#no no he's learning arabic first and then english LATER. if he would ever even get there with the league

[starry-bi-sky]

I saw a post a few months ago (and damn was it really months? In PLURAL?) that was a cracky dpxdc au where the LOS were making Damian clones but the clones kept getting snatched by ghost portals and dropped into Danny’s lap and Danny just goes “ok ig this is my life now” and takes care of each one until he has his own mini army of Damian Clones.

And I remembered it a few days ago, and now I've been thinking about it again. Because I love clone aus (see: clone danny au, the 'danny is thomas wayne' au) because it itches the part of my mind that loves exploring personhood and the exploration of identity and what it means to be clone.

(What do you do when nothing about you is unique? When your face, your eyes, your hands, your hair, your voice, all the way down to your heart, all belong to someone else?)

(When it comes to nature vs nurture what of you came from your environment and your experiences, and what of you was already programmed into you from the DNA that made you?)

(What do you do to make it unique? What do you do to make you unique?)

And if I could remember who made that post I'd @ them right now because it was their original post that inspired this, but I'm just thinking of if the au only had One Singular Damian clone that fell into Danny's life.

(a read more because im apparently incapable of making posts that are less than 1k words...)

One Damian who knew he was a clone and knew that he was to either bring the original back to base or kill him to take his place, who was being trained the same way but kept getting compared to his original over and over again. Like an older sibling who you can never match up to. Who is still a child who craves adult affection and validation and praise, and can't get it because nothing about him is original.

One Damian who, at six years old, in a twist of fate is sucked through a swirling portal and lands in Amity Park, directly on top of, in front of, or in line of sight of one Daniel Fenton, half-ghost extraordinaire and local hero.

What happens next?

Well, for one, Danny recognizes him immediately. He would recognize the face of Damian Wayne anywhere because his best friend was ranting about him all week about Damian Wayne's environmental stuff he does.

And for two, he would recognize that the Damian Wayne in front of him was not Damian Wayne. Because Damian Wayne was a teenager. And the Damian Wayne in front of him is a child. Six years old.

Getting this not-Damian but also-Damian to go along with Danny is not, not an easy task. The tiny Damian is aggressive, regal, and at this point in time, six years old, barely understanding english. He also has a sword.

It takes all day and a google translator to get this Tiny Damian to finally agree to go home with Danny. It's a miracle. Seriously. A tried and true miracle. And its also only when Danny has to fight a ghost does he finally agree, saying something in arabic that Danny doesn't understand.

Danny flies them both home, carrying Tiny Damian like a koala. The ensuing conversation in his room is not any better. It is tiring, long, and exhausting. Tiny Damian is six years old, and every single thing he says when Danny asks where he came from is met with a poorly translated "that's classified".

Danny keeps an eye on the news. There are no reports of Damian Wayne going missing, in fact he's been rather public. Bruce Wayne is not one to lie about his children going missing, and Damian's secretive behavior and young age draws Danny to one conclusion: Damian is a clone.

He doesn't know why Damian Wayne is being cloned. Frankly he doesn't really wanna know, because whatever organization that did it doesn't seem too pure-of-heart if tiny-Damian's immediate attempt of murder when they first met is of any indication. But he's too busy taking care of his city, that he doesn't have time to deal with whatever shady business Tiny-Damian was produced from.

In the end though, he decides that this Tiny-Damian is not going back to whatever place he came from. Tiny Damian disagrees. It is a long, nebulous problem of Damian trying to run away, Danny catching him, and Danny pulling him back home.

In that time, Danny downloads a language app and starts learning Arabic so that they can talk to each other properly. Damian slowly, slowly, starts picking up English.

In that time, Danny also has to inform his friends and his sister about Damian. Tiny Damian is not a fan of this. That is another argument they have. Tiny Damian does not like Sam or Tucker for a long, long while. He only really "listens" to Danny, citing something in arabic that Danny still cannot understand, but has a repeated use of the word "lieazir". It's the only word that Danny can catch in a sentence immediately, because its what little Damian calls Danny.

Tiny Damian, in that front, is very interested in Danny's powers and in his parents work. He finds tubberware of ectoplasm in the fridge once while they're down in the kitchen and calls it something with the word lieazir in it. The other word is something that Danny later learns means water in arabic.

It makes him feel even more uneasy of whatever place little Damian came from.

It takes weeks for little Damian to finally give up on escaping, and then a few weeks more for him to almost entirely lose his spunk. Danny isn't sure what started it. It was as if he'd been flipped with an off-switch.

(Damian had been so confident that the League would go looking for him after his disappearance. He was wrong, and he is crushed. He is still a child, alone, in a country very big and very busy, where nobody understands what he's saying. He feels powerless, helpless.)

(The lazarus boy who calls himself Danyal is nice to him in a way the league has never been, and he's making an effort to learn Damian's language. But he leaves for hours at a time and Damian doesn't have much else to do but wait in this house for him to come back.)

(He tried leaving, many many times, but he doesn't understand the street signs, the roads, the people. He doesn't know where he is, and he feels scared in a way that he's not felt in the League. Danny finds him every single time, hours later when Damian is lost somewhere in Amity Park)

(And he never yells at him. Never. The first time this happens, Damian puffs himself up and prepares himself for this strange lazarus boy to yell at him. Damian feels like he's tripped on the last step of the stairs when Danyal doesn't yell at him.)

(He can tell he's frustrated by the tone of his voice, but when Danyal lays eyes on him he just looks relieved. He gets scolded on the flight home, but Damian doesn't understand any of it other than Danyal just sounds worried. Not angry. He gets a proper scolding once they get back, with Danyal typing into the google translator and playing it for Damian to hear.)

(This happens every single time until Damian finally agrees to stop running away.)

It's with Jazz's help that Danny finally realizes that Damian was depressed. It's with her help again that Danny tries helping with it. It's like trying to get a stray cat to trust him. And with everything else they've done, it takes a long time.

And it is so, so worth it when it all works out.

Tiny Damian doesn't really like Sam, or Tucker, but he likes Danny. And he finally starts calling him his name. His full name, but his name nonetheless. Danny doesn't bother correcting him. He's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And it's endearing hearing Damian call him Danyal.

Damian in this time, also begins to take more initiative into learning English. And they teach each other words they know. Danny buys flash cards and writes the english alphabet on them, and then finds a book on arabic to teach himself and Damian. Sam and Tucker and Jazz start learning as well.

And then when Danny knows enough arabic and Damian knows enough english, and Damian trusts Danny, Damian tells him he's a clone. It's a quiet moment, late at night when Danny takes Damian up to the ops center to look at what stars they could see through the light pollution.

It'd be very easy for Danny to tell him, "I know. I could tell from the start.". He doesn't, it's not the time nor the place, and Danny's matured enough to know when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. He lets Damian, almost seven now, tell him that he's a clone of Damian Wayne. Lets him tell him why he was made, what his purpose was.

(Danny will need a minute later to process the fact that Damian Wayne originally came from some kind of... assassin league with an obsession with immortality. But he's focused on Damian.)

In the end, he puts an arm around Damian Wayne's clone and pulls him into his side. Thanks him for trusting him, it must've been hard to tell him, that he's brave for being able to. And if he wants to, they can find a way to get into contact with the Waynes and let Wayne know about him.

Damian hides his face in Danny's ribs and holds him tight, and tells him he doesn't want to. Danny leaves it at that.

Perhaps it would be more morally ethical to alert Damian Wayne that there was a clone of him running around, that his... uh, grandfather was making clones of him. Hell, Danny would have liked it. But little Damian has asked him not to say anything, and little Damian needs someone to rely on; someone he can trust.

And in the end, its not that hard of a decision to make. Danny knows little Damian more than he knows Damian Wayne, and while Danny likes to think he's a good person, he knows he's not a great one. Nor a perfect one. He cares more about someone he knows than someone he doesn't.

If Sam tries to argue with him about it, then Danny will just double down. If Damian doesn't want to tell Wayne about his existence, then it's not their place to say otherwise.

There's a lot more to talk about over Damian's cloning, like what he wants to do moving forward. But that's a long conversation not meant to be one taken late at night. Little Damian is falling asleep at his side, seemingly much more relaxed than he did before, and Danny wasn't gonna ruin that.

And later he's right, it is a long conversation, and a slow one. Talking with Jazz about it helps him figure out what to do moving forward, and their best bet is to let Damian figure out what he wants to do. So he sits Damian down at the dinner table the next morning and tells him before breakfast that he doesn't need to be Damian Wayne.

He doesn't need to learn all the same things Damian Wayne did. He doesn't need to do anything that Damian Wayne does. And little Damian is seven, and he's smart, but Danny still has to word it in a way that's not too complex for him to realize.

And in the end, what he says essentially boils down to "You are not Damian Wayne, you are just you. Don't be anyone else but you." and it'll take more time to drill that into his mind when all he's ever heard and learned from is that he was a copy of Damian Wayne, and he must act like Damian Wayne. But it'll happen.

It's a hard task when Danny's the only person Damian really trusts and he can't be by his side all the time, but he starts to warm up to the rest of Danny's family. The Fenton parents know of him, it's hard to keep a six year old child a secret for as long as Danny did without eventually having to come clean about it. His parents, much to Danny's relief, are very welcoming to Damian.

Damian figures out what he likes. Slowly. He's six years old, almost seven, and nobody expects of him to figure out who he is immediately. No child knows who they are right off the bat. So like any child he begins to explore. His english is better but still rough, and he struggles to read said language, but the Fenton family are happy to help even if Damian learns words that no normal seven year old does. (Many of them scientific.)

Damian realizes he likes stars, even if said interest is influenced by the association to Danny. Danny is all too delighted to tell him all about them, and in the process takes him flying out somewhere where the light pollution doesn't reach and showing him where constellations are.

Damian is six-almost-seven, so he doesn't find all of them, but Danny helps him figure out the easier ones. He tells him the scientific facts behind them, and then tells him about the mythos of the constellations. Later on they make their own constellations and make up stories about what they are.

(Damian adores Danny out of anyone else in the Fenton Family. The name Danyal turns to Dany. If anyone asks, Daniel Fenton is Damian's big brother.)

(He still refers to Jazz as Jazmine, and Danny's parents as Mrs. and Mr. Fenton.)

He realizes that, like his original, he loves animals, and he becomes vegetarian too. Sam is smug and Tucker is disappointed, but Damian doesn't super care about their opinions. ...he's getting better at liking them, even if he thinks Manson is a bit snobby and Foley is too much at times.

Its inevitable that the conversation of school comes into play. Damian can't stay home all day and he needs proper schooling. So after a long talk with Damian, they agree to send him to elementary school.

...And before they can do that the Fenton Family goes through with legally adopting Damian into the family as Damian Fenton. It takes convincing to get the administration to enroll him into the first grade without a proper schooling background.

(On his adoption form, Damian asks to change his birthday to the day he met Danny. Perhaps its not the most responsible thing to agree to, but Danny wants Damian to find himself. And its not like they know when his actual birthday was.)

And despite where he learned it from, Damian quite likes sparring. And he quite likes sparring with Danny in particular. Danny makes it fun, something that was foreign in his old league training, and Danny never hurts him. It's a lot like roughhousing.

Danny tells Damian how he got his powers, and how his parents don't know. Damian wakes up late at night to Danny sneaking out of the room (their house is not big enough to give Damian an individual room, and Danny agreed to share his) to go fight ghosts.

It's upsetting. Damian knows that Danny gets injured in those fights, even if Danny never comes home until after those injuries have been fixed up. He wants to help, and he voices it, and Danny shoots him down.

It becomes an argument, something that has happened less and less over the months.

Damian is experienced.

Damian is a child.

Damian knows how to fight.

Damian is mortal and fragile. He is a tiny, squishy human boy and the people Danny fights are ghosts who are near-indestructible. Who are intimately acquainted with death but also do not remember that humans are capable of it. Especially when they're fighting.

Damian says that Batman's rogues are capable of the same thing, that he lets his Robins help him fight.

And Danny says he is not Batman and he will not allow Damian to fight ghosts with him. Those ghosts will kill him and it will hurt. Dying hurts in a way that is terrifying and unimaginable and he will not risk Damian experiencing it. Not even Sam and Tucker help him in his fights most of the time, they are not able to. Not in the way Danny can.

Damian doesn't talk to him all day the following morning, but Danny does not budge on his decision. Damian tries to follow him out the next night, and Danny catches him and takes him back. Over, and over, and over again.

Until finally he gets intercepted by Skulker while taking Damian back home and is forced to fight him in front of Damian. (If it had been his choice, he would not have let Damian see it at all.)

It's not pretty. Skulker has new weapons, weapons that hurt, a lot. Danny is stuck between trying to take him down and trying to protect Damian from Skulker's attacks at him and from all the debris being created from the fight. It's with Damian's quick thinking and fast feet that finally helps Danny take Skulker out. But Danny is badly injured in the aftermath.

He doesn't have time to take Damian home and get medical attention. So he takes Damian with him to wherever he has his supplies stashed. He doesn't call Sam or Tucker or Jazz, and has to stitch himself up alone, with Damian watching.

Damian is quiet the entire time, he feels awful. Danny's not mad at him -- well, he is. But not because he had to protect him. He's just tired, and a little disappointed in him. Damian doesn't sneak out again. But he still feels helpless.

Danny tells him that that is why he doesn't want Damian to help him. Ghosts, his ghosts, are hard to fight. They are powerful, and his 'rogues' are mean. They will not care that Damian is a mortal child, if he picks a fight with them, they will fight back. And Damian is not immune to certain ghost powers like Danny is.

Damian is silent. He wants to help. But Danny is right: he is a squishy, mortal, living child. There is not much he can do to help Danny. Not without any gear to do it. Not without any powers to do it. He wants to help. He cannot.

Damian, almost-seven-years old, begins to cry. It is the last thing Danny was expecting, and for a moment he is at a loss of what to do.

Damian reaches for him -- in the Fenton family, physical affection is expected. Damian is getting used to it, but Danny is the only one he likes touching him -- and then stops, cringing away like he only just remembered that Danny was hurt.

He only cries harder.

Danny meets him halfway and pulls him into his arms, situating Damian between his knees from where he's sitting. Through his tears, Damian says he wants to help. He wants to help. He doesn't want Danny to get hurt anymore. He doesn't want Danny to fight ghosts alone anymore. He's scared that Danny will stop coming back.

Danny doesn't have anything to say to reassure him. Can't say anything to reassure him. It'll all just be lies. He's not going to stop fighting ghosts, he can't. He's not going to stop getting hurt, he can't. He's not going to bring Damian with him, he can't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

"I'll always come back." He says though, because that is something he can promise. Whether dead or alive, he'll come back.

When the tears finally stop, Damian doesn't say anything again. He sniffles, and presses his ear to Danny's chest, listening to the steady, slow heartbeat. If he puts his ear to his sternum and strains his ear, Damian would almost hear the low hum of Danny's ghost core, like a small dwarf sun.

"If you die, I'll drag you to the Lazarus pools myself." Damian mumbles eventually, his voice sleep-full. It's spoken in arabic, and Danny only understands half of it.

He laughs quietly, and smoothes his hand over Damian's hair. He hasn't had a haircut since he arrived, it's gotten long and there are curls beginning to form. "Okay."

Damian falls asleep shortly after, and with much consideration to his own injuries and Damian's sleeping form, Danny flies them back home.

It's hard to say, but not much changes in routine afterwards. Damian hovers close to Danny, more than usual. Danny still goes out at night, he still stitches himself up before going back, he still goes back home where Damian is waiting worriedly for him. Damian doesn't like falling asleep without knowing Danny is there.

Now the hard question is: when does little Damian finally meet the Waynes for the first time? There's plenty of ways to go about it, both easy and hard. Perhaps we go this way:

The Fenton family are visiting Maddie's sister in Arkansas. And Damian is dragging Danny around through the surrounding forest. It's his first time being in a forest this large since he moved in with the Fentons. Safe to say he is delighted by all of the nature, and he's dragging Danny along with him.

Danny likes the peace and quiet it gives him, he's found that he enjoys the rural area more than he likes the city. He's happy to let Damian point out every plant he recognizes, even if some of it is in arabic.

They walk around all day until Damian gets tired, and then at night when the sky is clear Danny and him go look at the stars. It's peaceful at first.

On the third day of their visit, Damian drags Danny out far from the house. It's slightly worrying, but Danny can always fly them back if it gets too late.

It's in the woods that Danny and Damian stray much too far from Alicia's house, and from there in the early evening that they run into Batman and Red Robin, both of them in rough 'just got out of a fight' shape.

Safe to say, it was the last thing any of them expected to run into. Damian and Danny had stopped at a small crik to rest, and the two vigilantes came through the tree line on the other side.

It was... quite the staring contest.

Damian, now seven years old at this point, forgot to mention that the Waynes were vigilantes when he told Danny he was a clone. But he was told that Batman was his original's father.

Before anyone can say anything, little Damian wraps his arms tight around Danny's middle and stares Batman and Red Robin down. His sharp edges have softened around the Fentons. But he makes no exceptions to anyone else outside of Danny's immediate social circle.

Danny's arm automatically goes around Damian's shoulders, and he looks between both Red and Batman uneasily. If they were here then it meant that there was something unsafe nearby. Danny did not fight the living, and he wasn't going to put Damian in the crosshairs of anything that does.

"Should... should we leave?" He asks, brows knotted together with a frown. He stands. "Is there something going on nearby?"

Batman suddenly grunts, and looks at him. "It's been handled." He says, and his voice is gruffer than Danny imagined it. Lower. Danny is not all that comfortable with that answer.

"Do you guys live nearby?" Red Robin asks, and Danny can't help but notice that he keeps looking at Damian. Warily. In fact, so is Batman.

He pushes Damian behind him slightly, and Damian's grip tightens on him. "Not... exactly." He says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My family's visiting my Aunt and my brother wanted to explore since it's his first time out of the city, I guess we wandered too far away if we're running into you."

There's no visible indication of whether or not both Bats reacted to him calling Damian his brother. But he can all but feel little Damian preen at the title, it makes Danny's mouth twitch into a smile as his hand finds Damian's hair.

"Would we be able to go back with you?" Red Robin asks, startling both Danny and seemingly Batman, who looks at him instantly.

"Red Robin." He growls out, and Red Robin throws Batman a look of annoyance.

"We are lost, B. They jammed the comms and our trackers back there and it hasn't come back on yet, his aunt may have the signal we need to let the others know where we are."

They end up walking back with Danny and Damian. It's silent, and awkward, and Danny has Damian walking on his opposite side so he's not near the vigilantes. Red Robin is fiddling with a phone but still can't get a signal.

Batman is silently brooding.

Red eventually gives up and shoves the phone into a pocket on his belt, then turns to make conversation with Danny. "I never thanked you for letting us walk with you. Thanks, by the way."

Danny blinks at him, and smiles awkwardly. "No problem, man," he says, "I'm uh, Danny." He glances down at Damian, who looks up at him with big green eyes, and Damian nods quietly.

He looks back at Red Robin, and says, "This is my little brother, Damian." And Damian peers over his side and glares at Red Robin -- and Batman, who looks over when Danny says his name.

"He looks like Damian Wayne," Red Robin notes, head tilting like he's inspecting him.

Danny huffs dryly, "We get that a lot."

Red Robin smiles at him, its a tilted thing. It makes Danny uneasy. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Danny says bluntly, and he really doesn't want to tell them where he's from. Not when Red Robin was acting strange, but they're vigilantes and notorious for their detective skills. If he's suspicious, they'll look into him. "But I'm from Amity Park."

Damian in that moment, peers around Danny again and scowls at Red Robin. Full on scowls at him, as if it were the first months when he met Danny. "You're being nosy." He sneers, his hand squeezing Danny's.

"Damian," Danny hisses, suppressing a smile. Damian jumps like he's been startled, and looks up at him with big green eyes. "He's just being curious."

(He lets his smile slip through briefly, just to let Damian know he's not that upset. A tension leaves his little brother's shoulders.)

"But he is." Damian continues, a whine leaking into his voice. Danny jabs him in the ribs with his fingers, and Damian jumps, swatting away his hand with a squeak.

"Would you rather have us walk in dead silence, Dames?" He goes for Damian's ribs again, a grin stretching across his face as Damian jumps back again and swats his hand. "Hm? Hm? We could just walk in awkward silence for the entire trip back, I know you just love awkward silence, little brother."

(It's funny, saying little brother always sounds so uncomfortable when he reads it in books and watches it on tv. But Jazz always makes it sound so natural when she does it, and Danny finds that he sounds the same too.)

Damian continues to bat away his hands, but it's not enough to prevent him from squealing with laughter when Danny gets a good hold on him and starts tickling him. Danny's grin only gets bigger, and he swoops Damian up with his arm and holds him like a football.

"Is that it? Huh? Me, you, and two vigilantes walking back to Aunt Alicia's cabin in complete, utter silence." He says, "You won't get to hear any of my amazing jokes."

Damian's wriggling, trying to pound on Danny's ribs, he's giggling uncontrollably. It's the best sound Danny's ever heard. "Your jokes are awful! Laeazir! Put me down!" He cries, grinning from ear to ear.

(From the side, both Red Robin and Batman tense up.)

Danny chuckles, and through a short series of flips, has Damian sitting on his shoulders. "I will not. You're sitting up in air jail for insulting my hilarious jokes."

Damian tugs on his hair in revenge, harrumphing at him but making no move to get down. Danny squeezes his ankles playfully, and looks back to Batman and Red Robin.

Both vigilantes look at him like he's grown a second head.

....Red Robin looks at him like he's grown a second head. Batman just stares, and then looks away. Danny tilts his head at them, his smile waning. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something."

(Damian tugs on his hair again. A silent boo at him.)

Red Robin jerks, "Oh, sorry." He says, not sounding all that sorry. "It's just... I've lost count to how many times I've saved Damian Wayne from the occasional kidnapping and he's always been very... serious. It's just weird seeing a kid that looks like him be... not serious."

From his shoulders he feels Damian hide his smile in his hair, that's another thing they can put on their "Things That Damian Does That Damian Wayne Does Not" list. It started as a joke, but it's been surprisingly helpful for when Damian is questioning himself.

However, Danny is not a fan of the comparison, and he smiles widely, perhaps a tad passive-aggressive. "It's a good thing that my Damian isn't Damian Wayne then." He says, giving him the slight stink eye.

Red Robin picks up on it quickly, and nods.

The rest of the way is spent in idle conversation. It's oddly casual, even if most of the conversation is Danny talking about himself. It's annoying, but he unfortunately understands the reason. Secret identities and all that.

Damian interjects a few times, some parts to talk to Danny, and other parts to throw shade at Batman and Red Robin. Mostly Red Robin, who seems begrudgingly used to it.

("I'm surprised you haven't asked me much about myself." Red Robin says at one point into the conversation. Over his shoulder Batman glares at Red Robin. "A lot of civilians do when they're able."

Danny stares at him. "You're a vigilante." He says, frowning, "Isn't it superhero 101 that you don't ask superheroes for their secret identity?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Huh. Well, no. I'm not gonna ask you about yourself. I quite like talking all about me.")

When they finally reach the cabin, it's late into the night and Danny has moved Damian from his shoulders to his front in a koala-like carry. Damian's fast asleep with his head on Danny's shoulder.

His family was also frantically searching for him, and Jazz sees him first. She immediately turns behind her and yells "I FOUND HIM!". And then sprints over to him, his parents thundering not too far behind.

Both vigilantes are subsequently ignored as Jazz dotes over him and Danny, and soon enough so is his mom and dad. They're all talking all at once, asking him where he was, they were worried sick, did he know how late it was.

He shushes all of them, loudly. And whispers that Damian is sleeping. His family then immediately quiet themselves, and go back to yelling at him in a more appropriate manner.

"Me and Damian walked too far by accident." Danny finally says when he can get a word in, and then he jabs his thumb in Red Robin and Batman's direction. "We also found two superheroes who need assistance."

The speed of which his family all snap their heads over to the direction he's pointing is almost comical. As is all of their expressions of shock.

His mother is the first to regain her senses, and she sighs at him. She sighs! "Only you, Danny." She says, and Jazz snorts into her arm.

[blinkvlink]

can u tell me a little about Helena's dad? I'm intrigued on what your version of Rook is like 👁

omg YES!!! i LOVE talking about Rook. I'm not even joking he is probably in my top 5 characters in TWC even though we know next to nothing about him LOLL

anyway! thank you so much for the ask and i would love to hear your answer for this as well!!

So first of all, while everyone calls him Rook, in my canon his real name is Hamed Hawks (His last name belongs to his adoptive parents who were British, as the Wayhaven in mind is in England.) He gave Helena her second name which is Aziza. He and his sister managed to keep a cultural connection to their roots with the help of each other and they learned Arabic when they were in highschool.

His personality is very close to the canon for me.

He was extremely friendly (he could befriend anyone, really), kind of a goofball and a bit of a little shit, lowkey sarcastic. He just enjoyed messing with people in a light-hearted way. He was extremely stubborn though, if he set his eye on something he would get it.

He was good with people, could talk anyone out of anything but when he met with very shitty people he would just use his humour and charm to drive them crazy, would remain calm even when the person in front of them stared foaming in the mouth (*cough cough* with the mayor for example *cough*)

He was bit of a nerd in my mind lol. If we did the stat thing for him like with the detective his 2nd skill would be Deduction/Knowledge. He really enjoyed movies like Back to the Future and the Alien. He messed with poetry and writing a lot, always scribbled his thoughts on paper (Helena later finds 2 journals that belong to him full of little poems and just journal entries) He also enjoyed gardening and cooking but he wasn't good at it the way his sister was. (After he met Rebecca and learned her favourite flower were hydrangeas, he set his mind to it and actually started to raise hydrangeas to give her and continued to do so in their garden after they got married.)

If he wasn't a detective he would be a Philosophy or English Teacher.

His dinamic with Rebecca was very similar to what Helena's and Adam's dinamic is now with Helena being a lot like Rook and Adam being like Rebecca. But he was much more talkative than Helena ever was/is and would crack jokes every minute or so,. While he would see Rebecca roll her eyes or just gave him a stoic face after another quip he would catch the way she smirked when she thought he wasn't looking or he would catch her staring at him when she thought he wasn't seeing. But whenever he made a move, she would just push him away. He knew for a fact that she felt the same way, but he never really pushed her or pressured her. He was just relentlessly friendly and flirty with her and was determined to break down her walls, which he managed, much to his relief. I imagine him as such a soft lover. Kind of a mixture of N and F. Very affectionate and expressive. His love language is literally all of them. Every single one.

He felt a lot of guilt back in the day because Rebecca ended her relationship with her parents because they didn't approve of their love or marriage. He was a pretty laid-back guy overall but he would go absouletly apeshit if people messed with the people he cared about. Which is why he cussed both of her parents out when Rebecca tried to rekindle her relationship with them after Helena's birth and they called his kid a 'disgrace.'

He loved being a family guy.. He just loved it. He would often read Helena to sleep, sing her lullabies...He would have happily left his job to be a stay home dad and take care of Helena while Rebecca worked, but he...kinda died before he could act on that thought LMAOO im sorry.

