybe it’s time to reconsider how the Carnegie’s Grand Staircase is promoted to the public at large. For instance, the current arrangement of the free-standing dioramas situated on the first floor, awkwardly impede the flow of patrons walking among the pillars, columns, and the taking of photographs of the Grand Staircase.  Moreover, the placement of these dioramas detracts from the visual enjoyment of the famous John White Alexander multicolor murals. An artistic feature of the murals is their connection to the stone colors to enhance the first and second floors architectural features. The best vantage points to see this fabulous spectrum of color is from the third-floor balcony looking down to the first and second floors.

The Carnegie Museum of Art (Museum of Fine Arts) will be celebrating its 125th Anniversary in the fall of 2020. The Grand Staircase was designed as the showcase entrance to the Museum of Fine Arts for Pittsburghers of the early 20th Century. One hundred and twenty-five years later, perhaps, this world-class space can once again establish a new generation of museum patrons and become the destination as a place to be for its cultural and intellectual heritage.  And don’t forget, this staircase can be an Instagram-worthy site for a family portrait to encourage our younger audiences to visit too.

Albert D. Kollar is the Collection Manager in the Section of Invertebrate Paleontology at Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.