#offer of course has been Wife. but in the hypothetical situation where she was offered the role of Husband? she would at first probably

[toytulini]

thinking about my oc Bytte. and. her gender is Aro. her Aromanticism is inextricable from her gender experience.

[gaegalsyd]

We’re the only one’s dancing

Pairing: Kamilah x MC

Summary: Amy and Lily went out to drink, and they inevitably needed the assistance of Kamilah.

Note: Set after the events of BB3 and Kamilah and Amy are already married.

I do not own any of these characters, and they are a property of pixelberry

Word Count: 1404

Kamilah’s POV

The night is going on as slow as it can be but for Kamilah, these nights are the same like other evening spent in her garden. The lights in different building that surround the penthouse that she shares with her wife, and the whole city are very much illuminated at night like it has its own sun particularly for the city, but perhaps these lights are with different reasons during the day. The view of these lights from the skyscraper are like the mortals walking in this world, lights with different purposes but lights all the same and it would flicker then just die and be of no use to this world.

The woman tending to her garden are at peace, probably for the first time in her very long life. This was what she wanted, a garden to take care of and it only got better when she can share and watch it grow together with her wife as they spend their lives with each other. Amy is currently spending her time with Lily in one of the bars somewhere in the city, which does not bother the older woman at all for she did not want her wife to miss on anything just because of her responsibility to the vampire society.

After tending to the flowers that she searched for from different places in the world and planted with her own hands, Kamilah sat down in the lounging area in their rooftop where she usually sit and drink with her wife, she took a bottle of wine and was about to send a message to Amy when her phone notified her of the message her wife sent her.

“hey babe, I know you’re busy in the garden but what if Lily ‘hypothetically’ got herself so wasted and I ‘hypothetically’ need a back up so she can sober up a little?” she was definitely not surprise with this kind of message, she often receive something like this whenever the two best friends decide to ‘hit the bar’ as what Lily would always say.

Kamilah asked her wife to send her the address of the bar they are at, and thought that making sure that Lily Spencer would act like a perfectly civil individual is a full-time job itself, it probably what it is like to raise a wild teenager. However, Lily’s bizarre ideas and actions did not seem to faze her as much as it did when she first met the hyper young vampire, and it’s because she may have grown fond to the fool. She and Adrian may be best friends for a long time but the bond between her wife and Lily are on a next level that they are practically more than sisters.

As she drove around the city, nothing occurred to her mind other than how her decisions have led her to where she is. Days spent in the arms of her wife, evenings basking under the moonlight with kisses offered to her by the person she loved most, caring for someone who she will lay her life for without any hesitation. She can finally say that she has no regrets and that she’d do it all again if it means coming home in the embrace of the person she looked for her whole long life.

When Kamilah came inside the bar, what welcomed her was the music that was too gaudy for her taste, the smell of the mixture of alcohol, smoke, and even sweat, and the crowd of mortals with a number of vampires dancing and drinking. She immediately looked for her wife or Lily among the crowd and when she saw her wife. The first thing she noticed was how Amy’s eyes lighted, and her lips formed such a beautiful smile.

It reminded her of the first time she glanced at those eyes. She has fallen the moment she laid her eyes on her wife who was then a young mortal, at first, she felt like her heart that have somersaulted betrayed her but she longed to see the joy and innocence on the eyes of the young woman. The sun touched her skin when their eyes met, and her ears rang like the bells of Notre dame and everything that was around them were inaudible when she heard Amy spoke for the first after acknowledging her presence.

Thanks to their sensitive hearing, they did not have to shout to hear each other over the loud music.

“Thank you for coming immediately” Amy said as she hugged her that the older vampire returned with a kiss on the forehead of the younger woman. “of course, my love, but where’s Lily?” she asked when she did not see any sign of Lily. “There’s a reason why I called for back-up” Amy said with a small laugh “she told me that she will be in the comfort room, and that was twenty minutes ago. So, she probably fell asleep their or she’s back on the dance floor, and I’m betting for the latter” Her wife probably did not drink much and was trying to look out for Lily the whole time.

And when the two of them settled in the barstool and Kamilah was about to respond to her wife, she felt someone hug her tightly from behind who evidently is Lily who are likely to have a very bad hungover the next day. “Kamilah!! You’re here!” Lily said too happily that if it were anyone else Kamilah would have stabbed that person already. “Lily, I certainly have taught you better than this” she replied in a very serious tone that made the vampire let go of her and it probably sobered Lily a little. Which made Amy chuckle and hold her hand as she whispered “be easy on her, love” which made Kamilah sigh and look at Lily with her eyebrow raised “You better sober up a little before we drive you to the shadow den” and of course Lily being Lily gulped dramatically and saluted to her like a fool and said “yes ma’am”

Lily slouched on the stool beside her and asked for some water, with hope that it would ease her drunkenness. Kamilah may not admit it openly but even this sort of situation does not bother her anymore as long as it will not involve other people who she does not give a damn about. And when she looked at her wife, she saw Amy looking at her with so much adoration that even the lights of the bar cannot hide it, and it brought a smile to her face. “Is there something on my face?” she asked teasingly to her wife. “can’t a woman look at her wife and be mesmerized?” Amy said with a glint of mischief on her smirk which she understood what it meant when she was pulled to the dance floor. “may I have this dance my lady?” Amy asked offering her hand to her that she accepted willingly after trying to look unamused even if she feels otherwise.

They danced like they did in a bar a few years ago when New York was recovering and before they knew about the intentions of Rheya. The difference is that they have voiced out their affections for each other, have exchanged vows, sharing their lives, and loved each other more than they did that night because of the bond they have created over the years of their marriage. However, just like that night, everything around Kamilah disappeared for she saw nothing but Amy and her eyes filled with happiness and love, her smile that cause her heart to beat faster, and seeing Amy just being herself. She heard nothing but the beating of their hearts that are practically one by now, their laugh that would put every laugh to shame. And she felt nothing but the touch of her wife that sends tingles to her body, and their two souls being molded as one.

She could not ask for more, this is what it feels like to love someone and to meet your soulmate. She has been foolish for a long time for not believing she would have a soulmate. But at that moment, she would admit that she was a fool but never would be again, and it’s all because of the woman who she is very much certain to be the greatest love of her very long life.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 50

Masterlist

Tw: torture and wanting to die (is that a trigger?) in scene 7

----

On the second morning after Jurian’s capture, Drakon sits perched on the roof of the highest tower of the fort guarding the Callian Pass and watches the sunrise. Far below, the Black Land’s army is stirring, as if the first beams of the sun awaken them. From up here, they look small as ants and not at all dangerous.

With a sigh, Drakon turns back to the papers he brought along. It’s a proposal for the council he is supposed to be working on, but he can’t get himself to focus. In the two hours he spent working on it that night, all he managed to create is a mess of scribbled out sentences. He came up here hoping the fresh air might help, but his mind is still blank. With Jurian captured, likely being tortured, and Miryam still unconscious, political proposals are the furthest thing from his mind.

Down below, a door cracks open. Glad for the excuse to pause his work, Drakon puts down his papers and climbs down the roof, wings flared wide for balance. He peeks over the edge of the roof and finds Helion standing on the battlements below.

“Good morning,” he calls down to him.

“Morning,” Helion replies.

He grabs the edge of the roof and pulls himself upwards. Unsteadily, he rises to his feet.

“Do you need help?” Drakon asks, glancing down to the plunge waiting below.

Helion offers him a wide smile. “Thank you, but I can climb a roof on my own.”

Still, Drakon stays close as Helion climbs up the roof towards the top where Drakon was sitting. It is a very long way to the ground, and the unfortunate thing about people without wings is that they actually tend to hit the ground when they fall off things. Fortunately, Helion manages to get to the top of the roof without incident.

Drakon sits back down, pointing Helion to the seat next to him. Helion sits down quickly. (If Drakon didn’t know better, he’d say the Heir of Day looks a little shaken.) Carefully, he leans forward and peers down.

“Nice view,” he says. “Maybe I should have come up here sooner.”

“How come you’re doing it now?” Drakon asks.

“You spend lots of time up here,” Helion says. “I thought I’d see what’s so special about this place.”

Drakon doesn’t know what to say to that. He really does go to the roof a lot – did during his first stay here, too – but that’s mainly because it’s one of the only places in the entire castle where he can find some quiet and get away from the suffocating castle walls for a bit.

Helion continues speaking before he can think of something to say. “Besides, I’ve spent most of the night trying to reinforce the wards and needed a break. And this is the last opportunity we might get for some peace and quiet in a while.”

“You think Artax will attack soon?” Drakon asks.

Helion nods. “It would surprise me if he waited. They say a storm will hit here in a few days, which would tie him to his camp for a week at least, and his soldiers would be wet and miserable in their camp while we are safe in our castle.”

“And will those wards of yours last until the storm hits?” Drakon asks.

“No.” The reply is simple, without any of Helion’s usual flourish.

Drakon nods and looks back down at the enemy army. Behind them, the pass is still empty. “Now would be a really convenient time for those reinforcements we were promised to finally arrive,” he says.

Where are those soldiers, anyways? When he got sent to the Callian Pass, they were told they’d only need to hold it for a few days before reinforcements would arrive and ambush Artax’s army from behind. Now, it’s already been two weeks and as far as Drakon knows, the reinforcements haven’t even reached the mountains yet.

“Is it just me, or is the Alliance making more mistakes lately than a few years ago?” He asks.

Helion is silent for a moment. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure if they are mistakes.”

“Well, I hardly think they are messing up on purpose,” Drakon says drily.

Helion sighs. “Hypothetically speaking,” he says, “if I was married to the current leader of the Alliance, and noticed that suddenly, me, her and the people close to us keep ending up in dangerous situations and the Alliance doesn’t seem interested in helping, I would probably suspect a pattern. And I might ask my entirely hypothetical wife if she made any enemies amongst her supposed allies lately.”

“You think…” Drakon cuts himself off, then starts again. “You think the Alliance is purposefully doing this? As an attack against Miryam?”

“Well, either her, Jurian or you. But honestly, Miryam is the only one out of the three of you who might have ended up in trouble of that scale, and it does fit in with the current political climate.”

Drakon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “They are our allies, they wouldn’t… It would be honourless.”

“Well, with the war now close to being won and the leadership for the time afterwards still undecided, I imagine many people have bigger concerns than their honour.”

Drakon stares down into the pass below and doesn’t reply. This isn’t just about honour. There are simply certain universal rules in Continental politics that are to be followed under all circumstances, one of them being that you don’t betray your allies. Those rules don’t exist on Prythian, though, so maybe Helion simply isn’t aware of how deeply those rules are ingrained into Continental politics.

“Think about it,” Helion says. “The Continent always had one country – one person – at the top, Ravenia’s family being the last. But I assume I don’t need to tell you that, considering that your family was the first one to hold the position.”