He was destroyed when his sister died. That was probably the lowest point in his life and when Rebecca actually had to step up and take him out of the pit he had fallen in.

There is NO WAY he would ever hide anything from Helena. He would tell her everything about the supernatural world. He would know better than to keep her in the dark. And if he was alive to see the way his kid was getting treated lemme tell you he would be SO FUCKING mad. He would be furious with Rebecca, first of all, that she would pull away from their daughter so much to the point she attempted suicide. And he would actually fight Adam bc while he understands people like him, his relationship with Rebecca never got to the point of being painful. If he saw...IF HE SAW THE WAY ADAM PLAYED WITH HIS AZIZA THAT VAMPIRE WOULD NOT LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER DAY.

But seriously, he would be so heartbroken if he saw his wife and daughter in that state. He would be utterly destroyed and extremely disappointed in Rebecca.

God...i'm sorry but both me and Helena lowkey wish that Rook was the surviving parent :/. The fact that the detective would probably have a x100 better life if she was the one to die is insane.

Anyway! I miss this man that neither I or Helena ever met before :(. I genuienly want there to be a scene where we get to talk to him or see him.

Lastly! Here are picrews of Hamed (Rook), Helena and Rebecca!

Anyway!! THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE ASK THIS HAS BEEN SO MUCH FUN!! <33333

[yummyyume]

Maribat soulmates AU

I wrote most of it a year ago, but never got around to posting it. It’s probably been done before, but I’m a sucker for soulmate AU, so you people are getting it anyway. 

Hope you all like it!

I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, English is not my first language. I hope it’s still intelligible.

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.

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General headcanons for the AU:

-Soulmates share the same skills set. When one knows how to do something, the other can do it too. They have the same proficiency, but it gets adapted to their body type, their way of life and their personality and behavior. (ex: Marinette and Damian can both use the katana, but they don’t parry the same way or use the same combinations of attacks.)

-They know when the skill they’re currently using come from their soulmate. It’s like a small acknowledgement at the back of their mind.

-When they meet face to face, they recognize each other immediately.

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-When Marinette really starts to talk, Arabic and Mandarin words are as present in her vocabulary as French words.

-Sabine is delighted that her baby girl’s soulmate has roots in her culture too. Tom starts looking up Arabic words to try to understand what she is saying. With only a baby pronunciation to get by, it is slow going.

-When Marinette is old enough to understand that she could speak Arabic and Mandarin thanks to her soulmate, she decides that it’s not a fair trade. She gets two languages from them and they only get one! She settles on learning Italian with Nonna Gina.

-Marinette is very agile and light on her feet.

-She knows that baking is her skill, but cooking is her soulmate’s. Every time she helps her maman with diner, she feels like someone is backing her up at the back of her mind. A warm presence easily overlooks. Like ‘oh yeah, it’s your skill. Thank you for sharing.’

-Arabic, Mandarin and cooking are the only thing she really gets from her soulmate. Or so she thinks. Assassin’s skills aren’t exactly useful in the day to day life of a French bakery.

-When she becomes Ladybug, she thinks that the acrobatics are thanks to the magic suit. Until she finds herself with a sword in her hands and suddenly, she isn’t so sure anymore.

-Ladybug’s suit includes a black utility belt made of little pouches with self-sealing flaps and full of all sort of things: zip ties, a gas mask (perfectly functional despite its small size – don’t question the magic), an infra-red flashlight, a fingerprint kit, skeleton keys, smoke bombs, flash bombs, a rebreathing apparatus, a miniature voice recorder, a basic first-aid kit. Everything is bright red with black polka dots. Even the zip ties.

-After a careful inventory of her utility belt, Marinette acknowledges that probably half of it is the result of soulmate influence. Tikki had told her that generally her Chosens only use their yo-yo and Marinette would never have thought of zip ties on her own.

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-Damian knows that he has a soulmate because he can speak French and Italian like a native when he only ever learnt Arabic and Mandarin.

-He scoffs at the thought of a soulmate. He’s an Al Ghul and his grandfather’s heir, he has no need for such frivolities. When he’ll met his soulmate, he’ll either recruit them for the League or kill them, depending on what his mood will be that day and their level of uselessness.

-He starts learning English when he’s nine following his mother’s orders. If he’s to be his father’s heir, he needs to be able to communicate with him and the various ‘children’ the man adopted over the years. He thinks his soulmate is helping him by learning English words he hasn’t learnt yet. He doesn’t dwell on it.

-It isn’t until he starts living with his father in Gotham that he starts to see soulmates in a new light. Richard Grayson’s soulmate is Starfire. Timothy Drake’s soulmate is Superboy. He can’t win against either of them. Maybe his soulmate won’t be useless after all.

-Damian has a hard time falling asleep in a house full of highly trained strangers at first. He starts exploring the Manor, before ending in the kitchen. Following instincts that aren’t his own, he makes chocolate-chip cookies. While preparing the dough, he can feel a warm almost-there presence at the back of his mind. He starts doing it every night. Sometimes he tries new recipes. They all turn pretty good. No one ever bother him.

(-They have all already checked the camera feed to see what he was up to. And if baking is relaxing him, they aren’t going to comment. He’s enough of a prickly porcupine, no need to put him even more on the defensive.)

-Damian grows to love his family. And maybe his soulmate, whoever they were.

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-Amelia Brody is Marinette’s class interpreter and tour guide for the duration of their school trip in Gotham. She’s cheerful and excited to show her city to those children. She’s a bit weirded-out by the class dynamics but put it down to French people, until it’s time to tour Wayne Enterprise.

-They’re just finishing touring the open-to-visitors part of WE when she realizes that Marinette is rooted to the spot and facing the ‘employees only’ elevators a few meters away.

“Marinette?” she calls, coming closer. “Is everything alright?”

The girl blinks at her, eyes wide, before looking back at the elevators.

“I-I don’t… I’m sorry… I just… Soulmate?”

Some of the other teenagers scoff.

“Quit making a scene, girl.” Alya rolls her eyes.

Amelia has been getting to know those children for days and she saw how Marinette was treated, how everyone believed Lila’s grand tales and it’s not her place to interfere, even less so when she doesn’t have the full picture, but when she sees Marinette force herself to take a step back, shoulders hunched up, she swipes out her phone to call security and informs them of the situation.

A few minutes later, a dark-haired man cheerfully joins them. Amelia is standing like a barrage between Marinette and the things her classmates are murmuring about the girl while Caline Bustier imitates a pot plant. (Amelia is going to write a long report on this class, just watch her). Still, Amelia is very relieved to see Dick Grayson. (She manages to keep the fangirling down to a mental squeal, thank God)

“So, you’re feeling your soulmate is upstairs?” he asks Marinette.

“I’m sorry,” she replies like a reflex, looking down at her shoes.

“Don’t be! Let’s go see if we can find them!”

Everyone piles up in the elevator. There’re so many people working at WE that the elevators are all very spacious.

It’s not quite a skill that make Marinette push the top floor button, but it’s not that different from muscle memory. Her soulmate has pushed this button so many times, that Marinette doesn’t even hesitate. Dick’s eyes lit up at her actions. After all there’s not a lot of people at the top floor who can be her soulmate. He doesn’t quite like the tone of her classmates even if he can’t understand what they’re saying, but the tour guide’s expression is a sign to behold, so he doesn’t think he’s imagining the insults.

-When the elevator’s doors open again, Marinette makes a beeline for the central office just as the door opens and a young man with dark hair and green eyes exits with a puzzled frown.

Their eyes meet.

“Hi,” Marinette blushes, incapable of looking anywhere else.

“Hello,” Damian replies, voice soft.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 10

First

Previous

Grocery store trips were weird. Tim had never taken them before, and now here he was buying food for the three of them regularly. He’d thought it would be harder, for some reason. But, no, it was just boring.

Tim rolled his eyes as Damian pointed to the nearest brightly colored object -- a bag of Not Cheetos… holy shit they were called Fritos this wasn’t allowed he has never been so vehemently against anything in his life.

He sighed as the baby yelled at him for the bag. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone in the chip aisle.

He looked down at the kid in front of him with an apologetic smile.

“No, kiddo. See, I would love to get that for you but, unfortunately, Mari said I can’t buy you any more random sweets. Blame her, not me.”

Damian was, apparently, too smart for his tricks because he banged his fist on the front of the cart and babbled at him angrily.

Tim sighed and leaned forward until his forehead touched the cool metal of the cart, thinking.

And then he got back up and handed the kid the bag of chips. Damian didn't know that it was food, Tim was pretty sure, and he had nothing against… ‘Fritos’ (outside of their name, obviously). So, why not? He could eat them. It was better than dealing with a tantrum in the middle of a store, at least.

Damian lit up and hugged the bag to his chest as if it was a soft stuffed animal and not a plastic bag filled with air and maybe a few chips.

Tim smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and then continued on his way, scanning over the list idly.

Oh. Marinette had added something. He squinted down at her messy scrawl, bringing it close to his face as if he could will the words to make sense.

And it worked. Ha. Take that everyone who didn’t believe in him.

Okay. So, she needed ‘pads’.

Sure. No problem.

He walked over to the aisle.

Hm. Okay. There might be a tiny little problem.

Why were there so many different brands? And sizes?

He stared around at them all helplessly. Sure, he had glimpsed the box a few times but he certainly hadn’t paid it much mind -- it wasn’t for him, why would he?! But now he was standing in an entire aisle full of products and there were way too many of them. And why did they all look the same? Shit!

He looked at Damian, who was biting the edge of the chip bag and giggling about the crinkling noises it made. But, once Tim turned his gaze on him, he looked up at him with wide eyes, attentive.

“Any chance you know what type Mari uses?” Tim joked softly.

Damian popped off the chip bag so he could babble at him. It was very helpful.

He considered, very briefly, just standing there in the aisle with the same helpless expression until some kind-hearted person took pity on him and he could avoid the embarrassment of calling Marinette at work to ask what types of pads she used… but, no, the idea of asking some random person for help was way worse. He had to just suck it up and do it.

He pulled out his phone and called Marinette. He was pretty sure it was lunchtime for her, anyways.

She picked up within a few rings, voice slightly muffled as she answered with a simple: “Problem?”

Tim didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused that her first thought when he called her was that something was wrong.

But he quickly alleviated her fears: “No, everything’s fine.”

He could hear the phone shift slightly as she assumedly went back to eating. “Right, then what is it?”

“Nothing bad, really…” Tim started awkwardly. His face reddened without his permission. “Just wanted to know what brand you used for, um, hygiene products.”

“... hyg --? Oh.” He heard her laugh at him and his face only reddened further. “What, the world's greatest detective couldn’t figure it out?”

“That’s my dad!” He mumbled a little huffily.

She snickered a little longer before finally saying: “I think the brand is called ‘Forever’ here.”

“See! You don’t even know!” He said even as he pulled down a box with the word written across it in elegant script.

“That’s because the name changed when --...” She seemed to remember she was at work -- or, at least, that there were other people around -- because she cut herself off suddenly before she could admit to being a dimension hopper in a world that likely wouldn’t even believe in the multiverse. “When… I switched brands! Yeah. Heh.”

(Tim swore he heard her mumble ‘technically not even a lie’ but he wasn’t quite sure.)

He started to put it in the basket but then he paused.

“There’s a lot of sizes.”

“Um… I think a four?”

“Yeah, no, they have letters here.”

“Fuck, right, hate that, um… D, I guess.”

He switched out the Cs he had gotten and smiled as Damian reached for him. He clearly wanted out of the cart -- Tim wondered, vaguely, if it was uncomfortable -- but that wasn’t going to happen so he decided to distract him:

“Want to talk to Mari, kiddo?”

The kid blinked up at him a few times before lighting up. “Mar-ree!”

He pressed the phone to Damian’s ear with one hand until the kid took it himself and then motioned for him to go ahead. “Takalam maeaha.”

“... marhaba?” Damian said, giving Tim a look that seemed to scream ‘you’re weird for making me talk into a box’.

Marinette must have said something back, because the kid’s eyes went wide. Damian looked around wildly for a few moments, clearly trying to figure out where Marinette was, before he realized that her voice was coming from the box. He gasped a little and pressed the phone against his ear even harder and started to ‘talk’ to her. It was a weird mix of Arabic and a few English syllables thrown together haphazardly, Tim was just glad he was learning.

Tim started on his way through the store again, sure he wasn’t going to get his phone back anytime soon.

He’d gotten all the necessities and they had money left in the weekly budget...

He headed to the kid’s aisle, head tipping from side to side as he considered what to get. Maybe a new book? Damian had taken a liking to them, though Tim was pretty sure that was more because he thought the English language sounded kind of funny rather than any real passion for stories.

He picked up a book about letters and looked down at Damian. He sounded annoyed now.

He looked at Tim with an annoyed expression and shook Tim’s poor phones a few times. “Mar-ree!”

Ah. She must have hung up because her break was over.

How was he supposed to explain how phones worked to a baby? Especially since he knew phones so intimately thanks to his time working on the model he was using.

He gently pulled the phone from the kid’s hands. “Mari’s at work. You can see her later.”

“Bu…” Damian pouted.

Damn it. How dare the kid be cute? Tim was about five seconds away from walking to Marinette’s job so the kid would smile again.

He hesitated before reaching behind himself and grabbing the first soft thing his hands landed on. He pulled it out and squinted at the stuffed cat. It was cute, he supposed, but he didn’t know why it was rainbow-colored.

Whatever.

He offered the plush to Damian and the kid seemed to instantly forget about the phone.

(And the chips. But the kid had put it in his mouth so it looked like Tim was buying that anyway.)

He pressed a kid to the top of his head and then continued on his way.

… and that was when he heard it:

Haha, someone got called a DILF.

… wait a minute… he was the only person with a kid around here…

His head whipped around so fast he would have gotten whiplash if he was old -- which he wasn’t -- to see two girls in their mid teens. And they were definitely looking at him. They even tried to hide behind the next aisle in order to avoid his gaze once they realized he had heard them.

Tim didn’t know what to do about this. Someone had actually called him...

He was 19! He couldn’t be that yet! How?! No!

And, sure, the logical part of him knew they were technically right. He was attractive (he hoped) and, when it came to the ‘dad’ thing… if Damian never got his memories back, then Tim would pretty much be the only dad that he had ever known. He would be a dad.

But, again, he was 19-years-old, he didn’t want to think about this.

So, to ward off the impending crisis, he looked around the aisle he was in wildly for some kind of ‘kid’ thing.

He found some marshmallow guns and grabbed two. Then he got some marshmallows because those weren’t included for some reason. Whatever.

He looked down at the basket, aware that he was now over budget, and eventually decided to put back the book. Who needs to learn?

(Besides, if Damian really wanted to just hear people talk, Tim could totally do that. He had so many random facts in his head thanks to random rabbit holes he had gone down while sleep-deprived, he could just rant about those if the kid wanted.)

So, he checked out, loaded up with all the bags and the baby, and started walking home.

… he was totally going to learn to drive. Even if Gotham streets were safer -- especially when he had a baby on him -- it was a pain to carry all the groceries even the few blocks to their apartment. Literally. The bags dug into his skin. He swore he could taste blood.

But he had an end goal in sight, so he went faster than usual that day.

He set up the guns, leaving Marinette’s on the kitchen table and then took a seat on the couch with Damian. They spent the few remaining hours playing games (Tim was pretty sure, he had absolutely no clue what Damian was saying but the kid seemed to have fun and that was all that mattered) and watching TV.

Tim heard his door click and looked up.

He quickly reached for the marshmallow gun and turned to point it at the door.

Damian watched him in silence, perfectly still as if he understood that this was something that they needed to be quiet for.

Usually, this kind of worried Tim. They always gave Damian to Kaalki and Tikki when they sparred, but Damian had always been… shockingly well-behaved? Not in the good way, either, he was far too still and quiet. Tim was starting to suspect that, at the very least, the kid remembered the first year of his life in the League. He hoped that the trauma would fade away with time. Kids forget things that they experienced as babies when they grew older, Tim himself couldn’t remember anything from before he was three, so hopefully this would be the same.

… but he really wanted to get Marinette with a marshmallow gun. So, he swallowed down the slight bit of anxiety rising in his chest and looked through the scope as Marinette finally managed to open the finicky door.

Damian’s eyes widened and he made a quiet ‘ah!’ sound.

Tim jumped at the sudden sound and pulled the trigger. The marshmallow gun made a fmpf sound as it fired off the shot.

The marshmallow bounced off of Marinette’s forehead harmlessly. Because, y’know, it was a marshmallow.

She blinked a few times and then knelt down to pick up the fallen marshmallow. She scanned it over a few times, eyes narrowed.

Tim hardly paid attention to her, looking over at Damian. The kid looked very confused, eyes darting between the gun and Marinette and the marshmallow on the floor repeatedly as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

And then he flopped back on the sofa with a quiet whimpering sound.

Marinette and Tim frowned at each other. He could see confusion and concern knitting her eyebrows together, meanwhile all he had was dread coiling itself in his gut. Because… what if Damian did remember his first year with the League? Or, even worse, what if he would slowly regain all his memories? No kid deserved that...

Tim felt something hit the side of his head, snapping him out of his daze. Oh. Marinette had grabbed the other gun and promptly gotten her revenge.

Damian didn’t see this, at least, just staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Marinette sat on Damian’s other side, gently picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his cheek. Then, she sat him back down between them, sidling close so the kid could curl into her side. Tim, after a few seconds, scooted closer as well.

“Want some marshmallows? They’re yummy,” she tried hesitantly.

She shot one into her hand and, after tearing it in half just in case, handed it to Damian.

The kid took a hesitant bite, still looking a little put out, but then he gasped a little. He happily chewed away at the marshmallow, the event easily wiped from his mind in favor of the yummy thing in his hand.

Tim sighed in relief, reaching behind himself for the marshmallow bag so they wouldn’t have to shoot any more. Just in case.

“Quick thinking,” he said, which was kind of a compliment if you squinted.

She smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s what I’m known for.”

There was a few seconds before she sighed just a little, gently combing her fingers through Damian’s hair. The kid reached out and gripped Tim’s shirt in his hand, surely getting it messed up thanks to the marshmallow on his hands but whatever, and tried to tug him closer. He obliged. Marinette rested her head on his shoulder absently.

“What would I do without you?” He mused.

“Probably starve on the streets,” she said bluntly.

He scoffed a little. “The minute this kid goes to sleep I’m going to shoot another marshmallow at you.”

“You can try. Only reason you even got me last time was ‘cause I didn’t know you were going to do it.”

“The element of surprise is a totally valid tactic!” He pretended to whine.

She grinned at him. “But it won’t work again.”

He wrapped an arm around her lazily. “We’ll see.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[my-terrible-life]

I wanted to say some things about the Arabic used in Community.

I'm not sure what the point the point of this post is but I just wanted to get the thoughts out of my head because they've been there ever since I first watched Community like a million years ago and found out one of the main characters is half Arab.

Long post I'm sorry!!

So in Community Abed is Polish Palestinian. My very first thoughts on this, so long ago, was huh what an unusual name! Because it is. Abed is not a common Arab name at all, it's pretty weird actually. The name itself means "Worshipper" which I guess should fit in with the ~theme~ of Arab Muslim names but it doesn't because in Arabic it sounds incomplete.

Boys names that follow the "theme" of Worship tend to be 2-parters, the Worship part and then the What part. What is he worshipping? God obviously, but God in Islam has many names and many descriptions, so the trend is 'pick one of the names/descriptors and put it right after the word that means worship' so we end up with names like Abdullah (for example). Abdullah in Arabic is a 2 word name, it is Abd then Allah, combined it means worshipper of Allah. We can have a name like Abdulrahman, which is a 2 word name that is Abd then Al Rahman, which combined means worshipper of the most merciful. The list can go on and on and they all mostly follow that pattern: Abd + God's name. That's the convention and that's what male Arabic Muslim names have followed for hundreds of years. So Abed alone is pretty odd, but not impossible I guess.

Now the writers could have consulted with an Arab at any point, there's Arabs literally everywhere in America, but okay it was during the time when casual racism was still something the audience didn't know we could be very vocal about, or that's how I think about it anyway.

Danny Pudi himself is not Arab so I don't think he could have accurately weighed in on this but again I don't know what it was like working as a brown actor on US television at the time. (We'll get back to Danny Pudi later)

Nevertheless, the initial oddness of Abed's name aside, I grew used to it and grew to really like the character. He's one of my 3 favorites ❤ and I don't have to repeat why he's awesome and how his stories are not stereotypes etc etc.

But the eps were his Arabic heritage and language come up were beefed. Hard.

You can split Arabic up into 2 umbrellas I guess: Standard Arabic called Fus'ha, and the common tongue or dialect of the specific Arab country you're in/writing about.

Most of us know and understand Standard Arabic because it's taught in schools and it is the language of the Qur'an so we learn it. It's also the language used for subtitles in film and TV, as well as any formal/official document, and when presidents give speeches in foreign countries so the instant translators can do their jobs without having to learn more than 1 Arabic dialect.

But here's a very big point guys... no one Speaks in Standard Arabic. As beautiful and flowery and vast as it can be we just don't use it like That.

Think of it like your everyday English you speak vs. Shakespearian English. No one talks like that unless they're on stage or they're trying to be funny.

So, it was very obvious when Abed and his Dad were talking that they put the script into Google translate and just went with that. They could have asked an Arab 🤦‍♀️ any Arab! There's so many of us everywhere just grab one off the street like a madman and ask 'em, they'll tell you. We Love correcting wrong Arabic 😂

Anyway, they had Abed speak in Standard Arabic.... cringe kingdom thanks... but Abed is Palestinian, which means his dialog should have been in Palestinian Arabic and that's hella different. (Now I'm personally Egyptian and while I would be able to understand Palestinian very well I would not be able to re-write his lines to reflect the dialect accurately, so I won't)

Of course their pronunciation was incredibly off as neither actor who play Abed or Gubi (weird name) are Arabs or speak Arabic. It just made me cringe so hard.

Now let's briefly talk about those yellow subtitles Community used for Abed and his Dad in that episode where they're fighting about Abed taking film classes... 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ yeah, not pretty, not only did just use Google translate, it was also unedited. I remember back then Google translate was still being filled up with vocabulary and different possible translations so for Arabic sometimes we'd get a very literal translation that made a whole sentence wrong. And boy did they mess that up!

The line was "The wrong person just left" and the translation was "الشخص الخطأ يسار" which is literally "the wrong person left", well what's wrong with that? Oh just that they used Left as in the direction.... the wrong person LEFT (direcrion) as in ur left hand as in let's go left instead of right 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ never mind that the entire phrase would not be translated that way to begin with but that they couldn't even bother to just double check their translation

Oh you guys know who sounded like they actually knew Arabic??? Abra! Her pronunciation was correct. Even if her lines were still in Standard Arabic her pronunciation and delivery showed she knew Arabic. (Another note on the name... I don't know what the hell Abra is, that's not an Arabic name I'm sorry) (neither is Gubi)

The last thing I wanna mention is from the Christmas ep, where Jeff gets in a fight, and Abed comes to their gathering with a dish from his culture, and he says "It's a traditional Muslim dish".....okay, Danny Pudi is not Arabic okay but he is Muslim and he should know there is no such thing as a Muslim dish, but fine okay maybe he couldn't say anything whatever who cares...

There is no such thing as a Muslim dish, or Muslim food. Or even Arab food, that doesn't exist... it should have been "it's a traditional Palestinian dish".

The Arab World is 22 countries, each very different from each other in culture, customs, food, language, whatever you can think of. We have similarities, we understand each other, we have a shitton of shared history but we are not a monolith.

Back to the Language aspect

Arabic is hard, Standard or otherwise, but especially Standard. The sounds you'd need to be able to make Arabic happen have to be trained into your mouth and throat, and it takes a long time. (I was lucky to grow up with it, not knowing the struggle, and major respect to those who want and try to learn it, whatever variation of it)

I was just spewing my frustrations here about a couple scenes and I'm glad there weren't any more tbh.

but I do hope this helps anyone who was curious about Abed's language.

Anyone writing about Abed or characters like Abed, I hope this can give a hint into what to research.

Also it's not pronounced Nadeer (with the emphasis on the second part) it's Naader (with emphasis on the first part)

Thanks for reading through this!

[sixtyeightdays]

you reap what you sow

prompt from @mialuvscats : i hope this meets your expectations ! im sorry this took so long, i tried uploading it from my phone but it glitched and i could only get my hands on the computer today 

i’d like to say that i think if sabine and mari are there, damian and talia willl be relatively looser and not as uptight . mari and sabine are cold but loving and sunshiney. they keep talia and damian in check, essentially. which is why i wrote them in to be loose and free but able to be openly happy when they want to be, even if they are only happy around each other.

with sabine here i also thinkt hat talia will be slightly easier on damian, which also ties to the fact that he will not be as cold and uptight.

talia will be a good mother in this fic bc i want her to be and itll be ooc but its okay its my fic anyway

and the timeline is kinda messed up and all over the place sorry

that aside, have fun reading and i hope you enjoy!

--

talia and sabine are best friends, and before most of the class joins francois, marinette ruled the school after coming to paris with sabine. mari and damian are betrothed and the two are best friends. they can be icy one minute and sunshiney the next, although the sunshiney part is more mari than damian.

maybe the waynes come to paris, bc if theyre in gotham the others wont really know if the queen is back, and theyre kinda unsure why marinette is being timid and very unlike her ice queen demeanor she sometimes uses. mari is closest to jason in terms of batfam because firstly maybe she cleanses jason of the lazarus pit after helping damian using tikki's creation magic to counteract plagg's destruction one. since the waynes are here theres no point in mari hiding her queen status anymore and queue lila reveal

-

Talia al Ghul and Sabine Cheng were an unlikely combination, but worked perfectly well.

The two women were extremely close. Sabine was almost as deadly as Talia, but she made up for it with her devious mindset. She was the one who steered Talia away from doing anything wrong --well more wrong than usual-- and the one who was assigned to dish out punishments to usurpers.

The two could read each other like open books, and hence, when both Talia and Sabine became pregnant, Talia one month before Sabine, the two knew immediately.

They had debated whether or not to have their kids be betrothed, and eventually decided to let their children make the final call when their kids were old enough to understand.

Nine months later, Marinette and Damian were born. In the League infirmary, an hour after the two were cleaned and left there to rest while their mothers did the same, the two had already grown rather close.

Their baby cribs were next to each other, and somehow they were staring at each other through the walls of the crib, and were making small grabby hands to the other.

When Talia and Sabine were sufficiently rested and came to pick up their children, they were slightly shocked, yet gratified by their children. Sabine smiled and draped an arm around Talia’s shoulder, smiling lazily.

“I guess they’ll be as close as their mothers, non?” 

Talia smirked, and the two walked forwards, lifting their respective children in their arms and walking to their quarters.

-

The two mothers did not regret it. Their kids were enamoured with each other, practically joined at the hip.

By the time Marinette and Damian were 5, they had a very extensive vocabulary, since they had learned to speak Arabic, French and English. They were also extremely smart and skilled with weapons. 