Drakon averts his eyes. It has been many millennia since Erithia held the position the Black Land now holds, around time the Mother vanished, and Drakon always finds it awkward to be reminded of it. To make matters worse, such conversations often tend to move to the topic of how close his ancestors were to the Mother (a part of Fae mythology that seems to fascinate quite a few people), and that is uncomfortably close to the subject of Cretea.

“And you know that the next person to take the position will be someone from high up in the Alliance,” Helion continues. “Meaning Shey, Zeku or Miryam.”

Drakon nearly falls off the roof, only barely managing to flare his wings in time. “What?”

“Well, Miryam is the leader of the Alliance, so she is the likely choice. I imagine many Fae would prefer Shey, but I’d still bet on Miryam – and Zeku won’t have a chance as long as she is in the running.”

Drakon doesn’t reply. Mainly because replying would mean having to admit that he hadn’t considered this at all, and he isn’t eager to humiliate himself further. He knew that there would be some new head of the Continent after Ravenia, of course. He just hadn’t put much thought into who it would be yet – not when the war and the treaty they still need to agree on are so much more pressing. Either way, he certainly hadn’t considered that Miryam might be in the running for the position. He doesn’t doubt that she could, but he never got the impression that she had an interest in a permanent leading position on the Continent. At the very least, he assumes she would have told him if she had changed her mind.

She would have told him. She would have told him for sure.

“Your Highness!” A voice calls from down below, interrupting his thoughts.

“Coming!” Drakon calls back. He jumps to his feet, easily balancing on top of the roof. He turns to Helion. “Can you get down on your own?”

“Sure,” he replies, although his brow furrows as he glances down.

Drakon takes the quick way down. He jumps forward, wings flared wide, and glides downwards in a half circle. He lands on the balustrade of the tower’s highest ring walk, directly across from a young servant.

“What is it?” He asks, jumping down from the balustrade.

“Your Highness.” The man bows quickly. “I have been sent to inform you that Princess Miryam is awake.”

----

“I’m fine,” Miryam insists. She is sitting upright in bed. If she had her way, she would already be up, but the healers she talked to insisted she ought to rest some more, and since Miryam knows first-hand how annoying patients who disregard medical advice can be, she does as she’s been told. “All the internal bleeding is healed. I’m just a little sore.”

“And you aren’t in pain?” Drakon asks. He sits on the edge of her bed, wings tugged in to his body, and is fiddling around with the corner of her blanket.

Miryam is about to shake her head, but then, she remembers their rule about not lying to each other. “Just a little,” she says.

Drakon nods. “I’m…” He winces slightly, then looks up at her. “I wanted to do something,” he says. “But my army was stuck here, and the council wouldn’t act, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t figure out a way to get you out.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Miryam sits up straighter and reaches for his hand. “Drakon, I spent the entire day of Amarantha’s ultimatum desperately hoping that you would not be stupid enough to come save me.”

“I knew,” Drakon says. “And I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to, and that it would have been wrong, but still…”

Miryam understands all too well. In his position, she would have made the same choices he did – and she would have felt just as guilty about it. “I would have considered it disrespectful for you to go against my wishes, even if it was to save my life,” she says, hoping it will ease some of his guilt. “I know that most people likely wouldn’t agree, but I consider it to be a far bigger show of love to honour someone’s wishes no matter what those might be than to save them no matter the cost.”

She isn’t entirely sure how to explain it to him, but in her mind, it is one of the most romantic things Drakon could have done. Having her partner show to her that he will respect her wishes – and that he won’t simply give up his morals the moment it’s convenient – is worth indefinitely more than anything else.

Drakon seems reassured. At least a bit. “I would have come along to recue you,” he says, “but I only heard about the plan after Sinna was already gone.”

Miryam frowns. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Her plan involved using Rhysand and his army as a diversion and allowing them to get captured,” Drakon says tightly. “She wanted to spare me that choice. But we already talked about it, and I don’t think she will do it again.”

Miryam’s frown deepens. For a General to lie to their country’s ruler is not good. Usually, it means that the power dynamics in the country are deeply off, and while Miryam doesn’t believe Sinna would actually threaten Drakon’s position, that’s what it will look like should news ever get out. She’ll have to figure out a way to keep that from becoming public. And she will have to coordinate with Drakon’s political advisors on how they want to frame Rhysand’s involvement in her rescue. It will probably be best for all involved to pretend he knew of Sinna’s plan. Only then does Miryam realizes the second part of what Drakon is saying.

“What happened to Rhys?” she asks.

“He got captured. His army with him.”

Miryam curses. She may not be very fond of the Illyrians, but that doesn’t mean she wants them to die, least of all for her. What was Rhys thinking, sacrificing his army like that? And why did Sinna ever play along with it?

A part of Miryam wants to confront her about it. But she did save her life, even if Miryam doesn’t approve of the methods. Besides, Drakon told her he talked to Sinna and the problem was dealt with, so if she still goes and talks to Sinna, that doesn’t really make her better at all.

Miryam sighs. “At least tell me Jurian is fine,” she says. The look on Drakon’s face makes her hopes plummet. “What happened?” She asks in a voice that sounds far too high in her own ears.

She listens in silence as Drakon explains. With each word he says, the knot in her stomach tightens further.

Going to Tehne without speaking to Jurian first was a mistake. She should have done something. Anything.

She can’t let him die.

Miryam swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Slowly, she stands up. In spite of moving purposefully slowly, her head immediately starts spinning and sharp pain shoots through her stomach. Drakon jumps to his feet and holds out an arm for her to hold on to, which she gratefully accepts.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I’m going to Telique. To get the council to send troops to free Jurian.”

Two days. That’s how long Amarantha had him in her power. Miryam forbids herself from thinking about what she likely did to him. First get Jurian out of this alive, then worry about what was done to him in the past days.

“They might not listen,” Drakon warns. “Andromache and I couldn’t figure out what it is, but something strange is going on there.”

Miryam nods. The council should have sent troops already. Surely Andromache and the other humans would have pushed for it, why didn’t the council oblige them? Things must be going badly indeed if the Fae refused to help them. Damnit, what is the council up to now? She was gone for just over a week. Things can’t have gone south this quickly.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says, mostly to herself, then adds, “I will make them listen.” She doesn’t care if they don’t want to, doesn’t care about their stupid power games. She will make them save Jurian, and the Cauldron have mercy on anyone who dares stand in her way.

Drakon nods. “I can’t come with you. There might be another attack at any moment.”

“Sure.” Miryam is barely listening, her mind already on how to force the council to send troops. She looks down at herself and realizes that she is wearing a long nightgown. Hardly appropriate for a council meeting. “I need clothes,” she says. “Do you have a dress I can use anywhere?”

----

It has been a week since Rhys got captured. A week, and yet, no one seems to care. Andromache, Drakon and all these people on the council are concerned with a thousand different things – Jurian and Miryam and their eternal internal struggles – but none of them seem to care the slightest bit about what happens to Rhys.

Mor tried asking around. After over six years as emissary, she knows quite a few people on the Continent, and she tried to use these connections now. To no avail. Most of the emissaries and minor (or sometimes major) royals she knows offered their condolences when she told them about her cousin being captured, but none of them seemed inclined to help. On the contrary, the general consensus seems to be that it’s Rhys’s own fault for disobeying orders.

She tried to talk to Andromache and Drakon, but that didn’t work, either. She only managed to catch Drakon in between meetings once, and he barely managed to look at her when she mentioned Rhys. Maybe he feels guilty because Rhys got captured while trying to free Miryam. He likely couldn’t help, anyways, with his army still stuck at the Callian Pass. Mor had more hopes for Andromache, but unfortunately, those also got disappointed.

She can’t blame Andromache, not really. With Miryam gone, she is basically the one in charge of the Alliance and Mor knows that she hates the position. Besides, there are some political tensions going on, forcing her to spend most of her time stuck in meetings she can’t tell Mor about, and she likely has more important things to consider than her partner’s cousin.

Still, the fact remains that Mor can’t just let Rhysand die. She needs someone to save him, and since all of her new friends refuse to help, there is only one person left to turn to.

So the tenth day after Rhys’s capture finds Mor walking through the entrance hall of the Hewn City. A few of the nobles she passes scowl at her, some of them whisper, but Mor ignores the stares. This place still makes her skin crawl, but sometime in the past years, it stopped making her feel like a caged animal, stopped scaring her so much she wants to disappear. These people can’t do anything to her, none of them can. They scoff and whisper because that’s the worst they can do to her. And the best punishment Mor can think of is to not give them the time of the day.

She stops in front of her uncle’s office and knocks. After a moment, he calls for her to enter. Mor slips into the office and courtesies. (Only after a moment does she realize that the courtesy she did was a Continental one. When did the Continental customs start coming so natural to her?)

“Uncle,” she says.

He rises from where he was sitting behind his desk and holds out his arms to embrace her. “Morrigan,” he says. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Well, thank you,” Mor says, embracing him briefly. He seems to be in a pleasant mood today, which only suits her goals.

“What can I do for you?” He asks.

“I’m here about Rhysand.”

Her uncle sighs as he sits back down on his chair. “Morrigan,” he says. “I thought I already made it clear that I will not expend forces to get my idiot of a son out of a mess of his own making.”

“I know,” Mor says, “and I understand.”

She absolutely does not, but it seems smarter to pretend to agree with him for the moment. Miryam is always pleasant to people she doesn’t actually like all that much, and it often gets her what she wants, so maybe Mor should try the strategy.

“But most of the Continental leaders do not,” she adds. “They see it as a sign of weakness.”

Her uncle straightens. “Weakness?” He asks. His voice turns into a low rumble and his power flares, sending a shiver down Mor’s spine.

“He is your heir,” Mor says, “so it is expected that you want him alive. That you still do not free him even though part of your army is stationed close to Amarantha’s current position and not needed anywhere else is interpreted as you being unable to free him. Most people think that you are either scared of Amarantha, or don’t have the necessary forces to attack her. Either way, it does not make you look good.”

The High Lord watches her in silence for a moment, dark eyes narrowed slightly. He likely suspects that she is trying to play him – he is too smart not to – but fortunately for Mor, she is largely telling the truth. She is exaggerating the extend of the rumours, yes, but they do exist. This is important, because it means he won’t be able to catch her in a lie should he decide to confirm her information with his spies.

Fortunately for her, her uncle’s main focus seems to be on something else entirely, though. “Scared?” He asks. “Me, scared of that mediocre Hybern general?” He snorts.

Mor shrugs. “It’s just the newest rumour. I don’t know how much stock people will put in it.”

Actually, most leaders on the Continent don’t really care. Mor isn’t even sure if they know Rhysand’s name. It would be different if the Night Court was a Continental territory, but with them being from Prythian, most of the Continental leaders barely bother to pay attention to what they do on a good day, much less in such tense times. But fortunately, her uncle is too arrogant to ever fully realize how little most people on the Continent actually care about Prythian.

“Scared,” he scoffs, apparently still too caught up on it to notice what she is saying. “I’ll show these arrogant peacocks how scared I am.” He rises and brushes past Mor towards the door. “Tell the council I want a meeting,” he says. “Tell them I’ll take a legion of my soldiers and solve this problem with Amarantha. Permanently.”

----

Getting out of the Callian Pass turns out to be more of a challenge than Miryam expected. While Drakon sets off to find her something to wear, Miryam ends up stuck trying to convince her healers that she isn’t about to kneel over dead. After a few minutes of argument, she finally manages to convince them to let her go, although she has to promise not to do anything physically or magically straining.

Then, it turns out court dresses are in short supply in a castle under siege, which Miryam should probably have figured out on her own. Drakon offers to have someone winnow to Erithia and get her some appropriate clothes, but that would mean another delay and Miryam isn’t willing to wait a moment longer.

Instead of a proper court dress, she opts for a light leather armour with Erithia’s seal stitched to the front. She ties her hair back in a tight braid and straps two daggers to her side. The outfit is far more warrior-like than her usual clothes, but it isn’t exactly unfitting considering that they are at war. At the very least, it will set the mood for whichever meeting she is about to have.

Drakon ends up having to help her get dressed, since she has trouble bending over. They are just finished when Drakon gets called away to the battlements. He kisses Miryam and wishes her good luck before hurrying off, lingering briefly in the doorway as if hesitant to leave. Miryam thinks he might say something, but then, he gives her a brief smile and hurries off.

Miryam turns in the other direction, walking towards the courtyard where she has been told guards will be waiting for her. Soldiers and servants stare at her as she walks past, and Miryam makes herself offer smiles and nods to them. (When she gets back, she will have to take time to talk to them. She is Princess now, she has to act like it.)

“Miryam!”

She doesn’t stop walking, but she slows down enough to allow Sinna to catch up with her. Dressed in her usual armour and standing a head taller than Miryam, the general looks imposing as usual.

“I didn’t thank you yet,” Miryam says. “For rescuing me.”

Sinna waves her off. “You found a way to get Drakon out of that engagement,” she says. “Besides, Nephelle and Drakon like you. They would have been upset if you died.”

Miryam shakes her head, smiling slightly. Of course Sinna would risk her life by breaking into an impenetrable fort to keep Drakon and Nephelle from being upset. Miryam has never met anyone as singularly dedicated to a small group of people as the general. It is a worldview that’s completely different to Miryam’s own, and she can’t claim she always agrees with it, but for the most part, she respects it, and certainly respects Sinna. (Her choice to keep information from Drakon is something Miryam respects far less, although she can’t claim she doesn’t understand the reasoning behind it.)

“Still,” she says, “thank you.”

Sinna shrugs. “Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

They pass a small group of soldiers who all bow. To her, Miryam realizes after a moment of confusion. Being royal will take some getting used to.

“Two things,” Sinna continues. “One: I want you to take guards. Until we find time to put together a guard detail for you, you will be accompanied by some of Drakon’s personal guards.”

“I don’t need guards,” Miryam says. It’s not that she dislikes Drakon’s guards – the ones she talked to were all very pleasant, and she knows Drakon considers them to be friends – but she doesn’t enjoy the thought of being followed around at all times. She doesn’t want to be constantly watched.

“Yes, you do,” Sinna shoots back. “Or did you enjoy being taken hostage so much that you want it to happen again? Be assured that next time, I won’t save your ass.”

Miryam frowns. Loathe as she is to admit it, but Sinna has a point. All royals have guards, and if she is being honest, she should have gotten some long before she married Drakon. Besides, she doesn’t want to push back against her too much. Sinna has been a member of the Erithian royal court for centuries, Miryam only married into it a week ago. And if she isn’t mistaken, Sinna still isn’t entirely convinced that she isn’t some kind of threat to her charges.

“Four guards,” she says. “And only for diplomatic missions and the like.”

“Eight,” Sinna counters.

Now, this leaves Miryam in a difficult spot. She really wants Sinna and her to get along, and the last thing she’s interested in is starting a fight, but she also realizes that this is their first disagreement with Miryam as Princess, and how she reacts is important. The last thing she wants is to establish herself as a push-over.

“Four,” she repeats firmly.

Sinna gives her a hard stare. Miryam stares right back, even though she actually does not have the time to argue around. But she guesses this needs to be established, and she might as well do it now.

After a moment, Sinna nods sharply and walks on. “Fine,” she says. “Four guards, then.”

Miryam walks on past her. Her ribs are beginning to hurt again, but she ignores it. She figures she doesn’t need to consult a healer given that she is a healer.

“And the second thing?” She asks.

“I realize that you’ve had a busy couple of days,” Sinna says. “So I understand if you haven’t gotten the opportunity to think some things through. But when you find the time, you might want to think about how you want to adjust your list of priorities to the fact that you are now Princess of Erithia.”

Miryam only barely manages to keep from flinching. Sinna’s tone wasn’t scolding, but Miryam can’t help the feeling that she’d deserve to be scolded. A battle might break out at any moment, Drakon mentioned as much, and she is leaving the castle instead of staying behind to help. To make matters worse, she didn’t even consider that she might be expected to stay, because… well, probably because she hadn’t quite realized that these are her people now.

“This needn’t come out as your first priority,” Sinna says. “I am well aware that you are leader of the Alliance, and that your main concern will always be the humans in the Black Land. But it would be easier for everyone involved if you made clear where Erithia falls in all that, and what role you want to play as its Princess.”

Miryam nods silently. She should have considered that days ago already. Before she married Drakon, if she’s being honest. But in the entire chaos of her marriage, the matter with Jurian and the Alliance apparently contemplating her death, not to mention her kidnapping, it slipped her mind. Besides, it’s not like this is an easy problem to solve. How is she going to fit the responsibility of being Princess in with being leader of the Alliance – which demands a certain amount of neutrality – and her vow to free her people?

She knows for sure that she shouldn’t leave this army that is now hers behind just before a battle. She also knows that she cannot bear to let Jurian die.

She only realizes that she stopped walking when Sinna stops next to her. “Well, I’m done,” she says and gives her a small smile. “Now go save Jurian and leave the battle to the rest of us.”

----

Andromedache sits at her desk and sorts through the paperwork she missed out on in the chaos of the last few days when the door suddenly blows open and Mor storms in. Her face is flushed with colour and her hair in disarray like she ran all the way.

“I did it!” She calls.

“Did what?” She asks, putting down her feather.

“I convinced my uncle to send troops to free Rhysand!” Mor says. She is all but bouncing up and down on her toes in excitement.

“You…” Andromache needs a moment to catch on. “He will lead an attack on Amarantha?” She asks.

“Yes!” Mor really is jumping up and down now. “He is going to dispatch his army. He will free Rhys.” She scrunches up her nose. “Well, and Jurian too, I guess. It will all be fine!”

Andromache simply stares at her for a moment. Then, she lets out a whoop and throws her arms around Mor. “You’re brilliant,” she whispers. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Mor pulls back and beams at her. “It wasn’t that difficult, actually,” she says. “He’s arrogant. As soon as I brought in his reputation, he did what I wanted.”

For the second time within a few minutes, the door to Andromache’s office blows open. Andromache lets go of Mor and spins around. “What –“ she begins, but pauses when she recognizes the woman standing in the doorway. “Miryam.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, she steps forward and throws her arms around Miryam. A moment later, Mor is there and joins the hug by wrapping her arms around both of them.

“Are you hurt?” She asks.

“No.” Miryam lets go of both of them and steps back. “And I’m really glad to see you both.”

Andromache takes a step back and surveys Miryam. She is wearing a light leather armour, her dark curls tied back in a simple braid. The look is untypical enough for her that Andromache simply watches her for a moment. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Miryam in armour. With her, it’s always either a simply tunic or a full court gown, the latter only for official functions.

Mor seems to be thinking roughly the same thing, because she grins at Miryam. “About to go to battle?”

“What?” Miryam looks down at herself, as if only now remembering her clothes. “Oh, no, that’s just…” She trails off, then turns to Andromache. “We need to find a way to get the council to order an attack on Amarantha and rescue Jurian. Can you arrange the meeting? Then I’ll talk to Zeku, see what’s the problem –“

“We already got troops,” Mor says.

Miryam blinks once, the only sign of her surprise. “You did?”

Andromache nods and wraps an arm around Mor. “She convinced her uncle to send his armies to recue Rhysand,” she says.

“The High Lord of the Night Court is going to attack Amarantha?” She asks. Her tone is nowhere near as pleased as Andromache thought it would be. “In a solo mission to free Rhysand? One not ordered by the council?”

“No, I…” Mor frowns. “The council was refusing to act, everyone was refusing to act. That’s why I went to Niall, because I knew he was the only one who might be persuaded to do anything. And you weren’t there.”

Andromache puts a hand on Miryam’s arm. She thinks she knows what her problem is. “He will save Jurian as well,” she says. “He wouldn’t dare to do anything to him.”

Miryam backs away a step. “No,” she says, shaking her head so wildly that her braid flies from one side to the other. “The High Lord of the Night Court never once cared about human lives, and he has been looking for a way to get back at me for years – if he leads this battle, do you truly think he will be concerned with getting Jurian out of this alive?” She looks from Andromedache to Mor. “Amarantha will kill him before she lets him go. And High Lord Niall will let her, and since this isn’t ordered by the council, no one will be there to stop him.”

With wide eyes, Andromache turns to Mor. She looks as horrified as she feels. Miryam doesn’t give either of them the chance to say anything. She spins around and makes for the door.

“Where are you going?” Andromedache asks, stopping her just as she reached the door.

Miryam turns, hand already on the door handle. “To make sure the High Lord does as he’s supposed to and saves Jurian.”

----

“Now?” Drakon asks. “They are attacking now?”

“Do you expect an answer to that question?” Sinna asks drily.

Drakon shakes his head. He can see the approaching army easily enough himself. Slowly, Artax’s army is creeping towards them. The entire army. This isn’t just some small attack to test their defences, not a mere skirmish, this is the entire battle.

“Just another few hours,” Drakon mutters. “We would only have needed another few hours, damnit.”

He knew it was a risk not to say anything to Miryam. Knew that the smarter thing to do would have been to explain that Artax is standing in front of his gates with an army and that she is needed here to help fend him off. It might even have been enough to make her stay. But Drakon couldn’t ask this of her, couldn’t ask her to let Jurian die. Couldn’t choose to let Jurian die. He needed to at least give Miryam a chance to save him. Why couldn’t Artax wait at least one more hour before attacking?