Marinette was extremely adept at using a yoyo. It seemed weird, I know. But when the League was stormed when she was 3, she had taken out 4 men with her yoyo alone. Since then, she had been teaching herself how to use the yoyo effectively.

Damian preferred to use a katana. He looked much scarier than Marinette, even if the two were the same age. He had found a natural talent in using blades, knives, katanas and daggers included.

Marinette was the Rain to Damian’s Fire. 

She was the only one who could calm Damian down when he was mad, mad.

But make no mistake, Marinette could switch personalities in a heartbeat. She was one of the League’s most skilled interrogators at the age of 5.

After all, who would suspect a pigtailed 5 year old in pink to be scary?

Damian much preferred his stoic and icy attitude. The only people he ever let loose around was Marinette, Sabine, and Talia.

Talia and Sabine loved the children to an almost deadly extent, and the four were extremely overprotective of each other.

Marinette had taken to magic as well. She had been trained by many people in the League about sensing magic. Damian did not have the patience for magic and rituals. 

Marinette knew Damian was more of a ‘attack first ask questions later’ type of fighter, a stark contrast to Marinette’s ‘i will curse you and you will suffer in agonising pain for the rest of your life’ preferred type of fighting.

She’d never really liked getting her hands dirty, hence the magic. Killing people with magic was so much cleaner.

Sabine and Marinette had to leave for Paris when she was 9. For what, she wasn’t sure, but regardless of the distance, she and Damian constantly traded calls and letters. They would never go even a day without contact.

They were staying with one of Sabine’s old friends. His name was Tom Dupain, and he was an old wrestler and had worked with the League before. He and Sabine pretended to be married and Marinette’s name had hence became Marinette Dupain Cheng.

Damian and Talia stayed at the League, although all of them knew that Damian was to meet his birth father when he turned 10.

Marinette adapted her icy demeanor in Paris, never wanting anyone to get as close as she was with Damian. 

A few hours in, walking around Paris, she had met an elderly man in a red Hawaiian shirt, emitting the aura of magic. She had confronted him, and eventually, he opened up to her about the Miraculous. Tikki, the Ladybug kwami, and Plagg, the Black Cat kwami had taken a liking to her.

Marinette was apparently something called a True User, a reincarnation of the first Ladybug miraculous wielder. Plagg just rather liked the aura of death and chaos she apparently gave off, from the League.

She and the other Kwamis also had a rather amicable relationship, and she’d go to the ends of the Earth for the tiny gods, and vice versa.

The elderly man, named Fu, had also started to train her into becoming the new Guardian of the Miraculous.

Before, Marinette had been planning on laying low and not drawing atention to herself, but once she had beaten up two upperclassmen for bullying her classmate and somewhat accquaintance Nino, she had been fiercely regarded by both the students and faculty. 

As a result, she eventually grew close to Nino, and his friends, Kim, Alix and Chloe. She only ever let down her icy demeanour around them, showing the bright and bubbly girl persona she kept hidden. She wasn’t as close to them as she was to Damian, but they were all still quite close friends. 

It wasn’t long after that Marinette became the queen of her school, at the tender age of 10, earning her title as the Ladybug. Or, as Chloe liked to put it, the Lady, because she was lucky enough to ‘get a friend like her’.

Marinette didn’t protest. She rather liked Ladybugs, and besides, it was ironic and it reminded her a little of Damian, who sometimes liked to call her his Maribug. Because she was sometimes a pest, he deadpanned. Marinette had whacked him with a pillow. 

Everyone in the school feared the Ladybug. No one knew anything of her past. She was a mystery, an enigma that no one could solve. When new students came in after Marinette turned 14, everyone was slightly shocked to see their Lady change.

She was much more bubbly and approachable. Word had spread around that Marinette, the Lady, was trying a clean slate for the new kids. After all, not everyone should fear her.

Probably.

School eventually returned to what it was like before Marinette became the Lady, although she did still rule the school, she did it much more subtly, with more restraint and secrecy.

One of the new kids, Alya, had taken a liking to her. Marinette did not like her  very much, she was loud and clingy and drew a lot of unwanted attention. 

Marinette and her old crew, who had playfully called themselves her Consorts before the name stuck, had split up temporarily, to cover more ground and spread their branches.

Chloe was to pretend to be Marinette’s bully, Kim and Alix rivals, and Nino a shy recluse. They had had a good laugh about it beforehand, before watching Moana, because Kim wanted to compare the size of his muscles to Maui’s.

None of them had accounted for Adrien Agreste, who had tried to get the gum off Marinette’s seat like the naive, sheltered boy he was. Marinette had admittedly gotten mad at him for screwing up a perfectly good plan, before ramping up her ice persona to like, a 2/10, to get the newbies off her scent and scare Adrien away.

It hadn’t worked, because the boy was apparently as stubborn as he was naive. But besides that, Alya had been really grating on Marinette’s nerves, especially since she was convinced that Marinette had a crush on the model. It was not true, of course. 

Honestly, Marinette thought dryly, as Alya dragged her all over the place to.. somewhere, she wasn’t even sure anymore. But frankly, she didn’t particularly care. Honestly, the only boy she’d probably ever have a crush on would be Damian.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

-

When Marinette and Damian turned 10, she and Sabine had taken a plane to Gotham to meet up with Damian.

Damian had not been having a good time. He was very much unwanted here, that was clear. 

Grayson seemed to be the only one trying to interact with him. His father, had been trying his best to stay out of Damian’s way, which he reciprocated. Todd was flat out ignoring him and Drake just seemed to be busy all the time.

After all, who would want to interact with a grumpy 10 year old assassin?

He missed Marinette.

It was the day Todd finally tried to open up to Damian, that Marinette had arrived. No one had told him that she was finally meeting him again for the first time in a year. Sabine had left Marinette to figure out where Damian was on her own. She was more than capable of it.

With a quick scrying spell, she found him, and Kaalki opened a portal headed in the direction of Wayne Manor.

Meanwhile, Damian just appreciated the fact that Todd was finally extending an olive branch. He was lonely.

It hurt seeing his father care for everyone in the manor apart from him.

He had been walking along the gardens in the manor. Todd had joined him.

“Listen, I know it’s hard to feel accepted here. Sometimes, I do.” Jason gazed wistfully at the sky above him.

Damian was unsure of where the ex-Robin was getting at, so he just kept quiet. It wasn’t as if Damian didn’t know who Jason Todd was. Before he had come to the manor with Talia, he had read the Waynes’ files. In addition, Damian had known of Jason while he was affiliated with the League. They had never talked, or interacted, but he had known of the elder boy. 

“I just, uh, wanted you to know that if you ever need anything, you can come to me.” He finished lamely, running a hand in his hair.

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating. “Thank you, Ja--Todd. I will.” He settled on saying dryly.

Jason visibly relaxed and cracked a miniscule smile. There was a sudden ‘swoosh’ sound, and both Jason and Damian turned around, bodies automatically going on the defensive.

Stumbling out of Alfred’s rose bushes, trodding on a few accidentally, was Marinette.

“Angel!” Damian exclaimed, moving forwards to help her forwards.

She brushed her shoulders off, looking around before freezing, staring at something behind him.

“Jay?”

“Pixie?” He asked, sounding incredulous.

Marinette rushed forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace. Jason laughed and hugged her back, chuckling.

Damian quashed down the bubbling feeling of rage in the pit of his stomach and settled for casting a frosty glance in their direction. Not that they noticed, since they were too busy embracing each other, Damian thought scornfully.

The two pulled apart after too long in Damian’s opinion, laughing.

“Angel? How do you know Todd?” Damian asked coldly, ever so protective.

If Jason noticed the sudden reversion to his surname instead of his first, he didn’t say anything.

“Oh, he came to Paris with Lia once and I cleansed him of the Lazarus pit madness, like I did with you.” She replied.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked. Damian had forgotten about that.

“Visiting, of course!” She winked. “Now, let’s give your old man a good scare.” She pecked Damian on the cheek before vanishing. (Thanks, Trixx.)

Jason and Damian looked to each other. “Did you know she could do that?” Jason questioned. Damian shook his head before pausing.

“Wait.. how did she get into the manor?” 

The only response was the faint echo of a laugh.

-

It was time for dinner anyway, and only Damian, Jason, and Alfred knew of Marinette’s presence. Marinette had voluntary evelaed herself to the elderly butler after noticing his aura. 

It was Miraculous tainted. If Marinette could guess, he had been either one of Duusu’s, Sass’s, or Nooroo’s.

When the butler had retired to the kitchen alone, Marinette had unraveled Trixx’s magic veiling her and waved at the butler.

To hi credit, he didn’t so much as bat an eye before his eyes widened as he took her in. Marinette cut to the chase.

“Who was your kwami?” Alfred had surveyed her for a second before seemingly trusting her.  

“Duusu.” He answered.

Marinette smiled. “I’m Tikki’s.” From her perch in Marinette’s left pigtail, the red Kwami pried open the folds of her hair, waving once at Alfred before sinking back into the recesses of the bluenette’s locks.

Alfred blinked. Once. Twice. “I’m presuming you’re staying for dinner?”

Marinette beamed. “I’m gonna scare the big bat.” Alfred nodded, accepting this. Marinette clapped her hands and she disappeared again. Alfred shook his head, smiling faintly.

Conveniently, it was one of the times where everyone was there. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. Rare these days, what with Dick in Bludhaven, Tim at WE, and Jason off being Jason.

Bruce was currently on his way back from WE, although it would take around half an hour. He had told everyone to start eating first. Perfect. 

After Marinette’s encounter with Alfred, she had reappeared in Damian’s room, where she and Damian caught up. Just like old times.

She had disappeared again once she left the room, and Damian wasn’t entirely sure where she went.

Alfred set the the table as per normal, which Damian and Jason noticed right away. They looked to Alfred, who merely winked before stepping back into the kitchen and laying out the food.

There was a screech of a chair as Marinette, disguised as Bruce (Trixx in her right pigtail and Tikki in the left) sat down. Dick looked startled. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be back till later!” Dick exclaimed.

Mari-Bruce shrugged. “Faster than I’d expected.” She answered, securing the veil of Trixx’s magic around her vocal chords, making her voice sound exactly like Bruce’s.

Jason inched away slightly from Bruce, though she pretended not to notice.

Alfred nodded at her as he reentered the room.

Everyone dug in, occasionally talking. It had been about 25 minutes before the sound of the door opening could be heard. Damian and Jason’s head shot up, thinking it was Marinette.

Mari-Bruce smirked. Showtime.

Bruce entered the room, not noticing Mari at first. Until the batboys gaped at him. He looked confused. What--?

Mari-Bruce was a pretty great actress. “Who are you?” She thundered, internally laughing.

“Who are you? I’m Bruce Wayne.” He answered, looking befuddled and frustrated.

“Impostor.” Mari-Bruce accused. 

Bruce spluttered. “No! I’m the real Bruce!” 

Mari-Bruce scoffed. “That’s what an impostor would say.”

Damian and Jason seemed to figure it out, although they probably weren’t sure which Bruce was the real one yet.

Tim rubbed his eyes. “Am I seeing double, or?” 

Bruce said, “Ask me something the real Bruce would know.”

Dick looked torn, but did as requested. “Who murdered your parents?”

“Joe Chill.” They both said at the same time. Mari-Bruce and Bruce winced, selling the act.

“When’s my birthday?” Tim asked. 

“July 17th.” Both Bruces answered.

Tim looked surprised. “You actually know my birthday?”

“No shit, Tim.” Mari-Bruce said, rolling their eyes. She rather wanted to proceed to the next part of her plan. 

“Would I say that to you, Tim?” Bruce asked slightly desperately. 

“Maybe?” 

Bruce facepalmed. In the confusion, Mari took the chance to slink into the shadows where she rewrapped Trixx’s invisible magic around her.

Only Damian noticed. He smirked. “Where did he go?” He asked, placing a hand on the hilt of his katana for emphasis. He didn’t see Marinette smile at him.

Everyone looked panicked. “Search the manor.” Bruce ordered.

Jason still looked slightly skeptical but did as he said. Damian drew his katanas and tilted it in the direction he was going.

Amongst everyone, Bruce was the most attacked. While Jason and Damian paired off, Tim and Dick did as well, ("Don’t go alone!” Was Bruce’s admonished cry), Bruce had gone alone. 

If she were being honest, Marinette had always had a grudge against the billionaire. He hadn’t saved his son, he had tried to kill his son, even though he had a no killing rule --which Marinette thought was plain stupid--, and he had left Damian to suffer at the hands of Ra’s Al Ghul.

Talia could only do so much to save her son.

Yes, Marinette was aware that Bruce hadn’t know Damian existed, but now he was still treating Damian as if he didn’t exist. Marinette knew how much Damian craved affection, even if he never admitted it.

Yes, maybe Bruce was getting better, but maybe she could.. spur the process.

So Marinette retaliated in one of the many ways she knew how.

Messing with them.

So when the Waynes regrouped in the dining room, Jason, Damian, Dick and Tim came back unharmed, and Jason had been filled in by Damian of his suspicions. But Bruce? 

He came back covered in honey and feathers, drenched with water and covered in pink slime. 

“Why is he going after me?” Bruce had questioned in that annoying voice of his, after looking over his spotless sons.

Jason shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. God knows he’s not the only one.” 

Bruce looked slightly hurt but Jason didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Maybe this person is infatuated with you and is vying for your attention.” Damian deadpanned dryly. Marinette had smacked him on the back of his head, still invisible.

But the damage had been done.

Bruce snapped his fingers and ‘aha!’-ed at Damian. “That must be it!” Bruce crowed.

“Are you that narcissistic, you arrogant plebeian?” Marinette’s normally cheery voice was dry and dripping with distaste as she unwrapped her magic.

Bruce, Dick and Tim immediately went on the defensive, shifting into a battle stance. Marinette only scoffed.

“If I wanted to harm you, I would have already done so.” Marinette waved a hand in their direction dismissively.

Dick looked confused. “You’re like, ten.” He pointed out.

Damian glared. “I am ten as well, Grayson.” 

Tim butted in. “Are we not going to acknowledge the fact that this tiny ten year old broke into the manor unnoticed?” 

That brought everyone to their senses.

They were suddenly surprised by Marinette running at Jason, full speed. They expected him to duck or whip out a weapon, but all he did was stand still as she flipped in midair to land on his shoulders.

To their utter shock, Jason grinned, even as she fisted her hands in his hair for a better grip.

Damian only smiled fondly at his Angel. She was as short as he remembered, Damian noted. 

He missed her. More than anything.

Marinette beamed, and slid off Jason’s shoulders.

“Why did you attack me?” Bruce asked.  “Isn’t it obvious, fool?” Marinette revamped her icy demeanor and glared at the civilian Batman. “I despise you.”

Bruce looked very affronted. But Mariinette ignored him, even as he continued talking and made her way over to Damian.

“Damibear!” Marinette sang, as if she hadn’t seen him less than an hour ago.

The Waynes looked as if they expected Damian to attack her just for calling him that. They were not expecting him to grin and say, “Angel.”

Mari jumped on his back, and Damian merely repositioned himself accordingly, used to this from all her previous piggybacks.

“Okay so Jason and Damian helped her get into the manor.” Tim deduced, only to notice Jason and Damian shaking their heads.

“All by herself.” Damian and Jason chorused. Marinette made bunny ears on top of Damian’s head.

She kissed Damian’s forehead lovingly, replying to his ‘i am older than you’ with a ‘yeah by like a week’, and looked to his family. 

She winked.

Then disappeared.

There was silence, and then, “Wait, we didn’t even get her name!” From Dick.

Damian and Jason were interrogated that night, and they refused to tell them anything related to Marinette.

Marinette smiled from where she had hidden in the shadows, and made her way back to Damian’s room. She curled up in Damian’s bed, drifting into sleep. She was almost asleep when Damian returned.

And when Damian pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, Angel”, a smile made her way onto her lips.

By the time Damian had slipped into bed with her, her head leaning comfortably on his chest, she had fallen asleep.

-

When the two turned 15, Talia and Sabine sat them down and told them about the betrothal. Damian had been visiting with Talia.

It had been almost two months since Lila had turned her classmates against her, not that she cared, of course. She still had her Consorts after all.

“Marinette, Damian, we’d like to tell you something. An offer? Of sorts. I’m relatively sure you will accept, however.” 

Talia smiled as Marinette dragged a grumpy Damian over to them by the head, beaming brightly.

“Oh come on, Mian! Don’t be such a grumpy banana.” Marinette reprimanded the older boy who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

The boy only smiled lazily, and ran another hand through his best friend’s hair, the girl making a small noise of protest. “Thats what you get for calling me a noodle, Angel.” (if you didn’t know miàn means noodle in chinese)

Sabine cleared her throat but looked at the two with amusement clear in her eyes.

They straightened. “Sorry, maman,” Mari muttered.

“Now, before you two were born, Sabine and I had an agreement. We are perfectly fine with this and the implications of it, so it is up to you to whether to accept or not.” Talia got straight to the point.

The two children looked to each other curiously before turning back to their parents. Damian nodded in acknowledgment and Sabine picked up where Talia left off.

“How do you feel about each other?” Sabine asked, watching the two closely for their reactions.

“If that’s your way of asking us if we’re okay to be siblings, since you and Lia are dating, Maman--” Marinette started but was quickly interrupted by a barely noticeably flushed Talia.

“No, not that, and we aren’t dating, Nette.” Talia aimed a playful glare at the girl, who grinned and blew a raspberry at her.

“How would you and Damian like to be betrothed?” Sabine asked, smiling at her friend and daughter fondly.

Marinette spluttered and Damian coughed. 

Talia and Sabine burst out into laughter.

After the adults got their laughter under control and after a few glares from their kids, Damian spoke up.

“Marinette is my best friend. If I had to be betrothed to anyone, I’m glad it’s her.” Damian looked away and Marinette coughed awkwardly into her elbow.

“You misunderstand us. You don’t have to be betrothed. The choice is yours.”

Damian felt slightly attacked. He really did like Marinette, and the betrothal was an easy excuse to ask her out (even if he was a 15 year old). He didn’t know if Marinette felt the same way, and he didn’t want to impose that on her, so he kept quiet.

Marinette, who was looking deep in thought, answered.

“Can I talk to Damian for a while, privately?”

Damian, despite his better judgement, winced. This was probably the first time in a really long time that Marinette called him by his full name. It was normally Dami, Damibear to annoy him, or some other weird nickname like Mr Grumpy Banana this morning.

Regardless, the bluenette hadn’t called him “Damian” for a very long time. Two years, maybe.

She walked out of the room, Damian trailing slightly behind, before stopping a few feet outside the room.

Marinette slid down onto the floor, her back pressed against it and head in her hands. Damian frowned. He didn’t want his best friend looking so.. dejected. He ignored the slight pang of hurt that the thought of being with him could get this kind of reaction out of her.

He sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder like he always did when any of them felt upset. He was happy to feel her lean into his side like she always did. 

She turned her head and buried it in Damian’s side, breathing in his comforting scent of paints and nature. He tightened his hold on her ever so slightly and she almost burst into tears.

It wasn’t that she was opposed to being in an engagement with Damian, it was just that she didn’t particularly want to be with anyone or love anyone, especially after her father died and Damian’s father abandoned him.

Her mother and aunt didn’t show it, but they were sad about their fathers. She had heard Talia interacting with her ‘beloved’ before, and it almost always ended up in tears or frustration. (Not that Mari blamed her, Bruce was kind of an asshole.)

She felt Damian’s chin press into her scalp and a hint of a smile grazed her lips. But this was Damian. Damian who was her best friend. Damian who supported her no matter what. Damian who comforted her and was there for her whenever she needed it.

Damian would never hurt her. And she was determined never to hurt him, ever, if she could help it.

She looked up and smiled at Damian. The smile he loved so much, the smile she always had on whenever she saw him, the smile that would unconsciously fly to her lips whenever she heard his voice.

Maybe it was then that Marinette should’ve known that she loved her best friend, but then again, she was only fifteen. She didn’t know what love was. But she would. Very soon.

“We accept.” Damian told Sabine and Talia when they reentered the room.

“We thought you would.” Talia replied.

-

When Marinette turned 16, her last year at Francois Dupont, six months since she’d made Lila’s time a living hell with her Ladybug (both in suit and in school), and fashion clients connections, the Waynes had visited.

Turns out, Damian and Jason got caught trying to sneak onto the Wayne private jet but instead of stopping them, they insisted they came along too, having pieced together that Damian and Jason were going to visit the mysterious tiny girl they couldn’t find the name of.

So they had no choice.

And os that leads to now, with the Waynes standing in the courtyard, elicting a growing crowd as they waited for Marinette, looking the part of scary rich people that can end your life without a problem.

Damian suddenly started running, and he hugged a girl. No one could see who the girl was because her head was buried in Damian’s chest and his body was shielding hers.

Not many people in the courtyard was surprised when they pulled away and standing there was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. After all, she was one of the most successful students in class that didn’t get fame from famous relatives. No, al her fame was hers alone.

In fact, the only people surprised were Marinette’s class, not-so-fondly referred to as the Akuma Class.  Her Consorts were the only one who knew of her betrothed, Damian. Other than that, Marinette had never been willing to share. 

When Marinette saw the other Waynes however, after hugging Jason, she rolled her eyes. Bruce, Dick and Tim stalked forwards, looking every inch the scary billionaires they were.

It was broken by Dick hugging the girl and gushing over how cool she was. Tim smiled at her and she had smiled back. Marinette flipped Bruce the bird.

“Why are you... so sunny? You definitely weren’t like that when you threatened us in Gotham. You were such an ice queen.” Tim mentioned, failing to keep the amusement out of his tone.

“What do you mean? Marinette’s always been like that, even if she is a bitch now. There’s no way she can be cold.” Alya remarked snidely.

Alix and Chloe stalked forward, raising thier fists threatningly. But Marinette only laughed coldly.

“You wanna see cold, Cesaire?” Marinette snarled, dropping all acts of being nice. 

The Lady was back. Publicly.

The silence was interrupted by Rose, who asked, "But Lila, don't you know the Waynes?"

Said Lila had been trying to slink away unnoticed, but when her name was mentioned, all attention diverted back to her, effectively keeping her in place. Her pale face and scared eyes were enough to tell that she had indeed been lying. 

Yells and screams broke out across the courtyard as the Akuma Class berated Lila for lying to them all this while. Until, Marinette interrupted, face set in a ice cold, stony position 

"Okay, blame her for lying." She started. "But why did you believe her?" 

The Akuma Class drew a blank and didn't respond. Partially because they didn't know what to say, and partially because Marinette's mere presence was overwhelmingly intimidating. Marinette sighed and pressed on. 

"Everything the Liar has said can be found faulty by a simple internet search." It was true, and the class knew it. When no one replied, Marinette shook her head sardonically. "You reap what you sow." 

She turned to her betrothed. In an instant, her icy mood was gone, replaced with the sunshiney-ness the Akuma Class had grown used to. 

"C'mon, Dami!" She gave him a quick peck on the lips, hoisting herself up on Damian's back. Damian grasped her legs tightly, as she continued to be piggybacked by him. 

"Onward!" She cried out dramatically, pointing to the school exit. 

Damian only rolled his eyes fondly at his beloved, steering themselves out, her Consorts and his family behind them. 

None of them looked back. 

If they did, they would've seen the expressions of disbelief and regret etched onto every one of her old classmates' faces. 

Not that they would care.

-

5k words yay

also uh yeah again, sorry this took so long, i kept hitting a mental block while writing this and it didnt manage to upload from my phone for no good reason :( 

but anyway its up now, i hope u find this acceptable! :)

[qqueenofhades]

What weapons were used during the Crusades? I remember something vaguely about bows/crossbows being important but nothing else. Thank you :D

Nonnie, if you are (as I suspect) asking this for Very Important Fic Research Purposes, let me just say: you, my good gentleman/lady/nonbinary pal/mineral/vegetable, are Extremely Valid, and I salute you utterly. Let us just quietly assume that is in fact what you are doing. Buckle up, because yes. You have to consider individual and collective weaponry, differences in Christian vs. Muslim armies, tactics, and their development over the crusades. Never fear, I am here to make it entertaining (ish) for you. Let’s start with the individual warriors.

How To Arm Your Crusader: Nicky Edition

First! Nicky is from Genoa, which was most notably involved in the First and Third Crusades. I mention this because if you’re deciding to place him among a contingent of his fellow countrymen, it’s useful to know where you can most easily do that and where it would be most realistic to have them fighting. It will also make a difference for what he’s armed with. You are correct about crossbows being one of the major weapons of the crusades; indeed they were so effective in medieval warfare generally that the church tried to ban them, at the Third Lateran Council in 1179, from being used on fellow Christians. (Muslims were still fair game.) Longbow archers were used occasionally (though it wasn’t until the 13th century, mostly after the end of the crusades, that they became a major battlefield force), but Nicky would definitely be a crossbowman or at least know how to use one, because we have multiple mentions of Genoese crossbowmen in the sources. (Me in the shower this morning: YOU IDIOT OF COURSE HE’S A CROSSBOWMAN! YOU SEE HIM WITH A LONG RIFLE AND EVERYTHING!). Notably, Richard the Lionheart fought the Battle of Jaffa (1192) with 54 Genoese crossbowmen, about 100 knights, and 2 horses. It is up to you if you decide to use this fact or not, ahem.

Crossbows are easier to learn how to use than longbows, but require strength to wind the mechanism and launch the bolt. There is also a more powerful version called the arbalest, which had a frame made of metal instead of wood. These also had a longer range, so they were in fact a bit like the assault rifles of their day. Unlike a rifle, however, you have to have enough time to fire the weapon (which takes a while) and therefore it’s not as useful if the enemy is right on top of you. They’re most helpful in attacking an enemy in a more stationary position (such as, say atop a tower or a wall) and where you can have enough space to reload without being overrun.

We see that Nicky has a broadsword, which would also be a fairly standard weapon for a crusader. Most boys started their training at the age of 7, and the value in achieving the rank of knighthood would rise steadily over the course of the crusades, complementing the development of the ethos of chivalry. At the time of the Norman Conquest (1066), we could still have “free” or “unfree” knights, and it was a mark of military service rather than a distinct social rank. But with the popularity of chivalric literature in the 12th century, the ideas and prestige associated with knighthood skyrocketed. I know I’ve written some posts about this somewhere, which I’m too lazy to go find right now, but you can possibly find them in my medieval history tag. In essence, chivalry means martial prowess. It has a more romanticized aspect, of course, but it’s mostly about kicking ass, though it does prescribe certain codes of conduct for combatants (on both sides) and for noble-born women, as well as a strong religious aspect. If you do want more info on this and how to avoid the stereotypes of a chivalric knight, let me know and I’ll go dig up my old stuff.

There’s also a big difference between fighting on foot (infantry) and fighting on horseback (cavalry). All the footsoldiers were a lower or more common rank, and if you had a horse, you were almost certainly a knight or a professional soldier. Footsoldiers usually were pike (spear)men, since even if you only have long spears and a shield wall, you can throw together a pretty awesome defense. (At the Battle of Hastings, English fyrdmen with just pikes and shields almost defeated multiple Norman heavy cavalry charges.) Plus, a spear doesn’t take too much special training: just poke the sharp end into the other guy, as Jon Snow might say. Hence it was easier for non-professional soldiers or citizen conscripts to use it rather than the more specialized skills for knights.