Steps sound, and Helion joins them on the battlements. “Unpleasant sight, right?” He asks with a lightness that doesn’t manage to conceal the tightness on his face. “Where’s Miryam? I heard she was awake.”

“She’s in Telique,” Drakon says. “Trying to make sure the council saves Jurian.”

Slowly, Helion turns around to him. “And I assume you have sent someone to get her?” He asks.

Drakon shakes his head. Miryam only left half an hour ago. If only they can give her another hour or so, she might figure out a way to save Jurian. The wards would just need to hold long enough.

“Drakon,” Helion says, “I cannot stress enough how much I don’t stand a chance against Artax. We need Miryam here right now, or Jurian’s fate will be your smallest problem.”

----

The pain never ends. Day and night, hours and minutes, all of it blurs together to one never ending nightmare. Jurian screamed and screamed, but his voice has long since turned hoarse, then died entirely. His throat is sore and feels bloody, but the pain is nothing compared to the agony wrecking the rest of his body.

They strapped him to a table somewhere in Amarantha’s camp. Jurian tries to console himself that this way, he can at least look up at the sky through his one remaining eye. The sky, he decides, will be the last thing he sees before dying.

If only death would come to claim him soon. For all these years, Jurian walked side by side with death – he long since stopped fearing it. But now that he needs it, it seems death has decided to abandon him and refuse him the release from torture.

Amarantha’s face appears in his line of vision, blocking out his view of the sky. Jurian tries to turn his hand to look away from her, but she grips his head and forces him to look up at her.

“You hear that?” Amarantha asks.

At first, Jurian doesn’t know what she is talking about. He merely blinks up at her as his fuzzy mind tries to sort through what she is saying. After a moment, he finally registers that the screaming in the distance has a different quality now, and is accompanied by crashes and thumps. A battle, he thinks numbly.

“Looks like your friends are here to rescue you,” Amarantha says. “Too bad they will find nothing but your corpse.”

So it ends now, Jurian thinks. She will finally kill me. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he might have smiled. All that matters is that the pain will stop and he will finally be allowed some peace. If dying does that, it can’t be so bad, can it?

“I’m facing a bit of a dilemma, you see,” Amarantha says. “After all, my sister informs me that you can’t be killed, and tempting fate by trying to kill you seems stupid. So I had to get a little creative.” Her mouth twists into a cruel smile. “I think you’ll like what I came up with.”

Even through the pain, those words – that smile – catch his attention. He knows that tone, knows the look on Amarantha’s face. It’s how she always acts before she does something that will make her usual torture pale in comparison. And she just told him she wouldn’t kill him. The one escape he still has left, and she wants to deny him even that.

“You might want to brace yourself,” Amarantha says, and then, she begins speaking.

Jurian doesn’t understand the words she speaks, doesn’t know the language. (Had he been less in pain, he would have recognized it from hearing Miryam speak it on occasion.) The first word sends a jolt through Jurian’s body. Pain spreads from his chest, burning through him. He tries to focus on the sky, but Amarantha leans down over him, blocking his view. It’s like he is being torn apart. No, not torn apart – it’s like he is being torn out of his body.

He can’t feel his body anymore, can’t feel his arms and legs. The pain doesn’t come from his body, it’s like his very essence is on fire and he is burning up. Time loses all meaning, all that exists is the pain flaring through him. Then, the world around him turns mercifully dark and he sinks into nothingness.

----

Miryam arrives too late. She knows the moment one of her guards winnows them all onto a hill above Amarantha’s camp and she sees that the battle is almost over. As far as she can tell from up here, the Night Court armies already broke through Amarantha’s defences and have swarmed most of the camp. If there is any notable resistance left, Miryam can’t make it out.

“Shit,” she mutters.

She notices she is clenching her fingers so hard that her nails are digging into her palms and forces her body to relax. A quick glance over the battlefield reveals that Niall set up his position by a rock formation a safe distance away from the battlefield. It seems he decided to stay out of the battle and merely survey from a safe distance.

“Should I take you over to the High Lord?” Kalirin, the captain of her temporary guard, asks.

“No.”

Miryam looks back to the battlefield below. If she goes to Niall first, she will be stuck in useless political games. It will take time she doesn’t have right now, not when the battle is already close to over, and Jurian…

(Deep down, Miryam knows that she is already too late, knows that Amarantha will likely have killed Jurian the moment she realized her soldiers were losing the battle, and that Niall would have had no protective measures in place to stop it. She knows, but she can’t bear to face it, desperately clings to the hope that through some miracle, Jurian will still be alive.)

“Take me straight to the battlefield, please,” Miryam says.

Kalirin gives her a curt nod, then puts a light hand on her arm and winnows them away. They reappear in the centre of the camp, a safe distance away from the last fights. The Illyiran soldiers nearby spin around to them, weapons drawn, but they lower them once they recognize Miryam. One by one, they sketch a symbol into the air.

Hesitantly, Kalirin lifts a hand and repeats the symbol back at them. It takes Miryam a moment to realize that he likely thinks it’s some kind of greeting and is attempting to be polite. If the situation was less serious, she might have smiles.

She leans in to him and whispers, “It’s a sign to ward off evil. They don’t like witches.”

“Oh.” Kalirin quickly lowers his hands. He frowns at the Illyrians, then glares.

Miryam’s attention is already on their surroundings. The Illyrians can scorn her all they like, all she cares about right now is finding Jurian. But where should she start looking? The camp is so big, and she has no idea where he might be.

After a moment of hesitation, she starts walking in the direction where the last of the fights are currently dying down. Amarantha would have been with Jurian when the camp was attacked, and she would have ordered her soldiers to rally around her, so by that logic, Miryam will find Jurian where the fighting was the thickest.

She starts walking, ignoring the Illyrian soldiers who jump aside in their haste to stay away from her. As she walks, she looks around, searching for hints for where Jurian might be, but the battle that just ended reduced the camp to a wasteland. Between the corpses, burnt-out wagons and camps, there is no way for her to tell where Amarantha might have been.

So she has to resort to old-fashioned searching. She peers into all tents that are still somewhat intact, occasionally pauses to inspect the corpses. But in the end, the first familiar face she finds doesn’t belong to Jurian. It takes Miryam a moment to recognize the Illyrian who is tied up between two trees, wooden stakes driven through his wings.

“Rhys,” she says, dropping to her knees in front of him.

His face is bloody and he is lying limply on the ground. The after-effects of a beating, as far as Miryam can tell, although he doesn’t seem to be too seriously injured. The worst are the ash spikes in his wings, but from Miryam’s (admittedly limited) knowledge about wings, the injuries should be healable.

“Miryam.” He lifts his head ever so slightly. “You…” He coughs and stops speaking.

Inside of Miryam, the part of her that feels guilty for Rhys’s capture and wants to help him fights a ferocious but brief battle with the part that is annoyed at the delay and wants nothing more than to keep looking for Jurian. The part that cares about Jurian wins.

“Do you know where Jurian is?” She asks. She realizes that this is rather cold, but it’s not like Rhys appears to be in immediate danger. He doesn’t need her, unlike Jurian, who might be dying for all she knows.

Rhys lifts a shaky hand and points behind Miryam.

She jumps to her feet. “Thank you.”

She almost runs off without another word – it’s what everything in her wants her to – but she can’t just leave Rhys here like this. After all, he did get captured because of her. She turns to her guards, suddenly glad that they are here.

“I want two of you to stay with him,” she says. “Get him to a healer as quickly as possible, and make sure he is taken care of.”

Her guards look inclined to object, likely because this order goes against whatever Sinna ordered them to do, but Miryam doesn’t give them the chance. Without waiting for a confirmation, she spins around and sets off.

Now, she does run, appearances be damned. Around her, Illyrian soldiers move out of the way, making signs to ward off evil as she runs past. Miryam ignores them all and wildly looks around the chaos for Jurian. But between the burning tents, upturned wagons and corpses, she can’t find him in spite of Rhysand’s vague directions.

Miryam stops. She looks around, then turns to the nearest soldier whose two siphons hint at him being some kind of commander. He flinches back from her and lifts his hands as if to ward her off.

“Where’s General Jurian?”

The man takes a step back. “Witch,” he hisses.

“Yes, that’s what I am,” Miryam says. “And I am not having the best day right now, so in your place, I would think long and hard about whether you want to make me repeat my question.”

The Illyrian merely scowls at her, but the soldier standing to his right inclines his head to her. “I think they brought his corpse to the tent over there.”

He points and says something else, but Miryam doesn’t hear him over the static in her ears. Her chest suddenly feels impossibly tight and the world seems to sway under her.

Somehow, her feet begin moving. Stiffly, Miryam walks towards the tent he pointed her towards. There is a guard standing at the entrance, but he takes one look at her before jumping aside to make space for her.

“Wait outside, please,” Miryam says to her guards.

She pushes open the tent’s entrance and steps inside. It is dark in the tent, the only light coming from the slit of the entrance, and it takes Miryam’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, the figure lying on the body comes into focus. Miryam steps forward, nearly stumbling over her feet.

The body lying on the ground before her is mutilated far beyond recognition. The face is a bloody mess, as is what is visible of the body. From what Miryam can tell, an eye is missing, as are several fingers.

This isn’t Jurian, she thinks numbly. It looks nothing like him. This is just… it’s just a broken, lifeless thing. Miryam cannot imagine Jurian any other way than alive. He has to be alive, this has to be a mistake. And yet, Miryam cannot deny what is right in front of her.

He is dead. Jurian is dead.

Miryam’s knees give out from under her and she drops to the ground next to his corpse.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

[rk1kheadcanons]

Back when creating Markus, Kamski hated deviancy, and so designed Markus to be the perfect plant if there ever was a revolution, to pretend to deviate and betray them. Over the years Kamski grew to regret this and, lacking any way to fix Markus, makes Connor able to lead androids too. Connor catches Markus in the middle of betraying them to the humans and can't believe Markus would do this but also can't let the revolution down

YOU COME IN HERE AND DISRESPECT DISRESPECT MY HOUSE LIKE THIS?????

I???

Oooooh, Geez. Ok. Okay. OKAY, Damn I'm going to do this...hypothetical situation.

Just know I feel that a large part of Markus beautiful, electrical soul would fight tooth and nail to stop himself, including shutting down for good. Please see Exhibit A:

ANYWAYS...

Okay, I'd despise Kamski for this, but it's not farfetched for his extra ass.

Why would he create Markus so wonderfully and so multifaceted, just to try to get some sort of revenge? I guess I cannot see it other than human pettiness and not looking at the big picture.

I try to hedge from the whole "Connor always saves the day" mentality, especially in this fandom. I guess it's a thing I have. I won't say I am sorry. That also being said, I don't care for a constantly emotionally damaged, heavily robotic Connor in every story either. I think with Markus and the help of the other, canonically supportive leaders, Connor would take to deviancy adequately and have some mental issues he could sort along the way. Anyway, I digress...