The best warhorses were known as destriers. They were specially trained to kick, bite, and raise as much hell as their masters in battle; they were expensive and prized. A fast, strong horse often also used for war or for fast travel is a courser. A horse for non-battle or basic transport situations would be a palfrey or a rouncey (though lower-status men-at-arms could also ride one in battle). We can decide whether or not Nicky has one of these.

Armor! The Christian crusaders wore steel (chainmail) which was a major advantage in close-quarters combat. This is not the plate armor you may be thinking of, since full-body armor didn’t get used until around the 14th century at the earliest and came into full vogue in the 15th/16th century (by which cannons had often made it obsolete and dangerous). Chainmail is no joke: it weighs at least thirty pounds and boys had to wear it from childhood to know how to stand up in it, let alone move. (I.e. all those movies where anyone just slaps it on and is fine are liars.) You would wear several layers: first an undertunic, then a padded leather gambeson, the steel hauberk itself (often thigh-length), and then a cloth tabard on top, which displays your badge or flag or your cross, if you’re a crusader (though these were far from ubiquitous and sometimes color-coded by country). That way people can also tell which side you belong to. You wear a helmet on your head (obviously), vambraces and gloves on your arms, and greaves on your legs, over heavy leather boots. Now imagine all that coming at you with a spear on a charging warhorse.

.... what I’m saying is, medieval knights could kick your ASS.

You can also use daggers, hatchets, and other small arms (morningstars are cool, but alas, were never really used in the field). A knight sometimes carried a special blade known as a misericorde, which had the gruesome but necessary purpose of finishing off a wounded enemy (or friend) who hadn’t died immediately from their injury but wasn’t going to survive it either. Welp.

And with that:

How To Arm Your Muslim Warrior: Joe Edition

So we’ve got Nicky sorted: what about his More Than Boyfriend mortal enemy? Well, for the most part, it will look something like the above. Christian crusaders of the period would have called Muslims “Saracens,” which was the name for them, along with less flattering things (heathens, infidels, etc) but when in doubt, if writing from a crusader POV, you can just use Saracens. Actual Muslims obviously never use this word to refer to themselves. They did not have crossbows, but rather shorter and more mobile bows that were designed to be used from horseback. Arabian horses were smaller in stature than European destriers, but faster and more maneuverable, and had a legendary reputation for speed and temperament. Muslim forces would also sometimes ride to the battlefield and then dismount to fight.

We see that Joe has a sword with a shorter and wider/slightly curved blade in comparison to Nicky’s long, straight broadsword. In my fic, I call this a saif, which is just the Arabic word for sword and is how Muslims of the period would have referred to it (the word “scimitar” is from an Italian name for it and wasn’t used until at least the 16th century). It can mostly refer to any Islamic sword in this style, though there are different names for regional variations. If you want to give him a really cool and culturally significant weapon (especially since I headcanon him as a Fatimid Shia Muslim from Egypt), you could give him the zulfiqar, which was a double-pointed sword used by Ali ibn Abi Talib, a cousin of Prophet Muhammad and one of the main figures in Shia Islam. It is often represented on flags and in battlefield invocations. The actual zulfiqars that exist are more often dated from the 16th/17th century with the Ottomans or from 19th-century Persia, rather than from the crusades, but hey, you can always say that Joe had something to do with that. Sidenote, research the differences in the various Muslim dynasties of the crusader period, as they’re definitely not one size fits all (especially in re: the prominence of Sunni sultans in the later crusades, and how Joe might have thought about that).

As noted, the Muslims didn’t wear steel armor, which was a disadvantage to them in close-quarters combat with crusaders. Their armor was made of boiled leather and lamellar scales, designed to be light and good for long-distance riding rather than a heavy battle. They would also have helmets (in various shapes and styles), gloves, etc. An archer would have a quiver and have to think about using, reclaiming, or mending arrows after a battle (the Never Ending Quiver in every movie ever: ALSO WRONG).

I will confess that I don’t know as much about Islamic warrior ethoi comparable to chivalry as I should. However, the crusades were taking place against the backdrop of the Islamic Golden Age, in which the culture, sophistication, and scholarly study in the Islamic world was at its height, and there are plenty of artists, poets, mathematicans, and philosophers that Joe would be familiar with, that would guide his actions in the way that chivalry might for a knight. Such as, for example, Avicenna (Ibn Sina) from Samarkand, or the Banu Musa brothers of Baghdad. There would also obviously be the Qur’an and the ahaditha (sayings of Prophet Muhammad) and other religious texts and traditions. Obviously if you’re going to use any of these, be respectful, do your research, and present it in a positive way.

And then of course there is the:

Big-Ass Cool Weapons of Major Boom

So what else do we have on a large scale, aside from the individual warriors? For a start, we have (on the crusader side) siege engines, such as mangonels, trebuchets, towers, etc. These are not comparable to the Return of the King-esque “break off a chunk of the city with every hit,” but they were pretty damn effective; during the Third Crusade, one stone from a trebuchet was reputed to have killed twelve people in the market in Acre. Richard the Lionheart also hauled along a lot of high-quality stone from Sicily to make better missiles than the soft crumbly sandstone of the Holy Land. There’s a reference to a “cat,” which seems to have been a tower containing multiple compartments for crossbowmen, which could be pushed up against city walls. There are also battering rams and other blunt-force weapons, since sieges were a main part of every crusade. (In fact, commanders tried to avoid open battles as much as they could, though there were also usually at least one on each crusade.) Defensive strategy included digging deep ditches around walls, to prevent your opponent’s siege engines from getting too close, or just throwing stuff down at them as they tried to climb with scaling ladders. With this, we also have....

Greek fire! It’s semi-similar to wildfire from Game of Thrones, even if not quite as effective, but still a pretty cool weapon. The Muslims used it first; it didn’t enter Christian warfare until Geoffrey Plantagenet introduced it in 1151 (his grandson, Richard the Lionheart, also got to be rather fond of it). It was a long-burning liquid explosive that could burn even on water and couldn’t be put out by regular means; it was very feared and very effective. So if you were under siege and had some of that stuff to pour down on the defenders, it would be useful (along with boiling pitch, oil, or other more ordinary substances). Your enemy might plan for that or try to defend against it by using hides soaked in water or some other kind of shield.

Anyway, I’m sure there is more I could say here, but this is already MORE than long enough. I hope it is helpful to start with. And inspirational. Ahem.

[story-collector]

The Family We Chose

Part 2 (I honestly have no schedule for writing this so I’m just kinda doing it as it comes to me but I will try to be fairly consistent)

14

The next year as school started we finally were able to add to our team. We added our three new family members. Chloe was given the Bee Miraculous, gaining the name Honey Bee. She was an valuable asset and even if we hadn’t added her I believe she still would have been family. She was a great strategist and fully dedicated to bringing down Paris emotional terrorist. Kagami was given the Dragon Miraculous, gaining the name Ryuko. She was a hard worker and aimed to please. Winning was ingrained into her very being by her mother so losing was never an option. Our third was Luka with the Snake Miraculous. Viperion was a steadfast calm that helped our small team immensely. The three very quickly showed how much they wanted to be on the team.

Our nights were a little less hard now. Patrols were more evenly spaced and emotional comfort was in abundance. We had a bigger support network now, even if it was just each other. We were a family that we knew we could rely on. More memories were made, another album started to get filled. Our civilian lives improved slightly, having more time to indulge our interests and focus on school helped lessen the stress we had. But it didn’t stop all the bad.

We were still just children. Most of us were 14 with Luka being 15. We were young and still relatively inexperienced but we did the best we possibly could. Unfortunately it wasn’t always enough. Nights were still hard, plagued with to still body’s and unseeing eyes. Makeup was something we were all to experienced in. Lies became the norm to our family’s and other friends. We were okay, just stressed. No we weren’t going to turn into an akuma. We were fine. Tears were hidden in the rain and atop the roofs of the city we vowed to protect with our lives. Sometimes we did give up our lives, and remembered every time we did. Some scars would fade with the magic, others were faint, almost a trick of the light, and some were never visible to begin with.

Once a week we would patrol together and then sleep in a pile in someone’s room, making sure to leave before the sunlight touched the trees. The night time was our time, no matter if we were daylight hero’s or not. Homework was still done on top of the Eiffel Tower. The album was still filled. Interests were still ongoing. But it was all done mostly together. The others were my models as I would sit on roofs and design new outfits for them. They would help me with ideas and eventually making a website. Money was brought in by everyone. Chloe managed to buy a warehouse just for the team. The outside was broken and dirty and old but the inside was our home.

This became a sanctuary for us, and it was near this sanctuary where we found the youngest member of our family. We found him slumped behind a dumpster, his to small body almost hidden in the darkness. The blood coating his body made it hard to tell where it was coming from. We gathered him up in our arms and rushed him to our base. We didn’t know much of medical procedures but we new just enough to save him. What little we knew almost wasn’t enough. We didn’t have all the supplies, the scars would be ugly, he had to be constantly watched. Medical supplies was put on the list of things to gather. Just because we had magic didn’t mean we would always be able to save someone with it.

The young (tiny, too small, too young) boy didn’t wake for almost two weeks. Our free moments, every second of them, was spent at his side or around him. The amount of scars he already had was heartbreaking. The amount of weapons he had was terrifying. They told a story we didn’t want to hear. When he woke up he was weak, we had to help him eat, we had to carry him everywhere. He was light, to light, and to much muscle for an 8 year old. We learned his name was Damian.

We never told Master Fu about him. We never told Paris about him. He was our secret. At first he was angry and rude and constantly insulting us and trying to attack us. It was clear he didn’t know what physical comfort was. He didn’t know a gentle touch. We likened him to a wild animal, small, scared, confused, and hurt. It took a month before he could start to walk again and a month and a half before he was fully healed. He had started to trust us during his stay. Three months later he was still there. He warmed up to us, leaning into our touches, and reciprocating the attention we gave him.

He told us he was raised by the League of Assassins. He was their Heir. He didnt want them to hurt us, but we couldn’t let him go back to them. So he stayed with us and as the League realized that he was alive, and that we had him they grew angry and would attack us in the dead of night while in patrol. Our supplies of medical supplies grew massively very quickly. Our uniforms were changed to blend into the dark of Paris skyline.

As young as he was, he was helpful. We learned to fight from an 8 year old and in the end that may have been what kept us one step ahead of the League. He became somewhat of a son to us, or a little brother. He was family and we were as close as ever. Many nights were no longer spent in our own homes, but instead with him. Lunch breaks from school weren’t spent with friends as often, they were spent with him, showing him the world he had missed growing up. He became inspiration for clothing for children. Our interests were brought into the Sanctuary and we taught him. He taught us as well. Weapons, fighting, Arabic. We taught him as much as we could. French, English, Chinese, Sign Language in English and French. The learning was slow going for a lot of us, some of us learning new things from the others. But we learned fast, became better and better everyday.

He blossomed under our care. He became the child he was meant to always be...mostly. He was raised and Assassin and you can’t take something that is ingrained in a child since birth out of him in a year. Against our better judgement we would bring him on some nightly patrols. Night time shenanigans would ensue (our photo album grew and we had to start a new one) and attacks would still happen from both the League and Hawkmoth. The year was eventful, but we grew as a family and as a team. Our base was almost fully set up. It became our home. It was his home now, with the sewing machine in the corner and my commissions piled up on the tables, a full musical set up in the corner with couches and bean bags, a makeshift run way for our more dramatic members (Chloe and Adrien), and an area for fencing and practice in every form we knew.

The year was filled with sleepless night and alter egos and stress and anxiety. There was mourning, dangerous and deadly battles, new scars to go over the old and a child to care for. We were family and no one could take that away.

[normal-thoughts-official]

how many languages do you think magnus can speak? (and cat and ragnor and even raphael)

great question!!!! id like to preface this by saying "a lot" cuz tbh i think magnus is the kind of guy who likes to learn languages and who can learn them with relative ease (like seeing the way he pronounced "lorenzo rey" so perfectly i think it indicates to someone having ease with languages you know what i mean? he switched from english to spanish super quick and effortlessly) but the ones i think he definitely speaks:

obviously "indonesian" (indonesian didn't exist at the time he was born but malay, which indonesian derived from, was the universal language in indonesia so ya know)

i like to think he'd speak javanese as well but i think that's kind of unlikely considering how he always implied indonesian/malay to be his first language :/ and if that were his first language then he probably wouldn't have a need to speak javanese. i think it might have been because his stepfather wouldn't want him to be taught javanese, and at the time the dutch colonizers spoke malay with the natives at home and all according to what i've read. but there's also the possibility that he'd learn it later because he'd want to learn his mother's native tongue you know, even if he could no longer speak it with her. maybe sometimes he kind of "prays" to her in javanese. haha im fine

he probably speaks or used to speak (cuz i think after a while it would become rusty esp since he probably only associates it with bad moments/things) dutch even if only a little (again according to my research most mixed families in indonesia in the 17th century spoke malay at home, so) 

he DEFINITELY speaks spanish, and pretty well if the way he pronounced lorenzo rey was any indication (again not only the perfect pronunciation but the very easy switch that would indicate he was very familiar with the language). not to mention it makes sense since he dated imasu (who was peruvian) for quite a while and also raised raphael

obviously he speaks english udhaiudhsa both US american and british english since it was (implied? said?) that he used to live in england before he went to the US

he probably speaks french as it used to be the lingua franca (in the western world) up until 1919

he probably speaks whatever asmodeus' language is? probably some demonic language other than french i mean or whatever. of course asmodeus is probably omnilingual or something of the sort if he can go around having kids with ppl from all around the world in so many different times daiohdajosi but i think he would want magnus to speak... edomese? or something since his plan was always that magnus would rule edom by his side anyway

he probably speaks the seelie language (or at least one of the seelie languages if they have multiple)! whatever that is. i totally think he would want to learn it just because it would make him able to communicate with such a huge amount of people and also would probably make it easier to read some untranslated books on magic, you know, stuff like that. so i can definitely see that being a thing

i like to think he learns quechua for imasu uwu 

i like to think he learnt catarina's native tongue! and that she also learnt malay/indonesian you know daijdaosi because they are soft bitches and they know how lonely it is to not ever be able to speak your native tongue (both due to separation from your land and just the fact that language evolved with time so no one alive REALLY speaks their language you know). they might not be fluent but they know it well enough to hold a conversation or to use pet names and stuff like that

and that's the specifics i have! but again i do believe magnus would like to learn a lot of languages, sometimes just for the shits (hyperfocusing on languages anyone??) esp because he has, you know, infinite time daohdsaoij and i think he would like to learn new languages and speak as many as he could. so yeah i definitely think there are more. he would probably speak most languages that have a lot of speakers like arabic (at least standart arabic), mandarin/chinese, hindi/urdu, bengali, etc. just found out portuguese is the 7th most spoken language in the world so i'm gonna go ahead and hc that he speaks brazilian portuguese (the most common branch) because i: can. and then some just for the shits because he wanted to and/or found them beautiful like swahili, yoruba, guaraní, etc 

i think ragnor only speaks english tbh dajdsaodijaoidsja he seems very Monolingual but maybe it's just the White Anglo vibes that ooze that kind of entitlement doaijdosaj either way i think he would know at least pet names in indonesian/malay, whatever catarina's first language is, and spanish, for his friends. possibly also french because again it used to be the lingua franca up until very recently

catarina i think is definitely like magnus in the sense that she loves learning and speaking new languages! i like to hc her as native african but i haven't really decided on which ethnicity she would be so idk what language that would be. then obviously there is whichever language the colonizers imposed on the country she lived in. then: probably arabic (particularly if she's from north africa), english, indonesian for magnus, spanish for raphael, probably french because lingua franca, and i hc she just likes learning languages from the other native groups near where she's from? i also like to think she likes to learn languages that are at risk of extinction because she thinks it would be such a shame to actually let them die and she knows the pain of seeing ur language be smothered like that. so she speaks a lot of languages with few native speakers and she loves it. she also uses that to learn more about their medicinal practices because you know, she IS a nurse AND a warlock and there's so much to learn you know. also good opportunity to use her knowledge :) so yeah

as for raphael i think he only speaks english and spanish, as well as indonesian and cat's native tongue. he hasn't lived as long as they have and he's been busy and struggling(tm) for a lot of his life so he hasn't had the time to learn as many languages as they do. i think over time he would also want to learn yiddish for simon and meliorn's language because i can and will shove the polycule wherever i can lmao. and yeah that's what i have :) thanks for asking, i had fun with this

[elentary]

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

Happy 31st Good Omens anniversary! (i’m late as usual)

A little story about Aziraphale and Crowley popped up in my head and I tried to write it down. 

This is my first story and my first language is not English (so don’t expect a masterpiece out of this): any correction or comment will be appreciated!

(All material related to Good Omens is the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.)

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

London, Monday, 10th May 2021

"Hey, this is Antony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style"

-biiiiiiip-

"Ah, hello, it's me… ...Aziraphale! Well, ehm, it's been a while since we spoke and I suppose you're still sleeping in this moment because you aren't answering the phone. I just hope you aren't sleeping on the ceiling or on the walls: I'm pretty confident to say that's not comfortable for your backbone and I know for sure you have a perfect soft bed in your room. Also, last time I saw you up there, I almost had a heart-attack and I'd like to avoid it, even if I'm sure I can't die of that since I'm not human, but… ...oh, I wandered off too much with this!

Ehm, I called to inform you that lately the situation here in London seems to have improved and, since some restrictions have been lifted, I thought we could maybe meet again when you'll wake up: my bookshop will be open just for you at every hour! 

 Oh, don't worry if you'll be a bit sleepy: I'll prepare my special qahwah (kahve/caffè) in a jiffy! Well, it's not so special, it's just an old recipe I learnt because… ...oh, not that, it's a secr…. ehm, it's not important at all!

I… I… hope to see you soon, my chuck-… my dear!"

Aziraphale hung up the phone and started fidgeting with his golden ring almost immediately: "I shouldn't have called him: it didn't go how I planned", he muttered to himself. Unsurprising, the phrase "it went down like a lead balloon" popped up immediately in his head.

He had been rehearsing the call for ten days, preparing himself for every possible scenario, but in the end he went completely off-script after a few words, letting his emotions spill too much in his tone. 

But what worried him the most was the moment he let slip the words "old recipe" from his mouth: not for the recipe per se, but because of the little secret behind it. 

"I'm quite sure - he said out loud using a hopeful tone to calm himself - I was able to stop in time, thanks goodness! I’m sure that he won't ask anything even if Crowley notices something, because he'll think there is just a boring story behind it".

While he was heading for the kitchenette to make a cup of tea (there is no problem that couldn't be fixed with a good cuppa), he halted midway and wondered: "Why did I call coffee in that ancient way?"

The reason for that ancient name was very old, pretty much as old as Aziraphale's secret: a little more than four hundred years old.

Venice, 1596

"...and just a cup of qahwah for me" said a guest all clad in black who was slouching on a chair in the most luxurious house of the city. 

The young waiter who was taking the order, looked at him a bit perplexed for the last order. 

"Right, that was Arabic" chuckled Crowley "bring me some kahve or whatever is called here".

"Oh, caffè, here it’s called caffè here, Siór!” [1] , said the young one, ”How much sugar would you like in your cup?” added hasty at the demon's expression.

“I'll have Sade kahve but with a bit of cardamom. Remember to grind finely the beans”.

The waiter was still lost but the other guest at the table helped him with a smile: "He doesn't want any sugar in his caffè, dear" 

“I'll bring everything as soon as possible" said the young man and, after bowing a little, he headed for the counter.

Aziraphale was a bit surprised by what just happened: "It seems you are the meticulous one today: I have almost never seen you so specific with your food or drink order, unless alcohol was involved". He also added: "I just hope you didn't want to mess with the poor waiter".

No, angel, I didn't pull a prank. I have been drinking coffee for a while: but since my last mission in Malta [2] I have been loving it: Altan was the best at making it, but he went to Rome", Crowley said with a sigh.

"The funniest thing - he continued, smiling - is that I was lured to that because I thought it was an alcoholic drink since they called it qahwah, that also means wine. At first I was a bit disappointed but later I discovered it helps to stay awake during boring stuff: it did wonder with every task Hell gives me."

"I tasted some qahwah some times ago but it was too energetic for me… but maybe I should try it to deal with Gabr… ehm, with tedious tasks". Crowley politely didn't mention Aziraphale's little slip but smiled a bit inside.

When the order arrived the angel observed how his partner smelled and tasted happily the concoction humming approvingly: 

"I didn't think you were a coffee connoisseur" Aziraphale joked. 

"It's not so bad for someone with so little experience: you should try it sometimes. If you're done with your food, let's organize our Arrangement. For my report…"

They discussed their work for a couple of hours, drinking coffee. Aziraphale tasted it too (a lot sweeter than the demon) but in the end he still preferred his tea. The angel, however, decided he'd propose another place with coffee, since Crowley enjoyed that drink so much.

Milan, Four years later

"Why can't I have a cup of coffee?" Sulked a very crossed demon who was missing a couple of years of sleep due hellish work. "Lent was over 2 month ago, wasn't it?"

The owner of the shop was distraught: "The priest told us that is not proper now, Sir: the Infidels are using it and - he started whispering - it seems that's a Devil's plant". 

"I'm pretty sure that the Devil wasn't involved in any botanical project, even before Falling, and he has never tried any coffee. Instead, if you are speaking about demons, I am the onl-"

"Why don't we order wine instead this time?" Interrupted quickly Aziraphale before Crowley could say something more compromising. The unhappy demon agreed begrudgingly so several bottles of red wine were shared among them. 

"I'm sorry for your coffee, Crowley. It seems idiotic banning a plant just because somebody else has it".

"Well, they copied the idea from the Boss: God was the first to ban a plant, you and I should remember that easily" Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale started blushing and his cheeks soon were as red as that famous fruit: "ah, it… i-it wasn't just a normal fruit and that was part of God's plan…  I suppose.". That phrase was just commented by the demon with a bemused expression.

"So, Crowley, what are you going to do with this? Are you going to tempt a lot of people to drink coffee?"

"Nah, I'm already too busy with Hell's job at the moment. It would be too troublesome to convince people and especially priests: those at top are the worst."

I'm sure I'll miss the ability of coffee to transform random thoughts into ingenious ideas: humans were experts at using that!" The demon slouched sadly on the chair.

Aziraphale would have missed the improved human genius too but, in his opinion, would have regretted more not seeing his demon's smile but he said nothing. He instead started thinking if there was something he could do and soon became lost in his thoughts.

"...anything there?"

"Sorry, what was that?" 

"I told you I'll go back to Spain tomorrow for a temptation: do you need anything there?" 

"Oh, nothing special, just the usual [3] we can share and those books, if you could be so courteous." Aziraphale happily answered, giving him a neat written list.

"Are you going to stay here long, angel?"

"Oh, no, I'm departing for Rome the day after tomorrow… … I know you don't like it because of the absurd amount of consecrated ground there, you don't need to make a face each time I mention it"

"And every pope makes the problem worse." 

The angel assumed a grim expression: "I have to meet pope Clement VIII for the closing ceremony of the Jubilee"

"You don't seems pleased" 

"The Archangels, especially Sandalphon, think highly of him, but I don't… appreciate him, especially after he burned at the stake messer Giordano Bruno and other poor humans."

Crowley liked discussing the stars and the universe with Giordano: he tried to warn the poor man but he was too stubborn to listen.

"May I reciprocate your favour from Spain? Maybe some wine?" Suggested the angel.

"Only if you're sure the bottles are not blessed - Crowley shuddered - I still remember last time I was wrong".

"Are you sure it will be enough?" 

"I'm sure, angel. Let's party now and forget our troubles for now". 

Unfortunately Aziraphale couldn't party happily because he couldn't forget what happened with the cup of coffee and he thought his favour was too small: he decided he should do something about it! 

Luckily the following morning was more propitious and he found a way to repay Crowly for his favour: he'll find a way to lift the ban on coffee.

The only remaining problem was how to do that.

Rome, a week later

Aziraphale was reading the same line of the missive for the third time in a row at his desk: the angel was too distracted because hadn't found a solution for his "problem" yet. 

"I bet I have the solution under my nose but I can't see it" mumbled the angel touching the pope's sigils on the papers.

"Of course, the pope! - he yelled happily - He is the highest authority for the priests: he could convince everybody that drinking coffee is not bad if he tastes it himself".

"I just need to learn how to make the best coffee ever". A name came back to his mind, the name Crowley gave him: Altan. 

Immediately he used a little miracle to locate him that led him to a small cemetery outside the city and on the grave and there were few sweets with a little cup: unfortunately Altan died 10 years before. The angel bowed a little to pay respect. 

A big Turkish man came next to him and inquired "Did you know my father?".

"I didn't but my... acquaintance considered him a genius and was very fond of his qahwa, ehm, kahve. He'll be sad when he'll know he died." 

"I'm Osmanek. May I ask you what brings you here mister...?

"Oh, I'm Aziraphale. I came here to learn how to make the best coffee ever: I hope his art was inherited by you."

"Luckily it was not lost: I loved to help him make coffee. Before revealing my secrets I have a question for you: are you doing this for your… acquaintance?"

Aziraphale nodded: "I'd like to prepare him some coffee he loves, but at the same time I'd love to see everyone have a coffee whenever they fancy, like in your birthplace. To make that possible, however, I have to let somebody else drink your coffee to.. ..to tempt him saying it's not a bad thing: that person is the pope Clement".

The angel knew what he was asking for and couldn't hold the gaze of the man anymore.

"I understand -he continued sadly- if you don't want to help me since I have seen how much that man has been hurting your brothers and sisters…" The angel couldn't say anything else, overpowered by his memories and bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes: he has seen too many inconceivable deaths in the name of faith

Osmanek observed Aziraphale for a little moment: he was sure there was no lie in his words. "No, - he smiled - I can't leave you after you poured your heart out: I'll help you and your friend to tempt the Pope." 

"Oh, oh, thank you! - and the angel added hastily - But he's not my friend, we barely know each other!"

The man started smiling brighter than ever and guided him to his house.

Immediately after they arrived, Osmanek offered his guest a cup of his special kahve with few sweets. Aziraphale tried just a sip of coffee and he was immediately in love: "Now I know why Crowley likes it so much: it's so scrumptious even without those sweets!"

"I call this Altan kahve in honour of my father: I will teach you how to prepare it for your fr… aquietance but I ask you to not give any of this to the pope. For him, I'll give you another tasty recipe" 

"Oh, I agree with you: the pope doesn't deserve that perfection!" 

Osmanek patiently taught Aziraphale everything he should know: how to roast and grind the beans, how to use the small pot "cezve", the ratio perfect between coffee and water, how to boil and froth the concoction and  which flavours could be used.

In the beginning everything felt so difficult for Aziraphale and he failed a lot. However the angel was very stubborn and, thanks Osmanek's tips and teaching, he was able to make an excellent cup of coffee in a couple of days.

"I hope this will be good enough" mumbled the angel.

"Trust me, it will be too good for the pope", he chuckled. "Now let's see how good you are with Altan's coffee. I'll give you a final tip: imagine you are preparing some coffee for your acquaintance and not me".

"Why…?"

"If I'm right, it will taste better"

Still perplexed and a bit nervous, Aziraphale went into the kitchen and, following the last advice, he prepared meticulously the dark drink, flavouring with cardamom and finally pouring it in two kahve fincanı, a dark one and a light one. The smell seemed quite promising.

Osmanek took the darkest cup and, after smelling the aroma, he tasted it. After a few seconds, he smiled "In my native Country there is a proverb that says the coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love but for your coffee this doesn't sound right". He put the empty fincanı on the table.

"I think - he continued - the Italian expression suit it better" 

"I'm sorry but I don't know it" the angel was starting to worry he messed up something even if the man was smiling fondly.

"Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore.". [4]

The angel took his courage and drank his coffee: in his opinion, it wasn't perfect as Osmanek's but it tasted like something Crowley would enjoy and that was the best feeling ever. 

The angel couldn't stop smiling: "Oh, I am so grateful to you! But I don't know how I can repay you for this"

"Your happiness is enough: I'll bring you everything you need".

Aziraphale didn't agree with him so he performed some miracles and blessings. 

Osmanek came back with some coffee beans, flavours and utensils. There were also three kahve fincanı: two were familiar (the dark and the light ones) but the other was new (and very flashy).

"Oh, that's for the pope: I have always hated that cup and I hope it'll break when that man wants coffee most"

"Oh, that cup will do that, I can assure you" the angel promised with a mischief smile.

Aziraphale finally bid farewell, still thanking Osmanek profusely.

Two months later was the time to put the plan in action: the pope was in the library at 2 a.m. and he was getting tired but he had a lot of work to do. Aziraphale approached him: "I may have the right solution for your Excellency: it's a healthy concoction that promotes wakefulness and wonderful ideas. It was discovered b-"

"I don't care, - interrupted the holy man - give me that drink and let's hope it works".

"God gives me strength" whispered under his breath the angel while preparing some coffee that suited the pope's taste.

When the cup of coffee was ready, it was given to Clement VIII: he grabbed it and started drinking absent-mindedly. The smell and the taste were so good that he woke almost immediately. 

"Librarian, what is this?"

"As I was saying, this is coffee" 

"Why has nobody given me this miraculous drink? The taste is divine and it works perfectly!"

"I suppose nobody wanted to offer your Excellency any drink consumed by Muslims. Some people also believe coffee is a Devil's plant. In my op-"

"I don't care: it's too good to be Satan's plant and we mustn't let the infidels have exclusive use of coffee."

Aziraphale was quite happy: it seemed his plan worked out nicely.

"Maybe we could bless the beans or use some holy wate-"

"NO" shouted the angel, emanating some angelic power unconsciously "Please, DON'T". 

For the first time in his life, the pope was scared he felt like a little child in front of a giant warrior.

"Ehm, please - said more calmly Aziraphale - never suggest it again or let somebody do that. Just tell everyone coffee could be drank by anybody".

The pope could only nod affirmatively.

"Right!" 

Now the angel was sure he was successful in his endeavour and soon could have a coffee with Crowley. 

Aziraphale stayed in Rome for another three weeks, just in time to witness a fincanı to break neatly in two, pouring coffee on some important papal documents.

On his journey to London he stopped to Osmanek's house and updated him on what had happened in that time (especially the broken cup).

London, Monday, 10th May 2021, 30 minutes after Aziraphale's call.

In the end Aziraphale made some of his special coffee with his cezve: he was missing Crowley so much.

"What if i woke him up while he just wanted to sleep a bit more?" 

"No, angel, - a familiar voice answered - I want to stay awake with you for a while"

"Crowley" cheered Aziraphale

"Coffee?"

"In a jiffy" and he poured the drink in two old contrasting kahve fincanı.

"So, what's the secret behind this old recipe?" Crowley asked with a mischievous smile.

----------------------Notes----------------------

[1] Siór = mister (venetian dialect)

[2] Malta = Crowley had been at the great siege of Malta in 1565    https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Siege_of_Malta

[3] Usual = local goodies (especially wine and alcohol)

[4] "Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore" = "coffee must be hot as hell, black as the devil, pure as an angel and sweet as love"

To write this I took some info from wikipedia about the history of coffee: if you want to learn something more accurate than my story, look here and here.

[verifiedaccount]

More movies (and a tv series) on youtube to keep you busy

List 1 / List 2

Here’s a third update of movies that you can watch in full on youtube since you’re stuck inside

Documentaries about movies:

Visions of Light: The Art of Cinematography (1992): Featuring interviews with more than two dozen major cinematographers and a ton of clips, this is a useful and enjoyable primer for anyone interested in learning what a DoP does

Vittorio Storaro: Writing With Light (1992): This is a shorter (40 minute) television doc focusing on one specific cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro, famed for his collaborations with Bertolucci and for shooting Hollywood movies like Apocalypse Now and Reds

The Epic That Never Was (1965): In 1937, Josef Von Sternberg started shooting an adaptation of I, Claudius starring Charles Laughton as Claudius. Dirk Boagarde hosts this lively documentary examining why the film was never completed, featuring the surviving footage from the 1937 shoot. 

Hollywood: A Celebration of the American Silent Film (1980): Kevin Brownlow and David Gill’s 13-episode miniseries about the silent film era is considered the gold standard for documentaries about film history, but the impossibility of negotiating the rights to all the clips used at a reasonable price has kept it off of dvd or blu-ray. Luckily, that didn’t stop someone from putting it on youtube, although episode 12 has in fact been blocked due to a copyright claim.

Buster Keaton: A Hard Act To Follow (1987) Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3: Another Kevin Brownlow and David Gill miniseries, this one, as you’ve probably guessed, covers the life and films of Buster Keaton over three episodes.

More movies:

Powell/Pressburger: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, aka the Archers, were one of the greatest writer/director teams in film history (and a favorite of Scorsese, who seemingly made it his life’s mission to ensure that their films were restored and available), and three of their incredibly charming, magical movies are on youtube. Of the available ones, I Know Where I’m Going! is probably the best to start with.

I Know Where I’m Going! (1945): Dave Kehr on the film:  “Michael Powell's 1945 film resists easy classification: it opens as a screwball comedy, grows into a mystical, Flaherty-like study of man against the elements, and concludes as a warm romance. Wendy Hiller, in one of the best roles the movies gave her, is a toughened, materialistic young woman on her way to meet her millionaire fiance in the Hebrides; Roger Livesey is the young man she meets when a storm blows up and prevents her crossing to the islands. Funny and stirring, in quite unpredictable ways, with the usual Powellian flair for drawing the universal out of the screamingly eccentric.”

A Canterbury Tale (1944):  The Criterion jacket copy: “Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s beloved classic A Canterbury Tale is a profoundly personal journey to Powell’s bucolic birthplace of Kent, England. Set amid the tumult of the Second World War, yet with a rhythm as delicate as a lullaby, the film follows three modern-day incarnations of Chaucer’s pilgrims—a melancholy “landgirl,” a plainspoken American GI, and a resourceful British sergeant—who are waylaid in the English countryside en route to the mythical town and forced to solve a bizarre village crime. Building to a majestic climax that ranks as one of the filmmaking duo’s finest achievements, the dazzling A Canterbury Tale has acquired a following of devotees passionate enough to qualify as pilgrims themselves.”

Gone To Earth (1950): Made under unhappy circumstances (David O. Selznick producing), this is a gorgeous technicolor romance starring Jennifer Jones as a nature loving young woman forced into a choice between two “civilized” men, with tragic results.

Straub/Huillet: If you’re looking for something easy and relaxing to watch during the quarantine, I’d recommend literally anything else other than the films of Jean-Marie Straub and Danièle Huillet. J. Hoberman on the couple: “Straub-Huillet, as they preferred to be called, are cinema’s conscience — an antidote to all the junk movies you’ve ever seen. Drawing on Kafka, Cézanne, Brecht, Schoenberg and Malraux, to name only some of their best-known sources, Straub-Huillet films are meant to raise ethical questions on subjects as varied as proper camera placement and the appropriate political approach to the subject.“We make our films so that audiences can walk out of them,” Mr. Straub once said, perhaps not altogether in jest.” Of the available ones, Class Relations, their adaptation of Kafka’s unfinished novel Amerika, seems to be agreed upon as the easiest place to start as it’s the closest to a straightforward narrative, although History Lessons has also been recommended as a relatively easy starting place by some people. Not Reconciled, which compresses an epic Heinrich Boll novel following three generations throughout multiple timelines into 52-minutes, is not recommended to start with. MUBI did a retrospective of their works and had essays commissioned for each one to help viewers out so I’ll link those with each film. Hit Closed Captions for subtitles.

Not Reconciled (1965): Here’s a 10-minute video essay by critic Richard Brody that will help you have a slightly easier time with Not Reconciled if you decide to give it a try. Here’s the MUBI essay

Othon (1970): In the 17th century Pierre Corneille wrote Othon, set in ancient Rome. Straub-Huillet’s adaptation is shot in the actual ruins of Roman palaces with modern buildings and cars visible in the background. The MUBI essay

History Lessons (1972): An adaptation of Bertolt Brecht’s The Business Affairs of Julius Caesar. From the MUBI essay: “In the film, an unnamed young man tours Rome and conducts interviews with toga-clad members of ancient Roman society on the subject of “C,” meaning of course Julius Caesar. It plays like Citizen Kane shorn of any of the flashbacks that bulk out that film: here, it is all exposition, reminisces, impressions. Interspersed through these sedentary discussions are a series of randomly protracted car rides through the city, all recorded in unbroken takes from the backseat of the young man’s Fiat 500.From this brief description alone, I’m sure you can see why structuralist-minded academics in the seventies had a field day.“

Fortini/Canti (1976): From the MUBI essay: “In Fortini/Canti, the Italian Communist writer Franco Fortini reads aloud from his Dogs of the Sinai (only recently translated into English for the first time), a memoir of his life as an Italian Jew and an extended reflection on the aftermath of the Third Arab–Israeli War of 1967 and its representation in the Italian media and by the political class. [...]  Like all of Straub-Huillet’s movies, this astonishingly combative film follows an internal rhythm born out of the particulars of landscape, of speech, and of the physiognomies of its actors. It begins with an extended recording of a television newscast about Israel/Palestine (thus distancing the audience from the warped words and images on screen), a quotation from Fortini that connects like a punch in the jaw (“People don’t like having to change their minds. When they have to, they do so in secret. The certainty of having been tricked turns into cynicism. Gain for the cause of conservatism”), and then alternates between short jabs like these and more sustained verbal and visual attacks.”  

Too Early/Too Late (1982): Serge Daney on the film: “No actors, not even characters. If there is an actor in TOO EARLY, TOO LATE, it’s the landscape. This actor has a text to recite: History, of which it is the living witness. The actor performs with a certain amount of talent: the cloud that passes, a breaking loose of birds, a break in the clouds; this is what the landscape’s performance consists of. This kind of performing is meteorological. One hasn’t seen anything like it for quite some time. Since the silent period, to be precise.” The MUBI essay

Class Relations (1984): The aforementioned adaptation of Kafka’s Amerika, often recommended as a place to start with Straub/Huillet. The MUBI essay

Hitchcock: Back to fun stuff, three Hitchcock classics.

The 39 Steps (1935): Dave Kehr: “As an artist, Alfred Hitchcock surpassed this early achievement many times in his career, but for sheer entertainment value it still stands in the forefront of his work.“

Shadow of a Doubt (1943): Kehr again: “Alfred Hitchcock’s first indisputable masterpiece. . . . Hitchcock’s discovery of darkness within the heart of small-town America remains one of his most harrowing films, a peek behind the facade of security that reveals loneliness, despair, and death. Thornton Wilder collaborated on the script; it’s Our Town turned inside out.“

Spellbound (1945): No one would argue it’s Hitchcock’s best and the psychoanalysis is very dated but with Gregory Peck, Ingrid Bergman, and Dali-designed dream sequences there’s still enjoyment to be had.

Ozu: One of Japan’s most beloved and revered filmmakers, he’s primarily known for his post-WWII family dramas, but his career stretched back to the silent era (although most of his silent films are lost). I Was Born But... is a good place to start but it’s not representative of the style he’s known for. Late Spring is where his later style fully emerges, and it’s a good place to start, so you might want to go in chronological order with these (Tokyo Story, widely considered one of the greatest films of all time, is also not a bad place to start).

I Was Born But... (1932): Jonathan Rosenbaum on the film: “One of Yasujiro Ozu's most sublime films, this late Japanese silent describes the tragicomic disillusionment of two middle-class boys who see their father demean himself by groveling in front of his employer; it starts off as a hilarious comedy and gradually becomes darker. Ozu's understanding of his characters and their social milieu is so profound and his visual style—which was much less austere and more obviously expressive during his silent period—so compelling that the film carries one along more dynamically than many of the director's sound classics. Though regarded in Japan mainly as a conservative director, Ozu was a trenchant social critic throughout his career, and the devastating understanding of social context that he shows here is full of radical implications.“

The Only Son (1936): Criterion’s jacket copy:  “Yasujiro Ozu’s first talkie, the uncommonly poignant The Only Son is among the Japanese director’s greatest works. In its simple story about a good-natured mother who gives up everything to ensure her son’s education and future, Ozu touches on universal themes of sacrifice, family, love, and disappointment. Spanning many years, The Only Son is a family portrait in miniature, shot and edited with its maker’s customary exquisite control.”

Late Spring (1949): Ignatiy Vishnevetsky: “Each shot in Late Spring is striking on its own; the mature Ozu belongs to that rare category of filmmakers whose work can be recognized from a single frame. But together—with all their abrupt shifts in visual perspective and time—they become a mosaic, deeply poignant and ultimately mysterious in the way it envisions a relationship between two people trapped by how much they care for one another. There are domestic dramas, and then there’s this.“

Tokyo Story (1953): Dave Kehr: “The film that introduced Yasujiro Ozu, one of Japan's greatest filmmakers, to American audiences (1953). The camera remains stationary throughout this delicate study of conflicting generations in a modern Japanese family, save for one heartbreaking moment when Ozu tracks around a corner to discover the grandparents, alone and forgotten. A masterpiece, minimalist cinema at its finest and most complex.“

Early Spring (1956): Ozu on the film: “I wanted to portray the life of a white-collar man — his happiness over graduating and becoming a member of society. His hopes for the future when he got his job have gradually dissolved and he realizes that, even though he has worked for years, he has accomplished nothing worth talking about. By delineating his life over a period of time, I wanted to portray what you might call the pathos of the white-collar life...I tried to avoid anything that would be dramatic and to accumulate only casual scenes of everyday life in hopes that the audience would feel the sadness of that kind of life” 

Equinox Flower (1958): Vincent Canby: “One of Ozu's least dark comedies, which is not to say that it's carefree, but, rather, that it's gentle and amused in the way that it acknowledges time's passage, the changing of values and the adjustments that must be made between generations.“

Late Autumn (1960): Peter Bradshaw: “Another gem from the Ozu canon, a masterpiece of tendernesss and serio-comic charm, as tonally ambiguous and morally complex as anything he ever made.“

And the tv series:

The Armando Iannucci Shows: You may know Armando Iannucci from his films, In The Loop and The Death of Stalin, or from some of his other television shows like The Thick of It or Veep, or from his involvement in all the Alan Partridge series with Steve Coogan. You probably missed The Armando Iannucci shows, his stream of consciousness sketch comedy that ran for one season back in 2001 (it didn’t help that it debuted in September of 2001), but it’s probably the most purely funny thing he’s ever done. 

[weclassygirl]

𝐃𝐞 𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐦

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Warnings: none

Author’s note: hello everyone! uni is completely figured out yay! also i’m thinking of taking a small month or so break from writing, want to focus on some other projects that i have in mind. hope you’ll enjoy this part. english is not my first language so beware. take care love <3

dulce periculum series: ... 04 / 05 / ... / 07

Gif credits (x)

You pack your bags in a hurried fashion and with a bit of nervousness. The Elder wants to speak with you. The man that sits above the High Table. You pack every necessity, clothes, guns, coins, not much, you don't plan on staying there for too long.

You reach under your pillow to take out the knife hidden beneath it. It's handle is engraved with a beautiful design, the silver of it shines in the faint stream of light and the green and blue elements make it look royal. You stare at it for a while, admiring the build of it. The thin blade is sharp and reflects in the light. 

Santino walks up to your room and leans against the door frame, watching you holding the dagger he gifted you. You don't hear him coming to your room, he stands in the doorway, waiting for the right moment to make himself present. 

He knocks lightly on the door and you quickly turn in his direction. The hand that holds the dagger falls to your side, he looks at your bed and sees the bag filled with clothing and every necessity you would need for your trip. He walks up to you, that stoic attitude replaced by that soft expression you often see whenever both of you are alone. 

“You don’t need to go.” he says as you put the knife into the bag. 

"I have to, I don't have much of a choice." you inform him going to the wardrobe to grab a few shirts. 

"Of course you do." he says back, his eyes focused on your face. "You’ve spent two years here without him wanting to speak with you-"

"But it’s the Elder," you cut him off. "he sits above the High Table." you turn to him, your own eyes focused on his emerald ones. There's a worry and question filling his features, he wonders why you're complying to the Elder's wish. You look at him and sigh, turning your gaze back to the bag. "We both knew that this day would come sooner or later." you say in a defeated voice.

You hear a faint shuffling and see Santino moving closer to you from the corner of your eye. 

"Let me come with you at least." he pleads softly. You look up at him, your eyebrows drawn together in a sad frown. 

"You know you can’t. The Adjudicator strictly said that he wants to see me alone," you say, remembering the Adjudicator's words.  "no other parties involved, even one of the Heads."  

You detach your gaze from his and move to the small bathroom and grab some toiletries you would need, toothbrush, comb etc. You come back to the room seeing Santino who's moved closer to the bathroom. His eyes follow your every movement. You finish packing as Santino hangs his head down and sighs. 

"I guess I won't be able to convince you otherwise, right bella?" he smirks faintly but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. You say nothing, he already knows the answer. "Very well, but take the plane. It will at least ease my mind to know that you got there safely." he takes your hand in his, gently going over your knuckles. You learned that he started doing that sometimes out of boredom and sometimes as a form of reassurance. 

You place your hand on top of his and hold it there until you speak up, your quiet voice carrying through the small space between you. 

"Alright… and you don't need to worry too much, Sofia is letting me stay for the night before I go to the desert." you don't know Sofia personally but always admired her in the movies. The Adjudicator told you that you'll be staying at the Moroccan Continental before your departure to the desert. Santino looks at you wearily but nods and let’s go of your hand. You smile at him faintly, reassuring him that you’ll be fine.

It’s not that he thinks that you’re not ready, he knows you're capable of pretty much everything at this point, but it still puts him on the edge. Your own version of the Impossible Task made him believe that you can withstand anything, that you're as much capable as the other guards. 

Santino leaves your room and your eyes follow his figure as he disappears behind the door. You sit down on your bed, looking at your lap, thinking of every decision you've made in the past two years. Saving Santino, joining Camorra, making a name for yourself in this world. And now a meeting with the Elder, a man that could no doubt easily kill you in a matter of seconds and wouldn't even get any blood on his robes. You decide not to ponder much about it and finish packing.

The airport is relatively quiet, the only sound that can be heard is the engine of the plane. You see Spirto and Sonya waiting for you at the hangar. Sonya comes up to you and hugs you tightly. 

"If something happens, call me, I still have some contacts in the city." she says to your ear and you chuckle. 

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." you pull away and see Spirto watching both of your interactions. His hair going in every direction and the bags under his eyes tell you that he spent another night wide awake. 

During your time here you've gotten along the best with Sonya and Spirto, their cheerful personalities really helped you not feel so miserable at Camorra. Spirto puts a hand on your shoulder.

"As Sonya said, if you need anything you call us, I'm sure Andre would be against it but what's life without a little danger." he tells you with a grin spreading on his lips. There's that glint of madness twirling in his eyes. You nod at them in thanks and see a figure behind them. 

Santino stands with his hand in his pocket, a bag waiting by his side. Sonya and Spirto give you a knowing look and you have them in the ribs before they can say anything further. You move towards the Italian. 

"If you're here to try and change my mind, it won't happen." you say to him, he smiles and reaches for the bag at his feet. 

"Believe me I won't do that, I know you made up your mind. I'm here to give you a small parting gift." he hands you the bag and you look at him suspiciously, you don't look in the bag but see a dark material crumbled up inside.

"Be safe, bella." he simply says. It's not a goodbye, you only go there for a few days, you'll be back in a blink of an eye. 

"Always am." you say, he looks at you with expectation and you step closer to him as you hear the pilot announcing the departure. You kiss the Italian briefly on the cheek and place a hand on the other, Santino closes his eyes momentarily before you pull back. Both of you look at each other, feeling as if there's something more to say. 

You turn to the plane and climb up the stairs giving one last look to Santino. Sonya and Spirto already left the hangar. You enter the plane and the hostess closes the door behind you. You go and sit in one of the chairs, placing your bags beside you. You see Santino through the window and his silhouette becoming a dot as the plane begins to move. 

You relax in your seat, already planning to sleep through the flight when you remember the bag Santino gave you. You take a look inside and pull out a dark material, a jacket and suit pants. You see a tag saying that it's made by Angelo. The same Angelo you've seen making a suit for John when he visited Rome in the movies. 

The suit itself is custom made as you realize, small threads of blue and green embedded into it. There are multiple small pockets inside it, some of them already containing thin knives, the fabric itself is the same bulletproof one you've seen John wear. 

You look at your window and smile, deeply thanking Santino for this gift. During your stay at Camorra he's only given you two gifts, a dagger and a necklace. He gave you the necklace when you visited Naples with him during one summer. You've been walking around the city streets, him telling you about where everything was, and even some of the stories the streets held. You saw a stand with jewelry in the corner and decided to go up to it. You saw a beautiful thin silver chain with a green stone in it. Santino saw you looking at it and decided to buy it when you didn't see. He gifted it to you at a beach when both of you were returning from the city. You've been wearing it ever since. 

You smile at the memory and hide the suit into the bag, deciding on putting it on later. You make yourself comfortable in your seat and quickly fall asleep, the hostess wakes you up as you're about to land in Morocco. You exit the plane and decide to walk into the city, deciding that you're gonna have to find the Continental on your own. Walking through the market and the alleyways you're met with Yassin, the man that you remember guiding John and also somewhat saving him. Both of you cross the street filled with people to enter a luxurious open space. 

"Welcome to the Moroccan Continental." you see people scattered around, belly dancers performing in front of the clients and various alcohol being passed around. It's nothing like the New York or Rome Continental. Yassin leads you to a secluded room, away from the lobby.

"Ms. Al-Azwar will be with you shortly. Best of luck Ms. Jade." he says bowing slightly as he disappears behind the entrance. You look around the room and wait, you walk towards a small table and see pictures of Sofia with the dogs and her daughter. You hear a faint tapping of paws and see two dogs staring at you, bearing teeth. They growl at you and for a moment you fear that they will attack you when a woman's voice tells them to stand down in Arabic. The dogs calm down as Sofia approaches you. You stare at her with slightly wide eyes and smile shyly. Sofia looks at you with question in her eyes. You're surprised she's not pointing a gun at you. 

"Sorry, I just- you've been one of my favorite characters since I watched Parabellum." you say quickly and feel her stare at you. You feel like you may have said something wrong but she only chuckles, the slight tension dropping from your shoulders.

"I guess what they say is true, you are from a world where all of our lives are a movie." she says. You smile and look around the room, it's dark, beautiful rugs laying on the floor, gold ornaments laying around. Sofia gestures to the couch and you take your seat, the dogs following and sitting on both of your sides. 

"We're gonna be meeting with Berrada?" you ask, thinking that you would have to go to him as he used to be the previous manager. She pours water into the glass and heads to the couch giving you one of the glasses.

"No, it's not necessary. You already know that one way or another you would have to go to the desert." she answers and you nod along her words. 

"Yeah, I suppose." you sip on your water when Sofia asks you another question. 

"Why did you save him?" she looks at you, wonder in her eyes, confusion even. You put the glass on the table. 

"I knew that if John killed him then that would be followed by consequences. Excommunicado, the whole world would be trying to kill him, he would call in for the Marker he has on you. Just a lot of awful stuff, for him at least." Sofia looks at you with a cold attitude but her eyes did go slightly wide at your mention of her marker. 

She looks you up and down and leans in closer.“But that’s not everything, is it?" she questions. You straighten up in your seat, your head held high as you listen to the manager's next words.

"There are rumors about your connection to Santino. Some say that you’re his private bodyguard - closer than Ares even - that you’ve saved him and made up that little story cause he informed you that John is after him. Some even say that you only saved him so that you can warm his bed at night.” 

You scoff at her statement. For people to think those things are beyond you. You knew that some may not believe that you're not from this world, but to make up those kind of assumptions… “Do you believe those rumors?” 

Sofia crosses her legs and leans back slightly. “Not really, but no one truly knows you, except for Camorra." you look at her, her eyes fill with questions. Sofia tilts her head to the side, wondering out loud.

"People are curious… and I can see from a mile away that you care about them. The Camorra, Santino.” you listen to her, your cheeks feeling a bit warm. You compose yourself quickly and just shrug.  

“Well, they did let me stay with them and not wander around New York, just waiting to be killed.” the manager looks you up and down, examining your face, she squints her eyes and lifts the corner of her lips. “Yeah, that’s the only reason.” 

You look at her with wide eyes and your blush grows, you chuckle nervously. There's a comfortable silence hanging between you two, you can hear music and people outside laughing and speaking in a language, still a bit foreign to you. One of the dogs decides to come closer to you and put his head on your leg. You look at him and back to Sofia, silently asking for her permission. She nods at you and you put your hand on the dogs head, petting it lightly as he closes his eyes. You smile, feeling at peace for a moment. 

Yet that small moment is interrupted as Sofia stands up and the dog averts his eyes in her direction. 

"Come on, I'll show you to your room.” you stand up and reach to your pocket preparing to take out a single gold coin and give it to the woman. Sofia looks at you and shakes her head. “There’s no need for that, your room has already been paid for.” you look at her confused but follow nonetheless. 

You assumed that Santino would have paid for your stay at the hotel, but you truly hoped that he wouldn't have to do that. You earned your money and you wanted to use it, to make yourself feel that you fit into this world. You reach the door and Sofia hands you the key, she leaves you alone in front of the door, bidding you goodnight. You enter the room and are met with a lowly lit room, columns decorating the open space, maroon carpets feeling soft underneath your feet. 

You head to bed and drop your belongings near it. You quickly spot a bathroom and shower, desperately in need of sleep after a tiring journey. After you exit the now steamy bathroom you go to lay in your bed. You sigh as your face meets the soft pillow, your body immediately relaxing. You turn on your side and look at the high ceilings, thinking what the Elder might want with you. 