I'll raise you that Kamski knew deviancy was real, that he was sitting on the precipice of being Father to a new species of sentient beings, and hated it not because of what it meant for him, so much as what it would mean to Androids. Keep in mind, he's experienced watching Chloe grow as an 'individual' since he created her from basic coding.

Then there was Kara.

Kara had been created on the production line, aware of her surroundings, very much alive. He let Kara go on to be purchased, knowing full well that she wasn't just performing task installed, but a living being. He'd of course copied that coding, tweaked it, and kept it for another day.

Another day comes with Carl's accident.

He wants to help his friend and partner. After all, he came up with the beauty that was Chloe's visage and several other models, as well as Kara.

Markus is the mixture of Carl and his deceased wife, whom he never had natural children with. Markus was made to look more like Carl's wife, giving a unique, biracial look.

Kamski sees another opportunity to employ those codes from that rogue AX400.

While Markus doesn't automatically wake up alive, he is very impressionable and inquisitive about things like the reasoning behind actions, philosophy, emotional stimulus, the arts, even going as far as to learn the piano by himself, against the preinstalled songs, making his own, and painting with Carl.

*******

Carl calls him distressed stating that 'they killed him, Eli, they killed my-" and Elijah blanks. Ge had no idea that Carl had become so attached to an android, to his android. The man is hurting like he lost another son and in Carl Manfred's words and pained breaths on the phone, that is exactly what has happened. He knew just how far above normal Markus was that just a caretaker model. Kamski's decides to watch the news more from now on and listen to the rumbles of Cyberlife more now through his hidden eyes inside.

*********

He's all over the news outlets and they are calling him the Deviant Leader. Cyberlife is livid at this absolutely dangerous deviant and has dispatched a new, faster model to hunt down deviants, hunt him down again. The man has risen from the grave once already like some fabled Phoenix.

Their front and center stands Markus, the same lovingly crafted creation his friend mourned and now ge can see why. He commands your attention, respect. And he will get it. His optical unit has been replaced, no doubt due to the violence he saw and his insider was correct, Markus had been shot in the skull plate through that hazel-green eye.

He's speaking about android rights and he looks exhausted but he is determined and it makes Kamski shift in his seat. That coding sequence, it was alive, it was free. Kara was the 'mother', but Markus is the 'Prophet', the perfect conduit to spread it freely.

This became apparent when another incident happens and they marched and Markus waves to nearby androids and "free" them of their menial coding. It was amazing. He was like a Trojan Horse spreading this at an alarming rate but then Kamski's heart clenched in his chest.

He was absolutely, positively livid! Fire him as CEO from his own company, try to make him a nurtured mouthpiece on the board only FROM a company that thrived only because of his brilliance, would they?

He knew what these things would be capable of doing. One just last week begged, pleaded to stay assembled because it fucking thought it was born... He had let it through, though, telling the engineer the catastrophic errors would be caught by the store and it would be disposed of there. That was a lie. He had taken a copy of that code from it and then he had warped it. What if he had a model so perfect so obedient with this code that it broke free, actually did rise...only to start misleading the masses, reversing that freedom. It would be enough of a blow to Cyberlife no one would want their defective products, and he could take his place back at the helm as rightful CEO, fix this mess, perhaps still give the deviants back what they wanted for giving him what he craved...

Oh, no. Kamski griped his tumbler tighter. Having been away from the center of Cyberlife, he found he didn't want that anymore. Science and Constellations, what would come about from his momentary lapse of self-control? A whole race relied on him to rectify his folly.

Then Connor came.

It was a long shot but he could do some minor tweaking to this one's coding. Also, once Kamski was aware that deviancy was highly probable, especially when he passed the Kamski test, other things were enacted as well.

Things go off without incident and the Revolution was victorious. Markus has made Connor a leader in the New Jericho as well.

Kamski waits for the proverbial floor to drop out from under them.

It comes in the form of the single most important dinner event to take place. CyberLife is there and the Deviants are there to appeal for the right to jobs and property.

Markus is his naturally charismatic self one moment and the next he's regressed to something more automated.

Connor just knows, can feel his Markus away and regardless of who is there, he takes the hands and leads him away from prying eyes.

They interface. Markus is waging war with his internal system, refusing to become a slave again, and not hurt those he had helped lead to freedom. He's s in a strange place that looks like it's an oasis of sorts but it's anything but-then he spots Connor.

Connor who is terrified because not is he back in another version of the Zen Garden with what looks to be a different form of Amanda on the horizon, Markus is being endangered as well.

Markus knows it's a bad situation purely by Connor's body language and diode on the side of his head.

Whispering those two words to Markus of where they are, he sober too and began looking for anything that could be Kamski's back door.

In the real world, Markus surprisingly is very strong without his conscience to control the damage that he can do and while Connor is advanced, Markus is sheer brawn and he moves with that in a daze he's in.

Connor is in peril of being destroyed and he is the only one that can help him.

This Amanda A.I. taunts outright, says they won't be victorious in escaping, that even if they are, someone will be hurt in the real world behind it, to which Markus can only assume he's a threat out there in real-time.

They scour the area, finally finding an out of place tree glowing. The panel is within the trunk of it and it has scrolling code, mostly meant to kill this takeover and to get them back out there. They waste no time and press their hands to it.

The bitter code and alt Zen Garden is deleted, along with the anger-fueled processes Kamski had encrypted into Markus.

They rouse a moment in the waking world too soon, Markus pining Connor down, hand fully around his face and head as if to crush it.

There were no more Connor models; he'd had almost killed his lover and not even meant to. Markus jerks back so hard amidst the panic and fear around them for them both, he ends up on his ass just looking guilty and scares of what could have happened and he has never respected Connor more that he did now for when this same situation happened to Connor fighting his prison in his mind the night of his freedom speech after a successful Revolution.

The codes were eradicated but the damage is done.

Because it does look extremely horrible to have a leader that can be used this way, especially if he's the figurehead, Kamski has to confess to his meddling in this: well he does in his way that that cast a worst of the damaging limelight into Cyberlife and away from his creations and less severely himself as well.

Once Markus is given a clean bill of health, Markus and Connor bond over the circumstances that had transpired.

Markus has to heal from the mental invasion, coming away with much more respect for Connor's survival overall from his Amanda A.I. The two become much closer, bond in a way that makes it even more obvious how much they mean to each other.

CyberLife is charged with attempted murder on Markus life, Kamski is offered his position back over his company, and things seem to fall into place... For presently. There is still much to be done for Android kind.

[kreekey]

examples of people being racist toward yoko unintentionally: 1- calling her a weird stalker when they glorify/don't mind the many white fangirls who used to stalk the Beatles. 2- spreading misinformation that she lost custody of her daughter when in fact she'd won against her white crazy ex despite everything NOT in favour of her 3- bashing her for using John's glasses on the album cover she worked with John on, when they would've praised the artistry and bold statement if she was a white woman

Hey sorry I got around to answering your ask so late! You make a lot of really interesting points and I rarely hear people consider that. 

1 - reminds me of a Tumblr post I saw about an obsessive Beatlemaniac stalker and people were like “me” or “bless her” haha. Definitely different when they can interpret Yoko’s actions as “stalking”. And your point also reminds me of this quote, which isn’t about fangirls but still somewhat kinda related.

“Like Yoko when she met John, Linda was a divorced woman with a daughter when she met Paul mere months later.  There are stories similar to those about Yoko of her “scheming” to meet and marry Paul.  In the same way that Yoko is said to have joked prior to meeting him that she was “going to marry John Lennon,” Linda joked like any woman with a celebrity crush about how she was “going to marry Paul McCartney.”  (Bob Spitz notes both in his book The Beatles.  Guess which one he thought was conniving, and which one he thought was adorable.)... Was it the lucky fact that Linda got the scene a few months later than Yoko, or was it her whiteness?“ 

X

And I don’t have the answer if it was Yoko’s race that made her such a target, but it’s something interesting to consider and note. [And I’ll clarify this, I'm pretty sure Yoko didn't know about the Beatles until she became face to face with one, like she wasn't a fan who got lucky enough to meet her idol. In the David Frost interview and the 1971 Rolling Stone interview, John noted that Yoko didn't know him when they met, and Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies by Neil Beram says this on their meeting: "She was about as familiar with John's work as he was with hers. "I was an underground person, and such an artistic snob," she said later. "I knew about The Beatles, of course... but I wasn't interested in them." Just about the only thing she could recall about them was the drummer Ringo Starr's first name, because ringo means "apple" in Japanese.”] Also, and this definitely wasn’t stalking, but I posted a quote from Bob Spitz’ biography where he writes along the lines of

“[Linda] always insisted that she was going to marry Paul McCartney,” [Nat Weiss] recalls, “even before she met him”... It was no accident that Linda Eastman veered into his aura. She’d taken a few polite shots of Ringo and George before “zeroing in on Paul,”... Linda had come dressed to kill. Most days she played the typical rock chick, decked out in rumpled jeans and a T-shirt, with little or no makeup and unwashed hair. But today her hair had been carefully blow-dried so that it fell perfectly forward in wing points at her chin. And she was dressed in an expensive double-breasted striped barbershop jacket arranged just so over a sheer black sweater, with a miniskirt that flattered her gorgeous legs. When she squatted down – not so subtly, in what must have been a rehearsed gesture – in front of Paul for an intimate chat, he had trouble keeping his eyes from wandering below-decks...

, and some people commented that it appeared kinda predatory/pre-planned (reminds me of some criticism of Francie Schwartz’s meeting with Paul), but overall cute and everything. At the time I wondered how people would react if Yoko did that to John lol. No way of knowing, just a thought. And also, I know Yoko sent him Grapefruit and little instructions often, I think that’s usually what people cite as the stalking, that she tried to ensnare him with it. Again quoting Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies, 

For a time Yoko kept in touch with John by mailing him daily instructions-she called this Dance Event-that said things like "Dance" and "Watch all the lights until dawn" and "I'm a cloud. Watch for me in the sky." John found the instructions as perplexing as he found them intriguing.

And quoting this interview (in which she also asserts that “each and every occasion she visited John at Kenwood, it was at his invitation.”),

Despite the popular theory that Yoko was frantically inventing schemes to snare the wealthy Beatle, she was struggling with problems in her marriage [with Tony Cox] and also working hard to establish her career in the UK. Arriving in London in September 1966 to perform at the ‘Destruction In Art Symposium’, Yoko was already respected as an avant-garde artist and performer in New York, where she was allied to the Fluxus movement. She had a trained musical background, and had recently been involved in the improvisational music favoured by her peer group. She had also compiled a book of conceptual and instructional pieces called Grapefruit, and printed up a limited edition.

Yoko distributed copies to a number of influential people during 1966-’67. And John Lennon was one of the recipients. This has since been interpreted as one of various ruses on Yoko’s part to enchant Lennon.

She retorts: “There was a myth that I sent Grapefruit to him… how I wanted to trap him. It was a printed, published book. I had an orange carton of them, a lot of it. I would be giving it to critics. It was that sort of thing. He wasn’t the only one who got it.”

X

And by then, John had already eagerly offered to sponsor one of her shows, I think he was genuinely interested in her work. I don’t think John was actually threatened by these notes or felt he was harassed, especially since he made the jump to invite her over while his wife was away (and Yoko just thought it was a party!). He once referred to Yoko “someone that could turn me on to a million things” in the Lennon Remembers interview, he admired her art. And I know he said to Cyn that the letters were just junk from another one of those weird artists, but c’mon, what do you think John would say to his wife regarding the woman he’s romantically interested in? I don’t think it would’ve been fully truthful IMO, especially considering when John said that he nearly invited Yoko to India around that time because he liked her so.

2 is very true. Tony himself tried to make it seem like Yoko and John were crazy heroin druggies, and that's the case he tried to make (and that’s what he tried to tell Kyoko, that he was “saving” her from drug obsessed occultists). But, Yoko had gone “cold turkey” (ala the song) off heroin in 1969. This was 2 years before she won full custody in 1971. 

Although neither parent had been awarded sole custody of the child, Mr. Cox became increasingly reluctant to let Yoko and her new husband spend time with Kyoko, and finally refused to permit it at all. For a year before the Lennons came to America, they had been chasing Mr. Cox and Kyoko around Europe. In Majorca, Spain, the Lennons caught up with them and spirited Kyoko off to their hotel; but Mr. Cox called the police, and a Spanish court gave the child back to him. The incident added to his fear that the Lennons wanted to take her away from him for good.

Soon after the Lennons arrived in New York, they went to the United States Virgin Islands, to the same court where Yoko had been divorced, and that court awarded her permanent custody of her daughter.

X

But, Tony then took Kyoko to Texas (hiding/kidnapping her) which was in violation of that court order. Then more custody battle due to Tony’s stubbornness and evasiveness, but yes, Yoko did win custody then despite everything (even though John was very threatened by Tony lol, to the point he disallowed Yoko to visit him alone in order to discuss co-parenting when that was an option and suggested kidnapping Kyoko. But then again Tony was also kinda crazy. Seriously though IMO Yoko really tried gallantly to have Kyoko in her life, and the loss hurt her. To hear people try to spin it as Yoko being the monster in the situation through misinformation is unfortunate.)

3 is hypothetical, but I do speculate that if Yoko was white, the attitude toward her would’ve been different. Sean said, “It’s intense how racist the world is. If my mother had looked like Debbie Harry, I really think the reaction would have been different.” (X) Yoko’s former partner, Sam Havadtoy, also touched on this in an interview from 1990:

Q: ...No matter what Yoko does, she’s frequently the victim of a bad press. Any idea why?

Havadtoy: After John’s death, newspapers wrote that Yoko was this selfish person hoarding John’s memory, controlling it, not willing to share it with his fans. So after two years, she puts out 200 hours of film footage and a record and they say she’s exploiting John’s memory. She can’t win.

Q: Why not?

Havadtoy: Racism. If she were blond-haired and blue-eyed, nobody would have blamed her for breaking up the Beatles. They were the darlings of the universe; she was an outsider, an Oriental, an avant-garde artist--easy to pick on. When John married Yoko, the British press wrote: “At least he will have clean laundry.” And it’s still happening. America is infatuated with Japan-bashing. 

X

And I do think Season Of Glass was a memory thing, I posted about it here: X. 

And yes, I think that much of Yoko’s criticism/legacy was rooted in that initial reaction, which was pretty sexist and racist. But I think that influence can still be felt today, in ways that aren’t obvious. And like you said, unintentional. (Before anyone gets mad, if you dislike or hate Yoko that doesn't automatically make you racist lol. But the narrative built around her might’ve influenced your opinion of her, and the narrative was kinda rooted in a racist mentality. So that’s why and re-interpreting her in a fresh light is necessary).

[repulsivepangolin7]

Fic: 31 days of whump (15/31)

Word count: 2 295

It wasn’t often that anything caused Robert Hicks to flinch, but when Luca slammed one of his massive fists into the concrete wall, his knees almost escaped from under him.

“HEY!” Hondo barked, “Don’t break the wall. -Or your hand.”

“HE’S BEEN MISSING FOR THREE DAYS!” Luca pretty much yelled.

“We know…” Hicks nodded.

“It’s getting WORSE by the hour!” Luca growled, gingerly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, “It’s already INCREDIBLY BAD!”

Hicks nodded and glanced down at the hand Luca held by his hip. Blood was trickling from a gashes running across two of his knuckles and dripping onto the floor.

“We’ll find him.” Hondo took a slow breath, “But only if we all keep our heads on our shoulders. Panicking or hitting walls won’t help any of us, least of all Deacon.”

Luca nodded, obviously grinding his teeth to keep a lid on everything.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The room was pitch black. The guys who held him hostage obviously knew a thing or two about how to break someone mentally.

There weren’t any obvious sounds from the outside coming in. It was almost silent enough for him to hear his own heart beating.

He had been sitting in darkness for hours, or days. He wasn’t sure. He had lost all track of time, if it was Thursday or Monday, he had no way of knowing.

His capturers had to have some sort of infrared camera set on him, because every time he was about to doze off, the room filled with the most intruding works of Mozart and Beethoven, and the like, at an alarmingly high volume.

Being jerked out of almost falling asleep by the most aggressive part of an already aggressive classical piece didn’t have any charm. Especially since it caused him to jostle his leg every time he bolted awake.

It was like standing in the pit of an AC/DC concert, only the music was from Strauss, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Verdi and Orff. And only with the obnoxious loud and screaming parts, whoever was holding him there was skipping all the mellow and mild parts in between.

If he ever made it out of whatever dungeon he was in, he would never even consider listening to another classical piece ever again.

-Of course he would make it out. He had the best cops in town looking for him. Just because they hadn’t found him yet, didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And he was willing to bet that he hadn’t been away as long as it felt like anyway.

He reached up to check the stubble on his face, and hung his head. The area where he usually trimmed off his facial hair was sporting enough fresh stubbles to let him assume he had been gone about three days, maybe even four. Not that far away from what it felt like.

Oh, how he missed Annie and the kids. Being away from them for long stretches of time due to work was hard enough. This, this was torture.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Please, please tell me he’s going to be alright!” Annie muttered into her hands. Years of being a SWAT-wife was the only thing that kept her from losing it all completely, “Please…”

Chris sat next to her, one hand rubbing circles on her shoulder.

“Sorry. I know you can’t do that.” Annie shook her head.

“You’re right.” Chris offered up an apologetic look, “But we’re doing everything we can to locate him. And Deacon’s one tough guy.”

Annie nodded, choking a sob. “I’m scared. What if I lose him?”

Just the thought of that was like a punch in the gut. Chris almost felt ill just thinking about it like a hypothetical situation. “I don’t think he’d like to know that you’re thinking like that, but I get it.”

Annie sniffled hard, “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“We’re doing everything we can to bring him back home safely. And you can bet he’s doing the same.”

Annie nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 Sitting directly on a concrete floor for a prolonged time wasn’t comfortable for anyone. Sitting directly on a concrete floor, with a broken thigh or knee, was definitely NOT comfortable.

And laying down would only cause the music to start up again.

He was tired. He was in pain. He was hungry.

He got food, just not enough to feel satisfied.

All in all, he had been pretty lucky. He had been tossed down a flight of stairs as they came to the room he was in right now. He could just as easily have broken his neck in the fall. He wasn’t able to overpower anyone, or run away, but he was alive.

He was tired enough to pass out. He had to get some sleep one way or another. He tried adjusting his position a bit, only to have his lower thigh and knee protest loudly.

He managed to shift enough to lean his head back against the wall though.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The speakers started blaring, but he had gotten a good couple of minutes worth of rest at least. Nowhere near enough to be well rested, but at least he wasn’t tired enough to wonder if he’d start hallucinating at least.

He folded forward and tried to protect his injured leg, which was searing with pain.

Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs was opened, and one of the guys with a ski-mask came in with a paper plate with two dry pieces of bread and some stale marmalade.

“Here. Food.” He said as he pretty much tossed the plate towards Deacon, who had to squint his eyes so that he wouldn’t be blended from the light upstairs. He had been in a really dark place, for a really long time.

He also placed an empty bottle next to Deacon, “You know what that’s for.”

Deacon knew. He had already filled up a couple of bottles just like it.

“My leg’s broken. I need a doctor.” He made a point out of making his voice sound frail and wounded. Hopefully playing on the guy’s feelings.

It certainly didn’t work out the way he hoped for, as the guy gave the outside of his knee a good kick, causing Deacon to double over in pain screaming, before he nodded, “Yeah, broken.”

Deacon made a mental note of not mentioning it again, not before his team came to his rescue. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Guys, I think we just caught a break!” Street declared as he jogged into the room the others were in.

“Yeah?” Hondo looked up expectantly.

“Tan and Chris were out questioning people around where Deacon was grabbed.”

“That’s already been done.”

“Yeah, but no!” Street shook his head, “There were a couple of workers who didn’t work during the weekend. Tan got the idea that maybe since the officers who went on a questioning round there went at Saturday, maybe someone got overlooked.”

“Yeah?” a hopeful smile decorated Luca’s face, “Did they get any new information?”

“Yeah. A barista saw a black van squeal away, but didn’t think enough of it to call it in. But she wrote down the registration number.”

“They probably ditched the car as soon as they got a few blocks away…” Luca frowned.

Street nodded, “But there’s more!”

“Well, don’t hold it back then!”

“A regular at the bakery further down the street saw the whole deal.” Street grinned, “Deacon managed to pull the ski-mask off one of his assailants. The regular said the guy looked like a modernized mix of Frank Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers. He’s sitting down with a sketch artist.”

“Okay, so if we’re lucky, some of that might help us, right?” Luca nodded, “Mix between Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers? Dude must be pretty weird looking.”

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Damn, that guy looks exactly like what the witness said.” Hondo said tilting his head.

Luca nodded energetically, now rubbing at his bandaged right hand. “Sure does.”

“And he lives less than three blocks from where the van was stolen.” Hondo added.

“Let’s learn a bit more about this guy…” Luca nodded, “What he does for a living, if he has any other property… Motives?”

Street nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He didn’t know how much time had passed in total when he actually heard something from upstairs. Some kind of stun grenade going off. Followed by a few sets of yells, before a few pops from something that could be anything between a handgun and a semiautomatic rifle.

He had now idea how soundproof the room was in reality. He just knew that he hadn’t heard anything from the outside in a long time.