As far as you know he rules this whole world, he is the person that you don't question twice. You knew that one day you would have to face the consequences of your actions. You saved a person that was supposed to die, someone that stood high on the food chain. Your mind briefly slips to Santino and you reach for your phone texting him a short message that you arrived and are safe. After a few seconds you hear a soft ping and see a message from the Italian. "That's good to hear. No trouble I hope." You reply with a confirmation and your brief interaction with Sofia. "Rest bella, a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I'll stay in touch. Take care." He responds.

A short message that for some may seem not that much caring, but this is Santino, his way of showing emotions and concern is different. Small affirmations like this show that he cares about his people, that his family means more to him than anything… well, maybe except power. 

You put the phone away on the nightstand and close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away to sleep and your heartbeat slowing down with every passing breath.                                                             

The next day you drive with Sofia to the desert, you sit on the passenger seat as the dogs sit behind both of you. You drive through the desert that doesn't seem to end. The sand creates a dusty smoke as the car drives on it, the sun shines brightly above you and you mentally prepare yourself for what's about to come.

You stop in the middle of the desert and Sofia takes out a bowl and water for the dogs. They drink it rapidly, clearly thirsty. Sofia passes the bottle to you, a bit more of the water inside than what John had when he came to the desert and without the spit. 

"I hope you don't die here." she says to you. You look at her again with confusion. 

"You don't even know me, why do you care if I die here or not?" you question, squinting her eyes at her as the sun shines on both of you.

"I can see a fighter when I meet one, and you have that spirit that this world so desperately needs." she tells you and you wonder at her statement. People die everyday in this world, be it by an open contract, broken marker or a rule, or even a classic revenge. For a moment you think about your future and for how long you'll be able to survive in this world. You turn to Sofia, her eyes expectant, the tattoo on her neck showing up from behind her hair.

"Sofia." you nod at her, raising the bottle up.

"Jade." she nods in return and gets into the car, the dogs follow her. You see her drive away as she becomes a time dark speck on the horizon. You begin to walk.

You seem to be moving for hours, sometimes feeling as if you're going in circles. The day slowly turns to night, the sunset greets you along with a breeze that moves the sand. You don't stop walking, knowing that stopping would be even more dangerous in these conditions.

The morning sun rises after a few hours and you reach for your bottle, trying to satiate the need for water. You stop yourself as you remember that you shouldn't be wasting it, every drop is precious in this desert. You keep on walking, the day once again turning into night. You feel yourself grow weaker, not eating in days, only surviving on the bits of water. You lift up the bottle only to find it empty and you feel yourself loosening balance on the sand and tumble down the sand. You don't have the energy to stand up and lay against the warm sand as the night turns darker, the stars and the moon start to shine high above you. 

You wake up feeling a light breeze moving your hair, a soft material lays under your hand, completely different from the hot sand you recall falling asleep on. You open your eyes slightly and see a pair of shoes far in front of you, white robes concealing them.

"Drink." says a male voice, his accent visible and his voice rough. 

You reach to your pockets inside the jacket when you hear the man speak up again. "Don't worry your weapons are still there. Please drink." you get a sense of deja vu. You reach for the small red glass beside you and drink until it's empty. You look up and see the Elders gaze hanging onto your frame, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stand up on wobbly legs. 

You go straight to the point, not wanting to prolong your stay here. "Why did you want to meet me?" he acknowledges your question and shows amusement on his face. Surely he's used to people speaking and answering to him with respect, but you're not sure what to make of him yet. The Elder doesn't seem to be bothered by your tone. 

"Your appearance has created a disturbance in this world." you listen to him, the wind flowing through the open tent. His whole presence seems so calm and yet it has a certain hidden edge to it. "You being here is dangerous on it’s own." 

You draw your eyebrows in worry. "Dangerous how?" 

"You know what happens." he says simply, clasping his hand together and putting them on his knee."It may not be in the very distant future, but you possess a knowledge that endangers some people. With you now working for Camorra, that knowledge had only expanded." 

You were made aware of the dangers that would fall upon you when you first arrived in Italy, the Council and Santino made sure to tell you them. You've already encountered some of those dangers, being held at a gunpoint multiple times, kidnapped in need of information on other organizations, someone even tried to push your car out of the bridge into the river that you were passing by. All of those encounters however, were unsuccessful. You only got out with some scratches and scars going into your growing collection. 

"And you’re probably one of those people that feel endangered." the Elder doesn't answer you, instead he changes the topic of the conversation.

"I do hope that your stay at the Continental has been pleasant." he says and you move to answer him when a thought crosses your mind. You thought that Santino has been responsible for your stay at the hotel, but now it makes sense. His voice even indicates that he meddled with your stay there. Realization falls upon your face and you stare at the man in light robes. 

"You have questions." a simple statement, he doesn't waste unnecessary words. That reminds you of a certain someone. 

"Plenty, but right now only one comes to my mind." you say looking only at him, the rest of the people in the tent forgotten. As if only the two of you were occupying this space. The Elder nods at you as a sign to continue. 

"Why wait two years?" the same question you asked an Adjudicator. But you need to know the reason and who's not better to get it from than the source itself. He looks at you as if he was expecting that question and you're not surprised. You hear his accented voice carrying through the tent. 

"You needed to adapt to this world, train to become stronger, to be ready to face challenges that will lay ahead of you." he stands up from his seat and moves closer to you, his steps light, quiet. He looks down on you, studying your face. "You’re confused." 

You shake your head slightly and look him in the eye, his dark eyes never once leaving yours. "I’m not, it's just…" you hesitate answering, trying to find the right words. "If you wanted to see me train you could have easily just gone to Italy and get me, tell Santino that you will be overseeing my training." you explain, thinking of all the possibilities he could have got to you. 

He had all two years to do that. To take you to the desert, train you as one of his people, explain you everything and yet he didn't. You examine his face, wondering what he's thinking and you see him lift up the corner of his lips. 

"What makes you think I don't plan to do it here?" you draw your eyebrows, your mind reeling with questions. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you. "Walk with me."

The Elder moves by you and leaves the tent, you quickly follow him and try to catch up. He's not the person that would be waiting for someone. The rest of his tribe doesn't follow, they stay in the same seats they sat on throughout the whole exchange. 

Both of you walk in silence through the desert and his tribe. You see people walking around in light, flowy robes, the wind carrying through them. You see people training with sticks and even notice a tattoo on one of their hands as it clashes with the person they're sparring with. 

Up ahead you see people meditating, far from the tribe, seeking silence and peace, away from the others. Only with their own thoughts. 

"I have heard about your abilities," you hear the Elder speak up from beside you. "you have an extensive knowledge in languages, fighting, your skills are admirable. Not many people go through such a hard training in Camorra and get to see another light of day." you hear praise in his voice, something to be proud of. You squint at him, the sun seemingly shining brighter. 

"Doesn't the same rule apply here?" you wonder out loud. He listens to you, his eyes glancing at you every now and then. "You sit above the high table, you definitely have selected individuals that were trained even harder than at any organization." 

"Yes, but I am the one that chooses them." he admits and you sense that there's more to his statement then he leads on. "You are aware of this, that I am the one choosing who to speak with when people search for me in the desert for days. You were no different." 

You look at him questioningly. You stop in your track, feeling the hot sand beneath your feet, the heat getting to you. It doesn't seem to bother him as he's adjusted to the unbearable weather.

"How? You wanted me here." 

"Yes, but I also needed to see how much you would endure out there. Just because I demanded your presence here didn't mean that you wouldn't have to fully earn it."  

"By sending me out to the desert just to see if I survive." you tell him, not a question in your statement, more of an observation. 

Both of you turn back to the tent, seeing less people and that others from the training mat long gone. 

"You've been through much worse I assume, that small test only proved that you're capable." you enter the tent and the Elder takes his place on the seat at the head of it, his legs placed on each other, the golden ring on his finger glowing in the sunlight. You can even make out a silver of a watch beneath his sleeve. 

You stand there wary, not knowing what to expect. "Capable of what exactly?"

The Elder breaths in, his shoulders straightening and it somehow gives him a sense of power. More power and authority than before, like finally he's the person that so many respect and even fear.  

"Joining our ranks." he simply says, not a doubt in his voice. You look at him, your eyes going wide and soon you start to smile, small chuckles escaping past your lips. 

"You want me to work for you?" you quip up. You look around and see the people surrounding him sitting quietly and listening. You're certain that they could disarm you in a matter of seconds. The Elder doesn't say anything, only studies your reaction. You compose yourself and your face becomes more serious with every passing second.

"I already work for Camorra." 

The Elder shrugs, though the movement is invisible. "Who says you can't do both? You can serve Camorra and the High Table. Simple as that."

A moment of silence passes between you, you consider his proposition. Camorra is a part of the High Table but working for the Elder himself would be completely different. You thought that working for Camorra was signing a deal with the devil but it turns out that he was that devil all along. You look at him, worrying about the words you're about to speak but don't show it on your face. 

"I'm guessing that if I don't agree then you'll just make me excommunicado or kill me the moment I say no." you question, the man says nothing once again, he doesn't need to, you know you're right. You sigh in defeat.

"What do I need to do? Cut off my finger to prove my loyalty to you?" 

 "That won't be necessary, however I'll need you for various of tasks. For now you'll be staying here for your training." 

 "What about Italy?" you wonder.

"Mr. D'Antonio will be informed of your stay here." he answers you, his eyes gleaming in the desert sun.  

"How long?" 

"A month. I'm sure you're a fast learner, we don't need more time to teach you our ways." 

Our ways. You wonder what that might entitle. You've seen the High Table mercenaries work already, their movements careful, quiet as if they're a part of the shadows. You've seen them work effortlessly, them not sparing anyone in their path.

"Your ways?" you ask him. He seemed to expect that question out of you. His rough voice carries through the small tent, you feel a presence behind you, a person to probably stop you if you refuse completely. Your eyes quickly turn to the Elders. 

"Standard training, new methods and techniques. You've seen what people of the high table can do." he informs you and you look around. 

If you agree it will mean that you'll have to sacrifice a month of your stay here. Adjusting to the new climate, leaving Italy without a proper explanation. For a moment you worry what the Guard might think, what Santino might think. 

Would he see you as if you've lost your interest in Camorra? Or maybe he'll acknowledge that you seek to gain knowledge and more experience? 

"Alright…" you sigh and see the Elder holding his chin up high, his lips turning upwards, a clear sign of victory. "When do we start?"                                                            

It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve started training in the desert. Throughout those weeks you've been training with the other people here, some of the ones you've seen when you first got here, gone. Probably sent on a task ordered by the Elder. The man himself oversees your training, telling you new ways of fighting everytime he sees that you've done something wrong in his eyes. 

The training is brutal but you expected it. You've started to meditate even, the Elder told you that in order to control your body you need to first control your mind. The meditation didn't work at first cause your mind couldn't stay quiet but eventually you got a hang of it. 

The Elder reaches you new weapons, fighting styles, how to be quiet on the feet and even poisons. You've learned that he dabbles in various forms of martial arts and science.

You're still wary of him, not sure what to make of his character. He seems calm most of the time, reserved but he is also the one that sits above all. You don't trust him enough to have a friendly conversation with him, even though you speak to him nearly every night. 

Currently you're fighting with one of his people as he watches the sparring match. You fight with sticks, yours are now broken in two after your opponent broke them in half with his stick. You duck the men as he charges at you, swinging him off his feet, he quickly stands up. Both of you circle each other when you advance at him, he blocks your first strike but doesn't expect the other to his leg. The man collapses clutching to his now broken knee. You look towards him and then at the Elder, he nods at you and you step back. The man on the ground already being taken to a medic. 

The Elder crosses the hot sand to you as you take off the wraps from your hands, some spots covered in already dried blood from your knuckles. 

"You listened." he tells you. When you first started your training he told you about techniques you can use in fights, that was one of them. 

"Yes." you shortly respond, you're tired and it's only the beginning of the day, you still will have to train later, meditate and such. 

"But you focus on the weak points of the body, rather than expecting the opponents moves." he continues. His eyes moving over your features, he sees your skin glowing due to exposure of the sun. 

"I thought that was the point. To see the opponents weak spot to fight them off more successfully." you say, your hands starting to go numb at you knuckles, already feeling the pain of the bruises spreading on your body. 

"You are right, but if you expected what he would do, see where he places his foot, on which side of the body he relies on more, you would have ended that fight quickly." he informs you. You nod at his explanation, his words making sense yet you still by your decision on the fight. 

"I'll keep that in mind." you tells him and turn to the tent to see a medic to help you with bruises and cuts on your hands. The Elder's eyes follow your figure as you disappear behind the tent's entrance. 

That cycle goes on for another two weeks, with you training and even sparring with the Elder himself, meditating and learning more and more each day. You study poisons from all over the world, techniques that you've seen Zero using in the movie. The Elder is impressed by your improvement, you asked him once to send a letter to Santino but you're not sure if he really sent it. You still haven't received a reply. 

Your stay in the desert shows how much you can improve in a short amount of time, you've gained muscles, knowledge and even respect. People sometimes whisper behind your back about your Impossible Task, no one - except the Guard and Santino - knowing what truly happened there. But those people tend to keep to themselves most of the time, their whispers behind your back being a rare occurrence. 

After another exhausting day you drop onto your bed and fall asleep, dreaming of a pleasant warmth of Italy and not the scorching one of the desert. Your nightmares still make themselves present, but due to your meditating they've been not as frequent. 

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Jan Janszoon also known as Murat Reis the Younger (c. 1570-c. 1641) Dutch Barbary Pirate and founder/leader of a pirate republic, Republic of Sale...

Mention pirates and you may well conjure a number of images in the mind.  It depends on the context you’re discussing in terms of history and placement in the world.  The western world usually has an image of a swashbuckling and misunderstood rogue or misfit outcast who has been rejected from their society or can’t tolerate authority so they take to a life on the high seas in search of freedom, adventure and plunder.  Edward Teach (1680-1718) better known as Blackbeard is sometimes cited as the archetypal pirate in many modern works of fiction.  Or one might picture the character of Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean film franchise.  Images that are based in elements of truth but probably watered down from the reality of the harsh existence pirates found themselves in and the harsh price they exacted from others.

Another type of pirate, widely talked about but not perhaps as well known in some parts of the world is that of the Barbary pirate or Barbary corsair.  The Barbary pirate were privateers or pirates from an Islamic background typically and sometimes used a nominally religiously infused perspective to ply their trade.  They usually hailed from or were based out of the so called Barbary Coast of North Africa, so named for the native Berber peoples who made up the majority of these lands, Berber being a corruption of the ancient Greek for Barbarian a term applied to all non Greco-Roman peoples in antiquity.  These lands were the modern nations of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia & Libya in particular.  These pirates were largely in operation from the 16th-19th centuries with their zenith being in the early to mid 17th century.  The modern states of North Africa were not full fledged nation states as they are today, in fact they were instead made up of various city states that with the exception of Morocco were nominal parts of the Turkish Ottoman Empire.  These locations while part of the Ottoman sphere of influence had relative degrees of autonomy that fell to their local governors called dey or bey or pasha.  All honorific titles taken from Turkish to roughly mean leader or governor.  The pirates on behalf of their dey or pasha or sometimes on behalf of themselves had virtual control of over their city-states and the surrounding seas.

The most prominent grounds to find these pirates and their bases was the Western Mediterranean and Atlantic seaboard of  Western Europe.  Their primary focus was to engage in the plunder of merchant ships and occasionally raid coastal villages and towns.  The main target wasn’t so much goods like money or inanimate objects but rather in the capture of  people, mostly Europeans and later Americans to become part of the greater Islamic slave trade within the preexisting Ottoman and Arab slave trades which spanned from Asia to Africa and Europe.  Now keep in mind slavery was not exclusive to any one society, culture or location, slavery and human trafficking was commonplace on virtually all continents among all peoples during the 16th-19th centuries.  However, the focus of this post will be on the Barbary slave trade and to provide a snapshot of the practices within that context.

Not all Barbary pirates were born within the Islamic world, in fact some of the best known were originally Christian or Jewish and later converted to Islam.  One of the best known was a Dutchman named Jan Janszoon (Jan Jansen) who took on the later moniker of Murat Reis the Younger...

Early Life...

-Not much of Jan’s early life is documented, other than he was born in the city of Haarlem in the Netherlands in roughly the year 1570.  Sources don’t definitively state who his parents were other than we can determine his surname followed the Dutch patronymic naming system of Janszoon or Jansen meaning “son of Jan or son of John” in English.  

-At the time of Jan’s birth, the Netherlands was technically part of the Catholic Spanish Empire.  However, the ethnic Dutch who were primarily Protestants of the Calvinist Dutch Reformed Church were increasingly at odds with Spanish rule, what resulted was the Eighty Years War or War of Dutch Independence (1568-1648).  Seven northern provinces of the Netherlands, one of the most powerful being Holland formed the united nucleus of new country determined to breakaway from Spanish rule.  This became the Dutch Republic.  What followed was a period of off and on warfare, colonial expansion and a flowering of cultural expression in art, commerce and the establishment of relatively tolerant values based in individualism.  This was reflected in the largely Protestant personalized philosophy of their religion.  The Dutch Republic became a place of comparative religious freedom within Europe and its government was run more by a legislative body than a monarch, though it had monarch like figures with varying degrees of power, more symbolic than absolute.  This contrasted with the absolute monarchy and centralizing of power in most of 17th-18th century Europe.

 -Jan’s profession wasn’t known either, other than at some point he took to a life at sea, it is speculated by some sources that he was apprenticed on merchant ships as a teenager which enabled him to learn the skills of sailing and nuances of trade and diplomacy in all dealings that would later serve him in life.

-In 1595, Jan is recorded as marrying a woman, presumably named Soutgen Cave with whom he had at least one daughter and possibly a son, Edward  The daughter, Lysbeth, was definitively confirmed by virtually all sources and would play a role in her father’s later life.

-Jan would eventually abandon his family in the Netherlands and would never return to them in a long lasting fashion.  Jan appears to have been restless and turned to a life at sea, first as a Dutch privateer on behalf of the Dutch Republic, raiding Spanish merchant ships in an effort to hurt the economy of the nation that nominally ruled over the Dutch Republic.  

-However, in the early 17th century a nominal period of peace or truce was established between Spain and the Netherlands, though the war and issue of independence wasn’t officially resolved.  Jan during these years appears to have left the official capacity of serving under the Dutch flag and instead made his way to Spain and North Africa and largely went into business for himself.

Algiers and Spain “Turning Turk”...

-The timeline is somewhat confused based on the sources we have but Jan’s adventures appear to have taken him to the Canary Islands off Africa’s coast where he was captured by Barbary pirates, possibly under the Ottoman privateer of Albanian extraction, Murat Reis (The Elder).  Jan was conveyed to Algiers (modern capital of Algeria) where he was most likely considered for a life of slavery.  However, it appear Jan either made the conversion to Islam outright to officially spare him the pain of slavery, since nominally Islam forbids the enslavement of other Muslims, though this was not always practiced since other Muslims were occasionally enslaved by the Barbary pirates.  The other possibility is that Jan convinced his captors of his suitability as a sailor and guide and offered his services if not his faith, though it most likely he converted to Islam at this time, probably as a practical matter.  The conversion in European circles was known as “turning Turk” since Turk became a blanket misnomer to all Muslims regardless of ethnicity at this time.

-Jan also made his was to Spain, in particular the port city of Cartagena where in the first decade of the 17th century, some of the last sizable remnants of a Muslim community lived, descended from Muslims that once controlled most of the Iberian Peninsula in the semi-autonomous province of Al-Andalus (Andalusia) from the 8th century to the year 1492.  

-Since 1492, the Christian kingdoms of northern Spain and Portugal pushed backed the Muslims and “reconquered” Iberia from Muslim rule.  The Spanish monarchy overtime changed from relative tolerance of Muslims and Jews to threats of expulsion, forced conversion or death for non-Christians.  In the midst of all this Jan, either not yet a Muslim or a Muslim who as a European could pass for a Christian met a new woman, sources can’t confirm her identity beyond the Spanish name Margarita.  Margarita was known to be a Spanish Moor or Muslim of mixed ethnic background, most likely Arab-Berber with roots in Morocco.  She was part of a community known as Mujedars or Moriscos, Moors who nominally were converted Christianity but in private secretly maintained their Islamic faith and customs.  Sources also vary on whether Margarita was a woman of high birth or nobility or a domestic servant to a Christian family.  There is even a source that speculates her genealogy can be traced in part to the then ruling dynasty of Morocco, the Arab Saadi dynasty which claim descent from the Islamic prophet Muhammad through the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. 

-What is known is that Margarita would become Jan’s wife, the first of four permissible simultaneous wives under Islamic law.  It is not known if Jan ever took another wife.  His first Christian marriage in the Netherlands would be viewed as invalid under from the Islamic viewpoint.  Jan and Margarita also had four sons whose names are Abraham, Anthony, Philip & Cornelis.  All four would have been raised as Muslims by their parents, from this point on this became Jan’s family.  His Dutch family is variously reported to have been ignored or still the recipients of child/spousal support from Jan who would send portions of his earnings to them.  There is evidently truth to this given that his daughter Lysbeth later visited him late in life, suggesting a good enough relationship if distant.

Sale...

-In roughly the period 1609-1612 the family would have left Spain for Algiers and later Morocco and settled in the city of Sale, today a twin city of the capital of Rabat.  Sale had a long history but a number of thousands of expelled Muslims from Spain would come together to form the nucleus of a new period of history in Sale.  These Muslims would have differed from the Berbers of Morocco despite their overlapping ethnic similarities, in that they grew up speaking Spanish probably in addition to Arabic and would have had Spanish influenced customs, this put them at odds with their fellow Moroccans.  

-Jan in his travels would have been multilingual.  In addition to his native Dutch he would have known Spanish and likely Arabic, English and possibly French at the very least.

-1619 saw the city of Sale which had a small Barbary pirate operation already declare itself an independent republic, not subject to the authority of the Sultans of Morocco, then ruled by two brothers of the Saadi dynasty in a virtual state of civil war  At the center of this “revolt” was Jan himself, now known as Murat Reis (The Younger), taken after his former captor who had passed away a decade before.  Jan was already successful in conducting raids for Algiers on European shipping, mostly of Spanish shipping and other nations.  Though he was known to release or ransom his fellow Dutch from captivity in many instances.

-Sale in its newly declared independence was helmed by a ruling council of 14 leading pirates who elected Jan at its Grand Admiral (head of the fleet) and President.  The newly minted Republic of Sale, was a functioning de-facto city-state that was run by and for Barbary pirates who enriched themselves off of the slave trade and sale of plunder of other goods taken from European ships.

-Sale’s fleet was small at first, numbering 18 ships, mainly of the “polacca” design, the ships were small, sleek and fast.  The harbor at Sale was the mouth of the Bou Regreg river which divided Sale & Rabat on the north and south banks respectively.  The harbor was protected by a sandbar and due to the small design of the ships with they had the ability to slide over the sandbar and dock in the shallow harbor, where European ships typically required deep ports for docking due to their deep and large hulls.  Sale at the time also benefitted from relative isolation with next to no roads leading to the city from land and it was purely a port city.

-Jan is noted by all sources as an intelligent and brave fighter as well as able administrator, the docking fees, percentages of profits from slave sales and others good sold made Sale blossom financially under Jan’s administration.  Nominal fees to the Sultan also helped maintain their semi-autonomy, in recognition of this and due to other deeper difficulties Sultan Zidan Abu Maali of the Saadi dynasty made Jan the ceremonial Governor of Sale.

-Jan and the Sale Rovers as his fleet was called in English sources was known for their guile.  Carrying multiple flags on board Jan and fleet were known to approach ships and like a chameleon adapts to their surroundings by changing colors, the pirates would fly friendly flags as they approached their prey.  This meant they kept informed on the latest diplomatic changes of the day and using this ruse got close to their quarry and then suddenly would raise their own flag of the two conjoined sabers on a field of green or the crescent moon of Islam and frighten their victims.  Barbary pirates in general speaking foreign tongues with a fearsome appearance of swords and pistols in hand and dagger in mouth relied on intimidation and very often tried to capture their victims without an actual fight.  Since the goal was enslavement harm or death to their prisoners was not ideal and psychological terror was their foremost weapon hence why they chose merchant and passenger ships and usually fled at the sight of military ships.

-According to the known accounts Jan and his men treated their prisoners relatively humanely given the circumstances as Barbary piracy was well known by this time, most knew their fate would not be good, few slaves ever returned to their homeland or another destination.  Typically, women and children would be separated from the men, meaning families were often divided.  Once arrived at port, they would be separated according to age and gender since they served different purposes.  Men would typically be used for forced manual labor to their Muslim masters or serve as oarsmen or servants on ships, rarely setting foot on land for long periods of time.  Children would be taken to serve as domestic servants in Muslim homes and women would typically be sold to become domestic servants as well.  Occasionally  women were made into sex slaves to their masters, sometimes ending up in the harems of the Sultan or other Muslim rulers.  On the auction block as is true of slaves anywhere, one would be publicly displayed sometimes naked or asked to run and jump or to be prodded and inspected by prospective buyers.  Those in good health commanded the highest price.  Some slaves were also ransomed through funds raised by the family, government or Christian religious orders, though this fueled the Barbary pirates economy and perpetuated the cycle of enslavement.  Jan is known to have made large profits to fund his family, fleet and home and is known to have had many servants, most probably being men to perform manual labor in maintaining his fleet for future slave runs.

-Jan also occasionally ventured outside of the Western Mediterranean and Atlantic near the Canary Islands, sight of his own capture years before.  He was known to base himself on islands off the coast of England and even return to the Netherlands.  Using his Dutch citizenship and his new found role as an Admiral nominally in the Moroccan navy, he had diplomatic immunity and for his service in attacking the hated Spanish, he was viewed with mixed feeling in his homeland as his fame had spread by this time.  The authorities banned piracy officially and condemned it and thought him a bad example, even if he exacted a toll on the Spanish economy which rivalled the Dutch and was still at war with them.  During one visit back to Amsterdam in 1622, the authorities located his first wife and their children in the hopes the sight of them would spurn him to give up his piracy, it failed.  To make matters worse, he had somewhat a folk hero appeal that lead several Dutchmen to actually leave behind their lives in Amsterdam and leave to join his crew for a life of piracy, a testament to the charisma he probably possessed.  His crew would have been multiethnic containing other Europeans including Dutch, Spanish, French, English and German crewmen alongside Arabs, Berbers and Turks.  Spanish & Arabic would have probably served as lingua francas onboard.

Return to Algiers...

-By 1627, the political situation in Morocco had deteriorated and for safety reasons he took his family to Algiers.  His son Anthony had by this time now an adult left Morocco for a life in the Netherlands and would eventually marry a Dutch woman and immigrate under the auspices of the Dutch West India Company to North America, settling in the colony of New Amsterdam, modern day New York City.  Anthony was known as Anthony Janszoon Van Salee in Dutch.  He was the first Muslim recorded to have been a long term settler in North America and kept the first known copy of a the Qu’ran in America as well, reputed to be a copy of the Moroccan Sultan’s personal Qu’ran which was a gift and a testament to the honorifics bestowed upon the Janszoon family.  Anthony became a successful farmer, landowner and merchant in New Amsterdam and helped found settlements that made up modern day Brooklyn, New York.  He was known to have an independent streak like his father and little regard for authority, making him a colorful character in colonial America.  Through Anthony, Jan has many living descendants in America (see my previous post on Anthony) including the Vanderbilt family which became wealthy in the 19th century. 