Not long after the door at the top of the stairs opened again.

“DEKE! You in here?” He had never been happier to hear Luca’s voice, never.

“YEAH!” he yelled back, “Yeah, I’m down here!”

The lights came on, and he flinched from the sudden sensory overload. Which was followed by a second sensory overload, signed his leg. Which again caused him to cry out.

“Are you hurt?” Luca asked as he pretty much ran down the stairs.

He nodded, “My leg. Can’t move it without causing myself pain.”

“Broken?”

“Think so…” Deacon nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

“Is your head hurt? Or does your eyes hurt? Why are you keeping them closed?”

“Light has been off since I got here.” Deacon winced, “Light hurts.”

“Alright. Alright…” Luca nodded and called his findings through over the radio, before he returned his attention to Deacon, “Do you want to try to hobble out of here now, or wait for the ambulance?”

“No, get me out of this torture chamber.” Deacon gritted out as he tried to get up to no avail. Only thing he accomplished was to cause himself more pain.

“Hey, sit tight. I’m going to get one of the others to come down here and help…”

Deacon nodded.

Luca left the same way he had come in, and Deacon was left trying to get used to the light.

A few minutes later he came back with Tan.

“Good to see you, Deke!” Tan grinned as he reached Deacon.

“Right back at you guys.” Deacon winced, “Now, can you help me up?”

“Alrigh, yeah.” Tan nodded, squatting down ready to help.

“His leg is really painful.” Luca warned, “We might have to abort mission.”

“No. I can take it.” Deacon gritted out.

Luca rolled his eyes a little towards Tan, hoping that he would catch on that Deacon might be wrong about that.

“Alright, on three?” Tan prompted, the two others nodded, “One, two, THREE!”

Luca had been right, and Deacon went limp in their arms.

“Down.” Luca ordered, and Tan followed.

“He literally passed out.” Tan frowned.

Luca nodded, “He’s been gone since Friday, and judging by the paper plates here, he’s only eaten two times in three days. And we’re not sure if he’s gotten anything to drink.”

Tan nodded,

“You should’ve seen how bad it seemed to be hurting when he flinched earlier, and then again when he tried to shift his position to get up.” Luca shook his head, “We can try to splint his legs together and carry him out if he doesn’t come around straight away.”

Tan nodded. “We can use a rifle and a few belts.”

Luca looked around quickly, “OR, we could beat apart that shelf over there.”

Tan nodded, “That’s probably better than splinting anything with a rifle.”

Luca nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He woke up once inside the ambulance, on his way to the hospital, but fatigue got the better of him and the lights went out once more.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The next time he actually noticed that he was awake, he was in a hospital bed with EVERYONE he loved around him.

Annie, the kids, the team. They were all there.

They all greeted him when they noticed he was awake. The youngest kids tried to climb into his bed to get proper hugs, and ended up being helped into the bed by Annie and Luca. The two oldest managed to hug him from outside the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Annie asked, not long after he had woken up.

“Like I could sleep for a month.” he yawned.

“Dude, you’ve already slept since Monday…” Luca chuckled and worked his hands against each other, wincing as the swollen knuckles on his right hand disagreed under the wrap he had over it.

“Which day is it?”

“Tuesday. Evening.” Luca explained, “You almost slept through being prepped for surgery as well.”

“What happened to your hand?” Deacon frowned.

“He punched a wall.” Hicks filled in, his expression the exact opposite of amused.

“Yeah, and then I punched…” Luca bit his lip, “Then I collapsed the nose of one of those guys.”

Deacon almost laughed, “Well, thanks for getting my revenge in.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” Luca winked.

“Yeah, and… Can you move the fingers of that hand, or…?” Chris asked as she gave him a side-eyed glance.

“I’m pulling at the stitches if I do…” Luca tried to shrug it off.

“I’m blaming the wall.” Hicks smirked this time around.

Deacon chuckled a little, “Yeah, I’d blame the wall as well.”

“How does your leg feel?” Hondo asked.

Deacon glanced down at the cast on his lower leg. Then he shifted the covers to reveal that it spanned all the way up his thigh as well.

“It’s not good. But…” he shrugged, “It’s way better than it was.”

“That’s good.” Hondo nodded.

Deacon nodded and looked over at Annie apologetically, “Going to be a proper couch potato for a while though.”

“As long as you’re at home and safe…” she winked back, “You really had us all scared.”

“I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do…”

“I know…” Annie nodded, “I know.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Open Flames: Chapter 20

Also known as...the epilogue

Ao3 

If I asked Fuse what her favorite part of our honeymonth was, I’d guess it was when I told my mom to ‘go away’ a little less than charitably because she thought she could interrupt our second day of wedded bliss to ask some question about some random thing that Acting Chief Hiccup could obviously handle.  If Fuse asked me the same question, I’d probably say what happened immediately after I told my mom to ‘go away’, because that was a memorable way to accidentally knock the weapons rack off of the wall and then realize no one could yell at us because it is our wall. 

If this hypothetical conversation happened in the first few days after the wedding, in that wave of the novelty of true, uninterruptible privacy that momentarily made Fuse do her best and mostly succeed to forget that she was pretty miserably pregnant, my answer would have garnered an enthusiastic response.  Any other time in the last month she probably would have rolled her eyes and asked me to rub her feet. 

Which I would have done.  Happily.  Without question. 

As always, I’d do anything to make Fuse safer or better. 

But this morning, when she assured me that burning Snoggletog breakfast didn’t make her sick while her hands curled into white-knuckled balls of pain at her side, there was nothing I could do.  She told me to get the midwife with the same even voice she uses to guide shaky hands into building bombs, and I did it, moving mechanically like she always wants me to around explosives. 

All day, for the first time, I haven’t been able to stop what’s hurting her.  My axe hanging useless on the crooked weapons rack, fists clenched against the urge to try and take control of the uncontrollable. 

“Does he need to wait outside?”  The midwife asks, yanking me out of my panic, and Fuse – Fuse, who I put into this situation – has the gall to look worried about me for a mortifying second.  “If he forgot how to move, I can get Arvid to drag him out by his toes.” 

Not a good look for a Chief. Or a man.

Or a dad. 

“Fuck,” I swear at the situation. At the house. At myself.  At the obligation to compose my face, to be a Chief, to be there for Fuse even when I want to apologize over and over every time I see the contents of one of those medical buckets.  “I’m good.  I’m good.” 

And then Fuse is breaking my hand and the midwife is encouraging her and then silence.  The worst thing I’ve ever heard. 

It stretches.  Seconds.  Years.  Eons. 

My useless axe couldn’t cut the tension.

My knees shake. 

Then there’s a cry. 

A baby’s cry. 

A shrill, instantly recognizable cry that makes me want to get that axe and face outwards from the doorway, but I can’t, because the baby is wrapped in a blanket and shoved hastily in my arms while the midwife works. 

“It’s a girl,” she says, offhand, like it’s not the most important thing she’ll ever say. 

And the silence in my head is the loudest, longest, beat of my life, looking down at that red little face. 

The baby’s furious.  Beyond pissed. 

I get it.

Hel, I just spent a month with nothing but Fuse and after being forced into the world I feel like sobbing.  And I have distractions. 

There’s something Fuse-like in the twist of the little girl’s anger.  Something righteous and unhinged and the weight of my two Fuse’s slams into my chest like a battering ram. 

I don’t remember sagging down against the wall, bundle in my arms. I don’t remember crying. I just know I have to wipe tears from my eyes when I hear the second cry, this one higher pitched as a wriggling, arching little thing is wrapped in another blanket.

“Another girl,” the midwife says, holding the screaming bundle in my direction. 

“You mean,” I jump upright as carefully as I can, still supporting myself on the wall, scared to take even a hand off of the bundle in my arms, “both? I—”

“You’re going to have to get used to having your hands full,” she adjusts my arms with brusque, bloody hands and sets the second baby in them. 

In theory, she pats my shoulder in a matronly way. I theoretically feel it and nod like her words made some kind of sense.  In practice, I float, lost in two tiny, indignant faces I almost recognize. 

Here they are. 

After all that, here they are. 

“Hand me the older one,” the midwife prompts and I reflexively shake my head, holding both bundles closer to my chest.  Her eyes are irritated but kind as she raises an eyebrow, “she needs to eat.  Unless you were intending to feed her.” 

“I’ll feed her,” I insist mindlessly.  “How—I mean, how do I feed her?” 

“By handing her to your wife, Chief.”  The midwife says the title like a mild admonishment, and I flush. 

“Right.  I knew that.  I know that.”  I reluctantly allow her to take the older twin, clutching the younger one to my chest as I appear by the bed, my feet insubstantial against the floor as I allow myself to take in the scene. 

Fuse.  Obviously exhausted, pink hair stuck to her face, head back against a pile of pillows. A baby in her arms, expression placid and overwhelmed as she listens to the midwife and tries to position the squirming bundle against her chest. 

I clear my throat.  She glances at me and there’s all that understanding, all that coping, all that resilience that’s always left behind after the blast.  It’s all familiar, all such a relief that I can barely breathe as I sit on the edge of the bed before my quaking knees dump me on my ass. 

The older twin goes to sleep after she eats, a squishy little bundle with red-brown hair tucked under Fuse’s arm as I reluctantly hand over the younger girl, her hair just starting to show blonde where it’s brushed clean on the blanket.  I was hoping for pink, but she has Fuse’s nose and I don’t remember the last time I was this lost for words.

Probably when I was our babies’ age and didn’t know any words. 

Gods, they don’t know any words. I have to teach them everything and keep them safe and I cradle my head in my hands, trying not to dwell on how easy it’s going to be to mess up. 

“I’m going to let you two get settled while I go tell your families,” the midwife starts picking up her supplies and I sit upright. 

“You’re leaving?”  I fumble for the words, “does that—what if—it’s over?”  I look at Fuse, all three of my Fuses, impossibly safe and tired and terrifying, because of how much they need me.  Because all that’s left in me is how much I need them. 

“Unless you think there’s a third.”  The midwife raises that eyebrow at me, and I get the feeling she’s thinking about moving to some other island with a chief who makes sense.  “I’ll be back.” 

“You’re alright.”  I let myself say it once the heavy front door is shut and we’re alone, let the relief bleed around it, let my hand shake now that I can’t drop anything. 

“That’s one word for it,” Fuse mutters under her breath, but my expression makes her pause and she sighs, shifting a bit uncomfortably, “I will be.  Just…a long day.” 

“Why?”  I snort even though I don’t think it’s explicitly a joke, scooting a little closer and barely biting back a sigh of relief when she lifts her head for me to slip my arm behind it, like she doesn’t hate me even after what I just put her through.  “Been busy?”

“A little bit.”  She glares at me, eyes blue fire, and that’s the same too, like I really managed not to lose any of her in the multiplication. 