-Upon his return to Algiers, Jan resumed his piracy this time conducting two of his most famous raids in 1627 and 1631 respectively.  First, he had his crew leave from England northward to Iceland of all places, where they captured a couple hundred Icelanders and a few Danes from Denmark, all were sold into slavery in Algiers where Jan continued his large profits.  The second took place in Ireland at the village of Baltimore, once more he successfully made off with hundreds of prisoners, only two would ever return to Ireland.  This latter raid was lamented in the 19th century Thomas Davis poem The Sack of Baltimore.  In both instances, Jan’s crew went ashore and captured villagers from their homes, again using intimidation with probably only enough physical violence so as to intimidate and deter resistance.  In the case of the Baltimore raid, Jan’s crew attacked in the middle of the night abducting people from their sleep.

Capture...

-1635 saw Jan captured while at sea in the Eastern Mediterranean, captured by the Christian military order, the Knights of Rhodes or Knights Hospitaller.  He was kept on the island of Malta, the details of his confinement are murky, but he was known to have been beaten and subjected to torture though he never renounced Islam and was known to have become quite pious in his faith.  He encouraged many European captives to convert and spare themselves slavery as Islam forbids enslavement of other Muslims.  In fact, the Muslim view of Jan and his fellow Barbary pirates at the time was widely one of celebration and righteousness.  Not only did it provide economic benefit but the enslavement of non-Muslims was viewed as an act of almost holy war waged against infidel peoples and the pirates were warriors of Islam acting in a righteous manner.

-Jan’s imprisonment lasted five years until he was freed by Tunisian Barbary pirates in a raid on Malta.  He was heralded with great pomp in 1640 at his release having achieved fame in the Islamic world as well as have been a scourge to Christians in Europe.

Final return to Morocco...

-Jan was essentially in search of work despite his old age and feeble condition from his imprisonment.

-He returned to Morocco but not Sale where he made his name and fortune but instead, the new Sultan made him Governor of Oualidia further south on the Moroccan coast.  The modern day seaside resort had a unique lagoon and a new fortress or “Kasbah” was built specifically for Jan.  He also maintained a home in nearby Safi, no longer at sea, he retired and merely administered the area but appears to have been restored to his wealth, his wife Margarita is presumed to have predeceased him either in Algiers or Morocco before or during his imprisonment on Malta.

-In 1641 his daughter Lysbeth from his first marriage travelled with a Dutch embassy to Morocco to greet the new Sultan.  Lysbeth and her husband met with Jan, supposedly both on their docked ship and and his many homes, he was described as being enfeebled but surrounded by luxury and comfort attended to by servants.  Lysbeth stayed with her father for months, the only extended period of time since her childhood, presumably this meant despite his physical distance, their relationship was relatively good.

-No further sources of Jan’s life are known, its presumed he died shortly thereafter of natural causes and was buried in Safi, Morocco in an unmarked grave but no source has yet validated this.

[catboymingi]

the dragon’s appearance - veninder chap. 4

navi/masterlist

story masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: somewhat crack, a little angst, fluff (FLUFF in caps); eventual best friends to lovers

word count: 7.1k

warnings: slight language

a/n: i’m back on my bullshit and also making y/n’s background way more specific than it has to be but it's about the ~storybuilding~. also i am running out of lyrics to summarise the chapters with :(( recycling?

hun er gal, hun er syg, den pige - that girl’s crazy, she’s sick

mingi didn’t even need to ask who this was, the way she spoke up telling him all he needed to know. and if there had been any doubt, feeling you tense up next to him immediately after hearing her voice was confirmation that it was one of the girls that had dared to call themselves your friends despite how they treated you. he was, in all honesty, fuming at her audacity, but this wasn’t about him, it was about you and resolving the situation as quickly and easily as possible. so instead of giving in to his emotions he replied, voice raised just enough to guarantee the professor would hear him: “oh i’m so sorry, i didn’t know there was fixed seating! i just don’t know anyone but y/n, so i thought it’d be okay, sorry again!”

now it was the girl’s turn to fume, and even though you still refused to look up from your papers you could imagine how the steam was shooting out of her ears when the professor told him that it was okay, that seating was free and that he could stay right where he was. she left, sending him a look that could kill, but he didn’t care. this wasn’t his issue - he’d be able to deal with whatever she’d have planned for him. he was just worried about you, because even though she’d left to sit at the other end of the class by now you were still tense, staring at your desk as if you weren’t even really there. the redhead placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently to comfort you and let you know he was there, that you’d be okay as long as he was there, but before he could say some reassuring words the professor started speaking, and he knew he had to be on his best behaviour because he wasn’t actually enrolled in this class. so he just squeezed again before listening intently to whatever was going on right now. he didn’t actually understand much, but when he saw that you still seemed so taken aback that you didn’t even seem to have realised that class already started he began writing down every single word the professor said, sometimes having to guess just what exactly the word was when it was some scientific term, but trying his best.

it took you a little while to snap out of the state of shock your ex-friend had caused you, and when you did you realised you had no idea what was even going on. your eyes turned to mingi, who was taking notes as if his life depended on it, and who, when he noticed you’d returned to the here and now, moved his arm slightly so you could see what he’d written down and hopefully catch up enough with the topic to participate from now on. your eyes widened when you realised he’d taken your notes for you and was still doing so right now until he could be sure you’d actually be able to decently concentrate, and now it was you who squeezed his knee, an act of thankfulness, before you shuffled a little closer to get at least a rough overview of the topic of this class.

his notes were taken meticulously; you were certain he’d written down every single word the professor said simply because he couldn’t tell whether or not something was important or not. and these notes managed to get you back on track after maybe a minute or two of reading through them and listening to what was going on right now, and another minute later you were able to be your usual, question-filled self. mingi still didn’t exactly understand much of what you were discussing, but he felt like you had a much more straightforward way to talk about concepts, which didn’t make your points any less valid, though. you weren’t dumbing down anything, you just left out the unnecessarily elitist terms that he knew were so common in academia, so even he felt like he got a rough grasp of what was going on. it didn’t take much to see that you were a teacher’s favourite, and rightfully so - you brought up a lot of concerns, different points of view on what had just been talked about, and even to him, someone that had no idea about the topic, it was clear that you had a very diverse way of looking at the problem or topic and actually thought a lot about what you learned rather than just learning it by heart to pass the course. you seemed excited, interested, fully immersed in the topic, and it was through these discussions that he found out that you spoke at least three languages well enough to offer a different perspective on sociolinguistics based on their cultures and how the cultural norms found realisation in the respective language. he wasn’t sure if this was the average for this course, though, and he was the only odd one out, or if you were actually extraordinarily skilled in the language department. though it didn’t matter much to him, because either way he felt like you were a genius and he was a mere peasant watching two experts talk. not that he minded - this wasn’t his major, so of course he wouldn’t be able to engage in the same kinds of discussions as students who’d studied this for roughly a year already. he was just very impressed.

before you knew it (and before he knew it, which was maybe more surprising) class was over, and the redhead gave you the notes he’d taken for you earlier since he wouldn’t need them anyway.

“thank you so much for that”, you told him, smiling shyly because you were still kind of embarrassed that he’d had to take notes for you.

“i just hope they help” was all he replied, because it wasn’t a big deal to him at all. when you packed your things he noticed that the girl from earlier was staring at you, and to prevent you from looking around to see if she was he put his arm around you, guiding you out of the classroom like that while distracting you by asking just how many languages you even spoke.

“depends on how you see it?” not the reply he’d expected - you could speak a language but not speak it by matter of definition? it was probably a language major thing.

“give me the biggest number you can with a definition that makes you happy”, he told you, because he wanted to be impressed. not that three languages wasn’t already impressive, but you’d made it sound like there was more, and he was curious to find out more about that.

“if we count just being conversational, and we also count classical languages… like, eight? though my parents are immigrants so that doesn’t really count, because two of those eight i didn’t really have to learn, we speak them at home. three, actually, now that i think about it. i was the only kid in first grade that barely even spoke korean.” you laughed at the memory, but mingi looked at you wide-eyed.

“which ones do you speak?”

“finnish and swedish from home - my father is finnish, we moved here because he got a job at the embassy. and my mother is finnish as well, but with swedish as her first language, and she made it a hobby to annoy my father by speaking swedish with me when she was plotting something. then english, korean, i took japanese in high school but i think everyone did? some classical chinese because there was no way i’d be able to figure out hanja without that, latin from my mother because she thought it was important for whatever reason, and german just for fun. how about you?” and even though he was a little embarrassed about his in comparison depressingly low amount of languages spoken he told you, because you seemed excited to know, because he could tell languages were a big passion of yours.

“korean, obviously, and english, and i took some chinese in high school but wasn’t the best, so i’m pretty sure i forgot most of it.”

“is there any you’d really like to learn?”

he furrowed his brows at that question. was there? it wasn’t something he’d thought about, and now he was desperately searching his brain for any language he’d ever been interested in even when it wasn’t mandatory. you noticed his expression, though, and chuckled a little.

“it’s fine if there isn’t, you don’t have to make one up.”

“sorry. how about you?”

“there’s too many”, you laughed, “i’d learn all of them if i could, and i’m trying my best to actually at least start with that. but if i have to pick just one… maybe russian? or arabic? i’ve been interested in french, too. and spanish. this is too hard!” you were whining, unable to pick just one, and mingi thought it was adorable. he was grinning like some kind of idiot because he’d managed to distract you, to seemingly entirely remove the fear from your mind at least for now. you were either smiling or pouting, your eyes wide and excited, and he felt like he’d gotten to know you a lot better just through this conversation already.

when you arrived at the table the other boys were already sitting at for lunch you were still talking about languages, rambling on about your childhood and how weird it was to realise that on top of the three languages you were already frequently speaking with your parents there was a whole other language that everyone else spoke and that, while you could understand it, you had no idea how to speak. he was just listening, sometimes humming in acknowledgment, sometimes commenting or asking about a story, but mainly happy to hear about your experiences, and you were so immersed in the conversation that you didn’t want to stop, because he actually seemed to care about what you were saying.

“hey!” was the only acknowledgment anyone that wasn’t mingi got before you resumed your story.

“when they taught us about hanja, i thought i was going to die. hangeul was already so hard to write because everything is so small and then the new characters were even smaller!” the boy nodded in either acknowledgment or agreement, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter all too much to you, anyway.

“how is hangeul small?”, jongho asked; your comment had apparently piqued his interest.

“you put so many sounds into where a single letter goes in latin script!” you sounded so exasperated, but the others didn’t have the context of you not having grown up with korean as your first language yet, so they didn’t understand where the problem was. to them, hangeul was the regular character size and it seemed like it didn’t even occur to them that it might have caused problems for you.

“she speaks eight languages!”, the giant next to you offered as an explanation, and while it didn’t exactly clear up your distress about the korean script it did make it a little more understandable, considering how most languages (that they knew of) did offer a little more space for their sounds or letters.

“my mother read to me in swedish, and my parents taught me how to read and write swedish and finnish before i ever even realised that there’s more than one alphabet”, you clarified further, and now it seemed like a lightbulb had been lit above the boys’ heads.

“you’re not korean?”

“technically i am? i have dual citizenship. but my parents aren’t born here, if that’s what you meant.” the faces around you all bore the same expression of surprise at the information they just got, six ‘o’ shaped mouths and six pairs of wide eyes looking at you.

“say something funny!”

“jokin hassu. or något roligt, in swedish.” their eyes got even wider and san asked you what you’d just said.

“something funny?”

“yeah, but what does it mean?” it seemed like he was impatient, not realising that ‘something funny’ was in fact the translation of what you’d said.

“it means ‘something funny’. that’s the translation”, you grinned. “i didn’t know what else to say, so i just translated it.”

now oohs and aahs could be heard from around you, and they soon gave you sentence after sentence to translate, watching you as if you were an interactive tv programme.

seonghwa put an end to the fun when he reminded them that you hadn’t even started eating yet, and everyone started apologising immediately, but you just waved it off. it was nice to get to speak the languages you grew up with again, because you certainly didn’t do so with your parents, with whom you barely had any contact anymore at all. but now you should probably eat, if the growl in your stomach was a sign to go by - you could always do this again later.

“how was class?”, hongjoong asked with a slight hint of worry in his voice while you were eating, but he was surprised when you smiled at him without even the slightest hint of any negative emotion.

“it was good! though mingi really saved my butt.” you sounded a little embarrassed, and reasonably so - everyone was once more looking at you wide-eyed.

“you went to class with her?” it seemed like it was impossible for wooyoung to control his volume when he was excited or surprised, so he was near yelling the question at mingi, who by now seemed equally embarrassed as you.

“yeah. it was kinda fun, actually.” now the number of surprised eyes staring at him increased by another pair, because you hadn’t expected him to actually like your class when he didn’t even understand the topic.

“she’s a teachers’ favourite”, he then informed the others teasingly, and you playfully hit his arm.

“i’m not!” you genuinely didn’t think you were. you just asked questions when you wanted an elaboration, and participated in discussions when the professor started them. but you weren’t trying to make the teacher like you by acting a certain way; you were just genuinely interested in the topic, and it was hard for you to shut up when you got so invested in something.

“she is”, the redhead said in an exaggeratedly conspiratorial way, “and she’s a genius, too.”

now you yelped out his name - you didn’t like it when people praised you like this, because you didn’t feel like you deserved it and because it made you a little uncomfortable, made you feel like you were now expected to live up to the impression others had of you even when you couldn’t. but those feelings quickly subsided at his next words, being replaced with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“do you think you could teach me the basics so i could take that class as extra credits?”

“you’re joking.” you absolutely would not believe that he meant it, no way. he had no reason to mean it. sitting in a class where he didn’t have any idea about what’s going on while you all but ignored him in order to talk with the professor couldn’t possibly have been nice enough for him to want to do that weekly.

“it’s your choice, obviously, but i think it’d be fun.” a smile accompanied his words, a smile that wiped out any doubt you’d had.

“i can try? no promises that i’m a good teacher, though.” and while you appreciated the bright grin you got in response the boy appreciated his friends’ reactions a lot less.

he felt his phone buzz and saw it was a message in their private group chat, from yunho.

[saint bernard]: someones WHIPPED

and everyone was quick to agree, which awakened the carnal urge to commit a crime in mingi, a crime that would reduce the amount of people in ‘hyung hate club’ to him and you only. he stopped himself before any blood was flowing, though, both because crimes are illegal and because he didn’t want you to witness that. but no promises could be made for when they were home alone, no one there to witness and frame him.

“put your phones away, it’s rude”, he ordered in a desperate attempt to get them to stop grinning at each other the way they were now before you’d notice anything, and because his attempt was a success he considered maybe leaving them alive. maybe.

the rest of lunch break was spent joking around and teasing each other, and ended with mingi asking you to text him the room where you’d have your last class so he could pick you up. and even though you were still anxious about being in class by yourself, with the people that obviously wanted to ruin your life, the fact that your first class had gone so well reassured you a little, making you feel like maybe it’d be okay for the rest of the day as well.

and it was, surprisingly. you were shot angry glares and had insults whispered at you in passing, but nothing bigger than that happened, maybe owed to mingi’s obvious protective attitude earlier. while they knew they’d easily be able to take on you, the giant was a whole other question. he hadn’t seemed intimidated at all, calm and collected, so they couldn’t even turn his reaction around on him. and the new situation required a new approach, which meant that they’d have to cut you some slack until that new approach had been developed. you knew this, too, knew that the current somewhat peaceful situation was a mere side effect of them having to adjust to the change in circumstances, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. you were very aware of the fact that this could all too soon be over again.

still, you managed to enjoy the rest of your classes as well, and when you left the room after the last one had ended and saw a certain redhead waiting for you, as he’d promised, you smiled at him, and first when you saw his shoulders drop a little did you notice that he’d been nervous as well. but at least for now there was no need to, you were okay and nothing had happened. you still wanted to get away from the girls as soon as possible, though, so as soon as you’d said hi to him you took off, him following you quietly until you’d left the building.

“you’re okay?” it had seemed like you were when you came out of class, but your quick exit had sparked some worry in him again.

“a little anxious”, you let him know, “but nothing happened. it’s more being scared that something will happen.”

he nodded in understanding, wrapping his arm around you without thinking much about it and once more somewhat embarrassed when he noticed what he’d just done, but you just moved a step closer to him so it’d be more comfortable for him. then, you sighed, but he decided to ignore it, not sure if you wanted to talk about whatever had caused that sigh. when you sighed a second and a third time, however, each time louder than the last, he decided to ask.

“what’s up?” the way it sounded like the worry had sneaked its way back into his voice had you feeling a little guilty, seeing how there wasn’t actually anything up. you just wanted to tease him.

“you’re just so unfairly tall, i feel like i’m your arm rest.”

since this wasn’t at all the reply he’d expected it took him a moment to fully realise what you’d said, but when he did he started laughing before walking on with his knees somewhat bent, reducing not only his height but also his speed. now you were laughing as well, enjoying his awkward crouching walk more than you maybe should.

“i really hope you appreciate this”, he interrupted your laughter, “because this does kind of hurt my thighs.” you didn’t stop laughing at this, but you crouched down a little as well now, readjusting his arm on your shoulders before pulling him up with you when you stood up straight again.

“maybe i’ll just have to start wearing platforms again instead”, you thought out loud, your laughing faded into a grin now. then, changing the topic entirely, you asked: "do you actually want to join my class? you'd have to catch up with a lot."

“if you’re willing to waste all your time helping me try to catch up?”

“if you’re ready for me to never shut up ever?” this wasn’t an exaggeration; you’d annoyed the girls more than once by studying with them and being way more immersed in the topic than them, even though you all shared similar majors and the class was relevant to all of you. so you couldn’t help being scared that he’d get annoyed with you as well, seeing how this class wasn’t even relevant to him, and you tried to test the waters by joking like this. but he grinned at you, saying that worst case he’d just feed you fruit loops to buy him a few seconds of silence.

“no but the more you talk the more i learn, that’s how it works, right?”

“mm, maybe? i haven’t tried teaching anyone yet, so we’ll have to see”, you admitted a little anxiously. you’d be happy if you managed to help him catch up enough to join the class, but you weren’t exactly confident in your teaching abilities.

“wanna start today?” mingi’d noticed that you were almost at the train station now, so if he wanted to spend the evening studying with you he’d have to ask before you got in your trains going opposite directions.

“i can’t offer you any decent dinner, though. i forgot to get groceries this week so the options are limited to toast, fruit loops, and instant ramen. in case that makes you change your mind.” you wanted to tell him now before he got disappointed by how little you had to offer even as a host, and because if you told him now it’d be less embarrassing to reveal your pathetically empty cupboards when you were at your place.

and he could tell that you were a little embarrassed about the apparent lack of food choices, so he tried to cheer you up.

“is it even a study session without instant ramen?” he genuinely meant it, too - studying and instant food kind of belonged together, the instant food being an important part of what made a study session feel like a real study session. it was about the vibes, not the nutrition.

“okay”, you laughed, then added: “next time we can go somewhere else, too, i just obviously don���t have all my materials with me right now.”

“your place is fine”, he was quick to reassure you. if anything, he was worried that you might feel awkward about having him there again. it wasn’t exactly like you were close, though it sometimes felt that way to him and he had to remind himself that you’d only met half a week ago.

you were once more being prevented from paying for your own ticket by mingi, who’d already paid when you just got your wallet out, and you scoffed at him playfully.

“you know i can pay for myself, right?”

“but i’m being a gentleman.” and with that, he considered this discussion done.

severe buzzing from your phone startled you when you were sitting next to the redhead on the train, because you’d forgotten you’d just muted the girl chat for 24 hours rather than fully leaving it, and your 24 hours were up now. it was as active as ever, and though it seemed like the current topic was unrelated to you just the thought of still being in this kind of space with them made you feel sick with anxiety. but you were too scared to leave the chat, so instead you just stared at your screen.

“it’s them again?” of course he noticed. you just nodded, leaning against him in exhaustion with him gently rubbing your arm.

“we have a group chat and i want to leave, but i can’t.” it was absolutely stupid to feel this way, you knew it was, because what was scaring you wasn’t no longer being in the group chat, it was the act of pressing the little ‘leave group’ button with your own finger.

“you can’t leave or you can’t not be in it?” he surprised you with how he actually seemed to understand your struggle, the very important distinction between the conscious act of leaving and the passive state of not being in the chat.

“i can’t leave. this is our stop.”

he didn’t reply when you left the train, but once you’d started walking towards your dorm he asked you: “do you think i could leave for you? would that work?” you told him you didn’t know, because you really didn’t and you also didn’t really want to think about this at all right now. you wanted to be home, in your bed, with instant ramen and focusing on nothing but how to make mingi understand, remember and internalise the basics of sociolinguistics. it was an act of escapism, definitely, but sometimes you just needed to pretend your problems didn’t exist until you were ready to deal with them.

the rest of the walk was spent in silence, though not uncomfortably so. you both seemed to be in your own thoughts, arms brushing against each other every now and then as if to remind each other that you were still there, even when you weren’t talking. it was nice to know that you didn’t have to talk when you were spending time with mingi, that just being near each other was already enough sometimes.

and just this being silent with each other was what managed to in a way comfort you enough for you to be able to fully concentrate on your materials once you’d reached your place, asking him whether he wanted to eat first or study first as you unlocked the door.

“let’s start with studying, and when i feel like my head’s exploding we’ll eat?”

“deal. make yourself comfortable, i’ll hunt for all my notes.” and with that said you proceeded to ignore the giant that had now settled on your bed in favour of groaning and sighing while you tried to gather all the relevant material from the last year, a task made more difficult because he most likely didn’t have any linguistic background, so you also went through your notes from other courses to find those that had the basic linguistic terms explained on them, because there was no use telling him about phoneme variations if he didn’t know what a phoneme was, and you wanted to be sure to give a 100% right definition.

once you’d found everything you needed you sat down next to him, now trying to divide the notes by topic so you’d have a better overview over what you had to teach him and how much it’d be. he whined quietly next to you at the sheer amount of paper you’d spread on the bed - how was he going to learn all of that?

“we’ll start easy”, you laughed out at his desperate expression. “you can pick the topic that seems most interesting to you, and we’ll start with that.”

then you listed the topics available, along with a short summary or explanation of just what was hidden behind a term like chronolect, which he decided to go with because he thought that might be easiest to a total beginner, because he obviously knew how people of different ages talked, right?

not right. he soon found everything to be much more complicated than it sounded, but he was determined to learn, and you really appreciated how hard he was trying. you knew it had to be hard for him, but he didn’t seem to want to even take a break until he understood, and it was actually you who told him it was time to eat.

“i didn’t think it would be so hard when we’ve barely even started yet”, he groaned while you were waiting for the food to be done, and before you could stop yourself a ‘that’s what she said’ escaped your lips, which made mingi look at you in shock before he burst out laughing.

“i didn’t know that’s what you were thinking about while i was trying to learn!”, he said in feigned indignation, and you hit his arm playfully as you pretended to be equally as scandalised by his implication as he was by yours.

“i don’t know if my memory is giving up on me here, but wasn’t it you who asked me to spend the night together? twice?”

you heard him gasp loudly in reply and grinned at his expression.

“i didn’t know you’d use that against me!” there was a mixture of shock and hurt in his voice, though very obviously playful, and you immediately started apologising in an exaggerated manner, pleading him to please forgive you for your careless words. and even though he tried to stay serious the pout on your face and the fact that you looked like the pleading face emoji made that impossible, stern expression turning into a small smile turning into a grin turning into laughing with his mouth wide open and head thrown back in a matter of seconds. and then you were lost, too, joining in and laughing until your stomach hurt and the instant ramen demanded your attention.

when you found him looking through the notes you’d used for studying by himself it surprised you, though in a positive way. you were glad to see that he at least seemed to have caught a genuine interest for the subject now, glad to see that he was eager to learn. still, you asked him to please move the notes away so you could eat without the risk of them getting dirty and, consequently, unusable. he did as requested and you sat down next to him as soon as you’d handed him his plate - past experience had taught you that shuffling to comfortably sit on the bed when you had an open container in both hands was a very bad idea.

the two of you ate in silence and went back to studying right after, and it was first when you heard thundering outside that you realised how much time had passed. it was fully dark now, heavy rain hitting the window and lightning lighting up the sky every now and then. neither of you looked pleased at the weather, though mingi a lot less so, considering he was the one that somehow had to get home. and it really didn’t seem like the rain would stop anytime soon.

“i’m gonna be so soaked when i get home”, he whined out, making you feel sorry for him because he was right, not even a minute outside in this weather would have him drenched to the bones.

“you can stay over if it’s still like this in an hour”, you offered, not thinking much about it, your main thought being less about him staying with you specifically and more about him not having to go out when it would most likely result in him getting sick. you came to regret your offer when he looked at you with a teasing glint in his eyes, though.

“so now you’re asking me to stay the night? when you called me out for having improper thoughts earlier because i’d offered you the same?”

you rolled your eyes in reply, grabbing his wrist and attempting to drag him out of your bed.

“you know what, forget it, if you get pneumonia that’s not my problem.” at your threat the redhead did a 180 on his behaviour, now begging you the way a little child begged for an extension on their bedtime, except he was begging you to not send him out into the cruel, unrelenting, cold harsh wind. and even though you pretended to be considering doing so you knew that if he actually wanted to he could most definitely spend the night. it was just fun to tease him back.

“fine”, you finally gave in, “you can stay. but behave!”

he sighed in relief (as if there’d ever been any doubt about that), promising you he’d be on his best behaviour, and, as if to prove it, went to do the dishes for you. you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop him because he was at least half a head taller than you and without a doubt much stronger, but it was still worth a try. you should have known it’d barely even bother him, though, pulling on his shirt and trying to drag him back towards the bed, to no avail. he walked on as if he couldn’t even tell that you were trying to move him with every ounce of strength you had in your body, but the grin on his face told you that he knew, and that he was enjoying this too much for your liking. you decided to let him get away with it either way, this once, because truth be told you hated doing the dishes, hated the sensory hell it proved itself to be, time and time again.

you watched him ‘be on his best behaviour’, trying to come up with a way to prevent the situation from turning awkward should the weather not magically turn around, but the only thing your brain could come up with was watching a movie; that’d have to do then. he didn’t seem displeased with the suggestion, finishing washing up quickly and once again sprinkling some water onto your face.

“‘best behaviour’ my ass”, you huffed under your breath, but of course mingi heard you, sending you a smile that with a lot of benevolence could be interpreted as apologetic, but if you were feeling unrelenting might also be a teasing one. he was on your bed and patting the space next to him as is this were his place, though, before you had a chance to threaten him with kicking him out again, and, even though you would deny it if anyone were to claim it, the way he looked so comfortable and somewhat domestic made you a little soft. not very, but just enough to let his teasing slip as you settled next to him.

that position was soon neglected in favour of you sitting between his legs as you found that that was more comfortable for watching a movie. one of you had been complaining no matter where you’d placed the laptop before, because it always gave the one that wasn’t currently complaining a better view. but when you were sitting like this you could just place it right in front of you, and because your friend was so tall he could easily rest his chin on your shoulder without it being uncomfortable at all, and now you both were able to decently see.

you hadn’t decided on a movie yet, though, scrolling the ‘popular right now’ section to get any kind of idea. there was one that seemed interesting enough, kind of dramatic (which was needed because you were not about to watch a romcom with the unfairly attractive redhead pressed against your back like that), and you clicked on it to see the preview since it had sparked your curiosity. as soon as you saw the description you noticed it was a horror movie, though, trying to exit out before anything scary would actually appear on screen.

you succeeded, but your frantic clicking had confused the boy behind you - your netflix was set to finnish, so he didn’t actually understand the caption, but when you told him you’d accidentally chosen a horror movie’s preview rather than a regular dramatic movie he sighed out in relief.

“thank fuck you closed that.”

“not a fan of horror movies either, hm?” you weren’t trying to tease him, and the question sounded like more of an observation. you absolutely hated horror movies, with every fibre of your being, hated the jumpscares and the gore and how you wouldn’t be able to sleep without light for at least a week after. so you found yourself relieved when he told you that he’d have to have his eyes pried open forcefully if someone wanted him to watch one, because at least this way you could be sure he’d never suggest watching one, nor would he make fun of you for being scared.

your thoughts were momentarily guided in a whole other direction though when your partner in being a coward leaned forward, chest pressed even closer to your back and also forcing you to basically fold yourself in the middle underneath his weight as he pointed towards a section title he would in no way be able to pronounce.

“choose from that one.” it was the kids’ movies section, but you had no objections. it was neither a romcom nor a horror movie, the only two genres that were a hard no for you right now. still, you found it hard to do as asked because the way he was leaning forward had your chest almost pressed against your legs and greatly limited your arms’ moving range.

“it’d be easier if you weren’t crushing me”, you whined out, trying to get him to lean back by pressing against him with your back, and with a surprised ‘oh!’ he did lean back, finally giving you room to move again.

“let’s see”, you hummed out, now scrolling the kids’ movies section. you didn’t really know which one to pick, though - kids’ movies weren’t really your usual kind of movie, so it wasn’t like you had a go-to favourite. it seemed like mingi noticed, because he decided to interrupt your aimless scrolling by speaking up, surprising you with his question.

“is there anything you watched as a child? something that’s not korean.”

you didn’t need to think long about this - the moomins immediately shot to your mind, something you’d watched up and down as a child.

“i’m not sure if they’ve ever been dubbed to korean, though”, you informed him, “but i can see?” and without waiting for his reply you abandoned netflix in favour of google, where you hoped that your phonetic interpretation of how moomin would be spelled using hangeul was at least close enough for the search engine to do the rest for you.

you were both glad and somewhat astonished when you did actually get results for your search, clicking on the first video that seemed about as long as you remembered the movie to be and leaning back against the taller one’s chest as you felt nostalgia wash over you. and it was the actual movie, though not dubbed - someone had added korean subtitles, and the finnish speech only made your nostalgia stronger. you were comfortable, head leaning against mingi and his arms around your waist because that was the least awkward place for them to be, underneath your blanket in the dim light coming from your laptop, warm and cosy and, before you knew it, lulled to sleep by the comfortingly familiar sounds of your childhood.

the red-haired male didn’t even notice that you’d fallen asleep, thinking that you were simply just as immersed in the movie as he was, until he tried to tell you that he needed the bathroom and you didn’t reply. peeking over to your face he saw that your eyes were closed and your mouth slightly ajar, and a fond smile made its way onto his face. still, his bladder wouldn’t let him not wake you up, and he felt incredibly guilty when he had to disturb your slumber.

“sorry, but i got big girl business to do”, he told you quietly, and even though you were slightly annoyed at being woken up you laughed at the memory of how that was the first thing you’d heard from him, that his business was big girl business. you paused the movie and shuffled to let him get up, but before he went to the bathroom he asked: “do you want to go to sleep now or finish the movie?”

your heart said movie but your other heart, the one that regularly had you give in to your body’s wicked desires (such as an entire bag of crisps in a single second) said sleep, and once more that heart won. you mumbled out a sleep and he smiled at you, telling you to get ready while he was in the bathroom, then.

getting into your pyjamas was an act in and of itself, because you absolutely did not want to move at all. you did it, though, forcing yourself into the admittedly much softer fabric before plopping right back onto your bed.

when the boy returned (once more shirtless, and you weren’t sure if that was to your dismay or your delight) he would’ve guessed you hadn’t even moved, had it not been for the fact you were wearing something else than when he’d left you. the laptop was closed now, though, placed in the empty space underneath your bed so stepping on it would be avoided even if someone had to get up during the night in a half-awake state.

you shuffled to make room for him as he made his way towards the bed slowly, room lit only by the street lamps outside now. he laid down next to you, looking at you for a moment before the drowsiness-induced desire for cuddles and warmth won over the embarrassment that would have securely prevented a less tired mingi from saying what he said next.

“can i hug you?”

and because you were at least equally sleepy and in need of a warm embrace you just ‘mhm’ed in confirmation, resulting in both a long arm and an even longer leg wrapped around you immediately after. you turned to your back because it was slightly uncomfortable like this, laying on your side facing him, and he didn’t waste a single second before he placed his head on your shoulder, the arm on that side holding on to him now, too. you felt warm and cosy (and soft at the thought of the giant cuddled up to your much smaller frame like this) and it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep again, once more unnoticed by mingi, who had almost immediately fallen asleep as well.

[mma3youf]

FA222 ,principles of graphic design:

Instructor: mr.munwar mukhtar

@uob-funoon @mnwrzmn

Project 1 : interviews

What is your given name, and user name on ZBrush Central?

My name is Khalid Abdulla Al-Muharraqi, my ZBrush Central user name is "Khalid72".

Tell us about your company, how did you start?

I set up Muharraqi-Studios to continue my family's history in the creative world and I am trying to continue to build on what my father started. The company was set up about two years ago after I left the commercial world of advertising with my partner Rashad who decided to leave a career in banking. We wanted to get together to make a place that allows us to be more creative. Since then we have been fortunate enough to work on some of the biggest projects in the middle east, and also continue working on our ideas and concepts, like our movie project. The most important thing for me is the work I do and that's what we are all about.

What is the size of your company?

The company is me and my partner, oh and our secretary... Keesha, a German Shepard! I am a hand's on guy and I do all the creative work myself. At first, I thought it was normal to carry that load because of the speed I work in, but later found out that I am actually very fast compared with bigger teams of artists in other studios. Finally I understood what people were telling me when they said I was 'unusual'. That’s why some of the CG magazines in Europe were amazed that a lot of our work is done by a one man team that puts all the 3D components together into a visualization. I work about 13 to 18 hours a day, I love 3D work, so my hobby and my work has joined into one, so … yes, very little time for a normal life.

What type of projects do you work on?

Well, I have been working on Architectural Visualizations since we started a couple of years ago, but I try to satisfy my urge to do what I really like, art!

You're located in Bahrain, somewhere most of us don't know about. Can you tell us how you learned your trade?

I love this question, Yes Bahrain is a small Island in the Persian gulf, we speak Arabic as our main language and English for the second, I will answer the second part in two parts, If you mean The art... I would say that I come from an artistic family, my father is one of the most well known artists in this part of the world, you can say that he is a household name in these parts. If you are asking were did I learn the 3D or CG art, I would say that I learned it by practicing for 8 hours a day after my official day of work, so I guess you can say I have been my own teacher in the industry.

Tell us a bit about your client base, mostly local, or do you have clients in Europe, Asia, America?

We serve clients from the Middle East, Europe and the Americas, I would say that I have been fortunate enough to have worked with some of the top people in the architectural industry, most of our clients are attracted to the type of work that we produce.

ow long have you been an artist?

Since I was six...I think! Well, the first painting I have sold when I was eleven. I was always painting and trying to find new techniques that will help create the concept in my mind.

Tell us about your background, your education, your mentors...

I studied art in Houston Texas for over seven years between interior decoration, photography, Visual communication, and digital enhancement or photo retouching, from there I have continued my working career in the commercial world. My first mentor would have to be my father, learned everything I know from him. He gave me the push start into the art world and made me feel it. There are also the books and artwork he has exposed me too with some of the top art in the world. A lot of names come to mind but I would say Frank Farazeta, Boris, The Creepy magazine and of course all the original Mad magazines and books that were very hot in the early 80's.

When you became an artist, did you first use traditional media?

For sure, I started with Pencil then got into crosshatching with ink, then I started painting with water colors and gouaches. I finally got into air brush art before I tried CG art.

What was your first CG package? What is your first 3D Package?

Nice question... first CG software was PSD, version 2, it was like magic... It felt strange especially that I was a traditional artist at the time. My first 3D package would be Alias Sketch for the Mac since I was a Mac user for a long time and did not have much 3D developers for Mac at the time. It was a new world for me and I think I still have a dusty copy of it today even after the software was canceled back in the early 90's, it just reminds me of my past.

How long have you been using ZBrush?

It has only been about six months, but I was up and running almost a few hours after I purchased it.

What made you try ZBrush?

I was watching some of the tutorial videos on how to paint details on the Gnomon training DVD's, and that's when I was shocked to see that it is art on the computer! I did not believe it at first, but It was one of the happiest moments when I first installed my first copy of ZBrush and started painting geometry for the first time, it reminded me with the days when I was pushing and pulling real clay to make a small creature of my imagination when I was a kid.

What's your favorite ZBrush feature?

The ability to paint geometry like it is physically in my hands.

How has ZBrush enabled you to express yourself in ways other packages couldn't?

Well you cant really compare it with any other software, it's simply too different! It changes how a CG artist works, it changes how he looks at things, has changed the industry to the next future leap, and who would want to go back to the past....? I would simply say that the concept of the software is very smart and impressive, my only wish to add on it is to have a bigger view port :)

Now onto "Floating Islands"Tell us about your creative process, how did this concept emerge?

One evening when I was stuck in the studio waiting for clients approval on a project that I was preparing for the kingdom of Bahrain, I was trying to get free again and relax my mind from all boundaries, I started to sketch a concept that has bean in my mind since I was a kid, the island that was then discovered to be on the back of a whale, these were some of the old middle eastern stories about Sinbad's magical voyages.

Do ideas just come to you out of nowhere, or are there particular artists or work you are inspired by?

I am always inspired by everything that is beautiful, whether it is an artist or a design or just Gods creation, I would also say that I have always had my own style in my work and almost never try to follow a certain style that I have seen.

I love this piece, can you tell me about the process of creating it? Have you explored this style before? Or was this created for something specific?

The process was, a sketch or the map as I would call it, and that would be the basis of my creation, I almost never start without it, once I crack the direction then I would start thinking about the execution and the path to take. About the style, well I don't think of my work as style, I think it is more towards I do what I feel, it is only when I am finished with it that I say "Yes! That's what I was tying to do". I almost never tried to repeat a style that I have seen elsewhere on my work. I feel that It is like a code of respect between artists.

In your image "Floating Islands" where was ZBrush used?

ZBrush helped me sculpt the geometry and take it to the next level in a short time. Modeling, UVs, Painting and scenes setups was between Lightwave and Modo. With ZBrush I was able to put the final touches that would make it come to life. ZBrush helped me start painting the UV map textures and setting up the foundation of the look and feel. I also generated some of the whales textures by the amazing ZMapper ;)

Tell us about your pipeline.

I start with Modo, then go to ZBrush, then finally render with Lightwave. The thing with software today is that they work hand in hand to complete each other, for instance ZBrush is very specialized in what it does, it focuses on the need of the artist and helps the creator to complete his task sufficiently with a smooth flow, artists have never had it this good.

What projects are you working on now?

We have just completed the visualization for the Master Plan for the Kingdom of Bahrain with one of the leading Architectural firms in the world, we have helped restructure and rebuild old and new cities for the country. Now I will be working more onto the movie project that we have been trying to get the time to start, hopefully I will be able to focus more on creating more Characters and environments for the movie.

Any last comments for us?

I would like to say Thank you to Manuel at Pixologic and Pixologic for appreciating the work I do. I would also like to thank all the development team and staff at Pixologic for there dedication to work together to help create some of the best tools ever created for the CG industry, I always expect the ideas to be fresh and most importantly designed for the end user, the artist, allowing the artist to continue being an artist without the restrictions and boundaries of a computer.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach​

Note: This chapter contains descriptions of violence. If this triggers something in you, please skip it. It is also probably not very interesting or exciting for most readers, but it lays important foundations for later chapters.

Chapter 12: 14 Men (8)

         After their conversation with Ferdinand Groide, Jamie had also not gone to bed immediately. He had stood in front of one of the windows of his apartment for a while and looked out into the garden. Then he picked up his smartphone. The 'special' office at 'In Vino Veritas' was occupied around the clock. Jamie got connected with an employee he knew well and who he knew was on night duty. With a few words he gave this man an assignment. Then he sat down at his desk, took a blank piece of paper from one of the drawers and began to take notes. Now and then he looked over at his smartphone, but it remained silent. Apparently Claire had fallen asleep. At least that's what he hoped. An hour later, he too went to bed.

“Breakfast” by contatoartpix

         Ten minutes to eight the next morning, Claire woke up to the ringtone of her smartphone. At the same time she received a text message: 

         "Breakfast in 40 minutes, in the dining room, downstairs. Hope you slept well, Jamie." 

         She smiled, then stretched and counted down from five to zero. Even before she reached "zero" she had already knocked the blanket to the side and lifted her feet out of the bed. 

         They had breakfast together with Jenny. Ian, Claire learned, had already gone to the company to represent Jamie that day. When the doorbell rang at just after nine o'clock, Jenny pointed at the door: 

         "That'll be Stephanie Svart. Go ahead. I'll clean this up with Helene." 

         Jamie took one last big sip from his coffee cup, then he got up and hurried to the door. Claire emptied her coffee too. She folded her napkin, and then Jamie’s, which he had carelessly put aside. Then she thanked Jenny and followed Jamie into the hall.

         When she arrived there, he had already welcomed the lawyer. Stephanie Svart was a slender, 1.75 meters tall woman with fine features. To Claire's surprise, the approximately 40-year-old woman's head was crowned with a similarly impressive mass of curls as hers. The lawyer wore an elegant black business suit and matching shoes. Timeless, classic pearl earrings and a pearl necklace emphasized her face. After Jamie had introduced the two women to each other, he led them into the library. But when he wanted to sit down with them, Stephanie Svart put her hand on his right arm: 

         "Thank you, Jamie. But this is a confidential client meeting. Its contents are between myself and Dr. Beauchamp."

         "I understand …”

         It was not easy for him to leave Claire alone with someone she had just met. He looked over at her, but she nodded her head in agreement.

         "If you need anything else ..." 

         He pointed to the bell by the door, then he went outside.

         The conversation between the two women lasted just over ninety minutes. Jamie spent that time with his sister in the kitchen. Jenny knew her brother all too well and she knew how hard it must be for him not to be with Claire now. Once Jamie had "taken someone under his wings" and felt responsible for their well-being, he found it very difficult to bear being excluded from anything. 

         Then suddenly they heard the voices of the two women in the hall and only moments later there was a knock on the kitchen door. When Jamie opened, Claire was standing in front of it: 

         "Mrs Svart and I have decided that it is best if we go to the Forensic Medical Institute for an examination today. Could you ..." 

         "Sure. Jenny?"

         His sister, who was sorting groceries in the pantry, called out:

         "Yes?" 

         "I'm taking Claire to the Charité." 

         Within seconds, Jenny was standing beside him:

         "Is she not well?" 

         "No, no. We're going to the Forensic Institute."

         “Ah.”

         "Don't wait for us to have lunch. We may not be back until later. I'll call you." 

         "Aye." 

         She nodded while Jamie put his jacket on.

“View of the Charité site from Humboldthafen“ by Marek Śliwecki via Wikimedia Commons

         It took them almost an hour to reach the Institute of Forensic Medicine at the Berlin University Hospital. From there, the man from the security showed them the way to the Outpatient Clinic for the Protection against Violence at the Charité. The lawyer had made an appointment there by telephone during her conversation with Claire.          Together they entered the entrance hall, with Jamie letting the women go first. Stephanie Svart approached a woman at reception and explained why she and Claire had come. The employee made a quick phone call, then led the women into the examination area.          Meanwhile, Jamie had sat down on a chair in the waiting area, but then got up again. He had wandered back and forth indecisively for a while. At some point he had sat down again and tried to distract himself with his smartphone. But he was unable to concentrate and continue reading in the ebook he had downloaded before his trip to Argentina.          Suddenly, Jamie assumed that over an hour had passed, Stephanie Svart came out of the examination area: 

         "Are you coming out with me?" 

         He looked at her questioningly. 

         "I need a cigarette. And there's no smoking allowed in here." 

         Jamie nodded and rose. 

As they stood in front of the building, the lawyer jerked a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. But then she was unable to get the lighter to work. Jamie took it out of her hands and then held it out to her with the lighted flame. With trembling hands, she took a first, deep drag. 

         "That bad?" 

         "Jamie, you know I can't tell you anything about my client ..."

         Stephanie Svart inhaled again. Then she looked at him and shook her head. 

         "I'll tell you just one thing about me and one thing about a person I don't know and I never want to know. First of all, I have never seen anything like this in all the years I have been a lawyer - and I have seen a lot. Trust me." 

         Again she took a deep drag, then she wiped some ashes over the trash can standing in front of the entrance. 

         "This body looks like a … a … map, blue, greenish, red, black. I thought I had to vo..." 

         Jamie and the lawyer had to step aside. Two police officers, carrying a man in handcuffs, had come up the stairs and entered the lobby. When the men had moved a few feet away from them, Stephanie Svart bent over to Jamie and whispered: 

         "Second, whoever this Frank Randall is, he's a monster. An intelligent, very intelligent monster. But nothing as a monster. He belongs behind bars and he belongs there for a long, very long time. I could imagine some other punishments for him as well, but they would hardly be compatible with our laws. Remember how Lisbeth Salander punished her guardian?" 

         Jamie's eyes had become darker. Stephanie saw him tapping with his right hand against the outside of his right thigh. The lawyer squeezed out the rest of her cigarette. 

         "Come on, let's go back inside. Claire should be done in a minute, and then she'll need a friend, not just a lawyer." 

         And, in fact, Claire came out of the examination area just a few minutes later. Stephanie Svart exchanged a few words about another appointment with her new client, then said goodbye. 

         Jamie handed Claire the jacket she left with him and helped her inside. He would have loved to take her in his arms and hold her tight, but he knew that was impossible, at least for the time being. It was clear to him that this appointment had taken a lot of her strength. Her reddened eyes betrayed that she had shed tears. So he touched her shoulder only slightly. Then he led her down the stairs and across the parking lot to the car. 

         "Do you want us to go home or do you want to stay in the city a little longer?" he asked as they sat in the car again.

         Claire looked at him in astonishment.

         "Don't you have to go to your office?"

         "No, Ian is covering for me today."

         "Sorry, I forgot."

         She shook her head like she was trying to clear away some fog. Carefully, Jamie put his right hand on Claire's left. 

         "No problem. I took the whole day off so I could come with you ... at least ... as far as possible." 

         "Thanks, I really appreciate it. If you don't mind, I'd like to see a little more of the city. I think it will help me get away from all this. At least for a moment." 

         A faint smile flitted across her face. 

         Jamie nodded. Then he started the car.

“Berlin-Tiergarten park with the 'victory column' in the middle, followed by Südliches Hansaviertel, Spree and Moabit” by beedubz via WikiMediaCommons

         On the way they agreed to have lunch in an Italian restaurant near the Tiergarten. When they were back in the car Claire asked Jamie if he knew a pharmacy where they spoke more than just German. 

         "There is a pharmacy just a few streets from here where English, Chinese, Spanish, Russian, Polish and Arabic are spoken. Is that enough?" 

         Claire gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs with her elbow. 

         "Ouch! Now we need an ambulance!" 

         "Are all Scotsmen so theatrical?" 

         "We're not theatrical! We're sensitive." 

         They both started giggling slightly. 

         "What's next," Jamie said, "Are we going to that pharmacy? It's very close. We'd better walk there. I don't think we can get a parking space there at this hour of the day." 

         After they got out, they went up the street where Jamie parked the car and then turned left. Claire saw the British flag immediately after they turned into the street. Jamie confirmed that the building was the British Embassy. When they reached the side of the building, they stopped for a moment. Then they turned away and walked on quickly. 

         When they were a few hundred yards from the Embassy, Claire put her right arm through Jamie's left, pulled it closer and whispered: 

         "Aren't you worried that they will recognize you if you walk this way? There are tons of video cameras stuck to the building!" 

         He smiled. Then he bent down to her and whispered: 

         "But you're with me." 

         "Jamie!" 

         "No, I'm not. I would just take you hostage. Surely your countrymen wouldn't allow a Scottish barbarian to harm an English lady. Would they?" 

         A wide grin appeared on his face. 

         "Fraser! Seriously!" 

         "No," he said reassuringly, "I'm not afraid. You didn't recognize me with a beard and different color hair, either."

“The British Embassy at Wilhelmstraße No. 70 in Berlin-Mitte” by Jörg Zägel via WikimediaCommons

         The street turned into a big boulevard. 

          "Where are we?" Claire asked in surprise. 

          Jamie pointed to the left. 

          "The Brandenburg Gate." 

          "Oh!" 

         After they passed the embassy, Claire assumed they were near the centre of the city. 

          "This street is called ‘Unter den Linden’. We are right in the heart of Berlin," Jamie said. Then he pointed straight ahead: 

          "If you look straight ahead, you will see Madame Tussaud’s Berlin branch. Up the street on the right, towards the Brandenburg Gate, is the American Embassy. The building to our right is the ‘Adlon’, Berlin's most famous hotel." 

         Claire looked around with interest. 

          "The pharmacy is in the opposite direction." 

         They turned left and walked slowly up the street. A few minutes later, they were in front of the store. 

          "Should I come with you or would you like me to …” 

          "I can do it all by myself. Thanks." 

          Claire walked up to the entrance and Jamie stood in front of one of the big display windows from where he could watch her. He saw a tall, thin older man walk up to the counter and say hello. Claire said something and the man in the white coat listened to her attentively. Now and then it seemed as if he was asking something. Then he disappeared in the back of the pharmacy and came back shortly afterwards with some bottles and cans, which he spread out on the counter in front of Claire. She subjected the things to a thorough examination, picked up each jar, and seemed to read the attached contents. She then set aside one bottle and one can and spoke to the pharmacist again. The older man disappeared with the rest of the things back into his storeroom. Shortly afterwards he returned with a bottle and a can of the same kind as Claire had put aside. They talked and the game started all over again. Only this time it wasn't bottles and cans that the pharmacist spread out in front of Claire, but small packages. Jamie assumed that they were medicines, probably painkillers. Claire examined each package, selected some and placed them with the two bottles and cans. The pharmacist put the goods in a bag and put the prices in a cash register. To Jamie's surprise, Claire paid cash. Then he saw the man give Claire a small white card, which he had stamped several times before. As the pharmacist came out from behind his counter to escort Claire to the exit, Jamie walked a few steps further and looked into one of the other shop windows. 

         "Well, is there anything you could use?" Claire asked when she reached him. 

         "No, there are only breast pumps for young mothers and rheuma patches for old men. So nothing for me."

         "As for the breast pumps, I agree with you. I'm not so sure about the rheumatism patches, though." 

         "Well, well," replied Jamie, who could think of nothing else to say. Then he reached for the bag Claire had brought from the drugstore. She hooked her arm up to his again. 

         "What are we going to do now?" 

         "Now we go back to the car. But first I'll show you something."

         Jamie steered their steps up the street. (He had been thinking about what he could do to distract Claire a bit since dinner. In the end, he had thought of nothing better than to give her a little sightseeing tour. Now the opportunity presented itself.) Shortly after, they stopped in front of a monumental white building, which at the first moment left the impression of a palace to Claire. A white-blue-red flag was flying on a tower that crowned the building.

“The Russian Embassy, Unter den Linden 55-65, in Berlin-Mitte” by  Jörg Zägel via WikimediaCommons

         "May I present the Embassy of the Russian Federation. Well-preserved old Soviet style." 

         "Oh, that ... is ... yes ... really ... huge." 

         "Aye. But you won't realise how big the whole complex is until you walk round it.” 

         Jamie pointed one hand straight ahead. They walked slowly past the building complex, then turned right, and just after that they turned right again into another street. After about ten minutes, Jamie pointed to a wall. 

         "This is the end of the embassy/consulate grounds." 

         "My dear. This is huge.” 

         "The whole area is about twice the size of the American and British Embassies combined." 

         "How come? 

         "The Russians, the British and the Americans had diplomatic relations with the Kingdom of Prussia quite early on, including embassies in Berlin.          The Russians were the first. In 1706 a permanent diplomatic representation of the Tsar's Empire was established in the Prussian capital. But the embassy moved to this location only later. In 1732, a large town house was built on part of the property that houses the present embassy. During the 18th century it changed hands several times, it was rebuilt and enlarged. In 1805 it came into the possession of Duchess Dorothea of Courland, who sold it to Tsar Nicholas I in 1837. Afterwards the so-called 'Palais Kurland' was rebuilt and extended twice more. The building then served - with interruptions during the two world wars - as an embassy. In 1944 it was destroyed during air raids. After the war, the Soviet Union bought additional land adjoining the site and had the building we have just seen erected. After the dissolution of the USSR, the Russian Federation took over the complex as legal successor.           The British came ten years after the Russians. They opened their first diplomatic mission in 1716 and since the beginning of the 19th century they have owned the land on which the present embassy is located. However, as long as the GDR existed, their embassy was located on the street Unter den Linden. After Germany’s reunification, they moved their headquarters back to the original location.

“Embassy of the United States of America in Berlin at Pariser Platz” by  Times  via WikiMediaCommons

           Diplomatic relations between the USA and Prussia existed since 1797. The location of their embassy changed over the years because they mostly rented the buildings. In 1931 they bought a building at Pariser Platz, the so-called 'Palais Blücher'. But that burned down shortly afterwards. They had it repaired, but then diplomatic relations were broken off because of the Second World War. After the war, the Americans set up an embassy in West Berlin. Later there was also some kind of field office in East Berlin. When Berlin became the capital again in 1990 by a decision of the Bundestag, the German parliament, the branch office of the embassy in Kirchstraße was declared the official embassy of the US. Then the land on which the current building stands became their property again and in 2008 the new embassy building located there was opened.” 

         "How do you know all this?" 

         "Well, if you know Ferdinand Groide ... it won't take long and you know half of Berlin." 

         Claire and Jamie were now back on the same road leading to the British Embassy. Claire glanced over once more and Jamie noticed her grip on his arm tightening.