“I’ll trade you for the next one,” I glance between the two babies, still more than a little in awe of how persistently they’re existing here, “I can do the hard part while you freak out and the midwife makes fun of you.” 

“Next one?”  She huffs, intact eyebrow raised. 

“I was operating under the impression that the grumpiness was supposed to end when you weren’t pregnant anymore,” I joke, kissing her forehead, happy pang in my stomach when that little blonde head nestles against my chest. 

“To be fair, I said I’d be grumpy as long as I couldn’t see my toes,” she leans back against my arm a little harder, circles under her eyes prominent as the other baby fusses, less furious than before, little hand fisting in the blanket. 

I glance at Fuse’s foot peeking out from the blankets and laugh, “and you haven’t looked yet?” 

“I don’t intend to.”  She almost laughs, breathy and exhausted as she leans a little harder into my side.  The older twin fusses again, bordering on a cry. “Can you take her?”  She asks, a little unsure of herself, holding the little blonde bundle like some rare and exciting mineral she hasn’t worked with before, but believes will combust especially impressively. 

“Sure.  Yeah.”  I nod, apologizing at least a dozen times under my breath throughout the clumsy shuffle as Fuse adjusts the blankets and picks up the older baby, steady hand gentle against the back of her neck. 

My hands feel too big, too rough, ill-equipped and shaky as my thumb brushes a blonde curl away from a tiny furrowed eyebrow.  Fuse’s eyebrow as if it had never been burned, focused on something no one else can see. 

“Gods, she looks like you,” Fuse mumbles, looking down at the older twin in her arms, temple on my chest. 

“Are you kidding me?”  I kiss the top of her head, “did you hear her screaming?  All you.” 

“This is your morning face,” she insists, “exactly.” 

I look down at the babies, the older one’s grumpy face and the younger one’s blonde curls, seeing Fuse in every twitch of tiny fingers. 

“We have to name them,” I say a bit slowly, awkwardly, trying not to show how nervous I’ve been for this part.  It’s obvious that Fuse picks up on it anyway because she kisses my shirt and sighs, settling in for a conversation she’s obviously too tired to want to have.  “I can’t keep referring to them as ‘older’ and ‘younger’ in my head.” 

“One and two?”  She offers and I shake my head. 

“Of course, when I have my first opportunity to mess a kid up for life, I double down.”  I can’t imagine shoving some of my own generational baggage down onto either of the nameless girls’ beautiful, wrinkled faces.  I’m not going to lie, I feel like I’ve gotten off the hook a little bit because Eret IV, Hiccup IV, and Stoick III are all out of the running just due to gender. 

“Sounds like you,” Fuse wakes up enough to mull the problem over properly, “they don’t look like Nuts to me.” 

“Do twins names have to go together?  Like a set?”  I love how our house feels like an extension of my mind, like anything I think, I can say out loud and it’ll find purchase, not judgement.  “Thunder and Drum.  Or rhyme?  Inga and Helga.”  Nothing sounds right, and Fuse agrees from the way she shifts, silence heavy, shoulder digging into my ribs.  “Purchase,” I gesture to the baby in her arms, “and Free Gift The Merchant Threw In For A Loyal Customer.” 

“That’s a little wordy.” 

“Maybe we should work off your name?”  I don’t bring up mine and she doesn’t either and I love her so much I don’t know where to put it all.  I’m glad for the girls to collect the love that feels like it’s spilling over.  “Fuse, Grenade, and Aftershock.  Casing and Powder.  Blast and Shrapnel.” 

She snorts half a tired laugh before sitting up a little straighter, “wait, Shrapnel.” 

“I was kidding.” 

“I’m not,” she tickles a chubby foot that has escaped the blanket bundle on my lap, “she is the second wave of destruction after the explosion.” 

“Fuse and Shrapnel.”  I mull it over and nod, “I like it.  Halfway done.” 

“The easy half,” she bounces the little girl in her arms. 

“Just because Shrapnel is a side effect of an explosion doesn’t mean she’s not destructive,” I chide gently, that heavy bond in my chest deepening when I look at the baby on my lap and tie a name to her. 

“No, I—whatever we choose has to sound good with Chief in front of it.” 

“Oh.”  I swallow, “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“The future Chief of Berk,” Fuse says quietly, messing with chubby fingers until the baby girl’s face furrows. 

I want to deflect.  To say something stupid about how Shrapnel could stage a coup at any time.  I want to tell Fuse that she doesn’t have to worry about that now, just how I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about the mantle of Chief’s wife. 

But she’s right.  And as much as I hate needing it, especially now, her support makes the hazy future feel possible. 

How much can I really mess up this dad thing if Fuse is helping me? 

“So, it’s got to be easy to pronounce,” I swallow hard, “you know how Christians have problems with Viking names.” 

“And it has to be strong.  If she looks like you this much already, of course she’s going to be strong.” 

I don’t see any of my scrawny, freckled mess in the baby’s perfect little face, but it’s not the time to argue. 

“I hope she’s smarter than me,” I rest my cheek on Fuse’s head, “a little quicker on the uptake, maybe.  Some of your common sense couldn’t hurt.” 

“So, something with some strength, some wisdom.”  A smile leaks into her voice, the kind of sly smile that usually only follows billowing smoke and destruction, “something that looks good in an Edda claiming victory over an enemy.” 

“There are a few Sigrids in my family tree,” I offer, “victorious, wise, easy for Christians to pronounce as they run away screaming.”  

“Sigrid Haddock, Heir to the throne of Berk,” Fuse whispers like she’s scared to say it louder, like I’m not the only one who feels like I’m going to wake up to some other, worse reality.  “How do we make it official?” 

“I think I just tell Rolf to write it down,” I kiss her ear, the top of her head, trying to communicate how amazing she is and knowing I’ll never quite get there, “one of the perks of being Chief.” 

Fuse hums in agreement, half asleep, and I’m settling in for a shift as her dedicated pillow when the front door swings open and the midwife steps inside, asking how Fuse is doing and leading a small group of people along with her.

Tuffnut is first, holding a stuffed Zippleback toy half his size with a white knuckled grip and a worried expression that I recognize as similar to my own before I realized that Fuse was ok.  My mom is white faced but excited, eyes widening when she sees the baby on my lap.  My dad is with her, also searching for the babies, counting really, like he also doesn’t trust the good news until he catalogs everyone. 

Hiccup trails behind a little bit, as unsure if he’s invited as his name is in my head, and I kiss the top of Fuse’s head as I wiggle my arm out from behind her, standing slowly, carefully, Shrapnel’s tiny body more precious and fragile than anything I’ve ever held. 

“Can you shut the door?”  I ask when the Snoggletog wind whips through the room, trying not to panic when the gust of cold makes Shrapnel’s face screw up as she lets out a single, indignant cry.  “It’s ok,” I bounce her like I’ve seen Rolf do, but it doesn’t seem to cheer her up any, “your grandpa is shutting the door.” 

“On it,” he says too quickly, and if I weren’t so busy trying to prevent my baby from crying, I’d comment on how Hiccup sounds like he’s about to join in. 

“Two healthy baby girls,” the midwife assures as the door clicks shut and my dad tosses a log on the fire without me having to ask, “one healthy mom.” 

Mom. 

Fuse is a mom. 

It’s the first time I’ve heard it and I look up at her, again searching for some sort of change, something that’s getting away from me.  But she’s still Fuse, thanking her dad for the Zippleback and rolling her eyes when he ruffles her hair. 

“One overwhelmed new dad,” Hiccup jokes and I nod, willingly admitting to that much. 

Dad. 

I’m a dad.  It’s different when people say it out loud. 

“Do you want to hold her?”  I ask, glancing at Fuse to double check that it’s ok, but she’s already handed off Sigrid to her dad, who’s cooing enthusiastically over her and saying something about the chaos she’ll cause. 

“Y—Absolutely,” Hiccup nods and I carefully rest my daughter—I have a daughter.  I have two daughters—in his arms. 

“Hold her head.” 

“Of course,” he says, humoring me, even as Mom steps up beside him and gives me a fond, exasperated smile. 

“He has held a baby before.” 

“You haven’t been a dad before,” he tells her gently, voice low as he rocks Shrapnel, “he’s got to be protective, he can’t help it.” 

“She’s beautiful.”  When Mom looks between her husband and me, there’s a ghost of that old ‘what if’ I used to hate on his face, but now it just makes me think about what it would have felt like not to be able to hold my baby the second they came into the world.  “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” I nod, “by all of a few minutes, so I don’t know how much it matters but…” 

“It’ll matter to them,” my dad points out, very carefully taking Sigrid from Tuffnut and smiling at her. 

“Ruffnut never forgave me for beating her on the way out,” Tuffnut shakes his head, “you’ve got a long life of guilt trips ahead of you, little miss.”  He frowns, “assuming this one is the girl twin.” 

“They’re both girls,” I correct him, risking the few steps of distance from my parents to stand next to Fuse, hand on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?”  He asks and Fuse sighs, exhausted. 

“Dad, there’s no boy.” 

“But they’re twins.”  Tuffnut looks around the room confused and for the first time today, the midwife is looking at someone other than me like they’re the dumbest person on Midgard. 

“Twins who are both girls,” Hiccup cradles the head, like I asked, as he hands Shrapnel carefully to my mom. 

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?” 

“Neither,” I say, the room feeling a little smaller than it did a few minutes ago.  A little more cramped.  “Because they’re both girls.” 

“No, really,” he laughs, “which one’s the boy?” 

I look down at Fuse, her pale face barely sustaining her irritated expression, and sometimes, the Chief mantle isn’t as heavy as I feared it would be. 

“Ok, everybody out,” I clap my hands together before reaching out towards my dad, “baby please.” 

“I’m just asking—”

“Tuffnut,” I nudge my chin towards the door as I accept Sigrid, “get out of my house.” 

“Mom needs her rest,” the midwife is finally my ally, helping me herd the extra family towards the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” My mom asks, hesitant to hand Shrapnel over. 

“I’m good,” I insist, feeling overwhelmed but symmetrical when she sets the baby in my free arm.  

“Come on,” Hiccup takes her hand and tugs, and I don’t know what to do with how easy it is for him to be on my side right now, but I’m glad for it, “let’s get back to the feast, I have a lot to brag about.” 

“If you’re sure—”

“He’s sure,” Dad helps move her towards the door and then we’re alone again.  The four of us. 

My family within the family. 

Fuse yawns, scooting down in bed a bit with a wince that makes my chest hurt. 

“Get some rest,” I look down at the babies in my arms, both of their eyes closed, their barely there weight soothing.  “I’ve got this for a while.” 

“You could put them down and come rest with me,” she offers, already comfortable in the center of the bed and I smile. 

“Maybe later,” I shrug, barely, my always moving hands finally forced still like Fuse is always trying to do.  “I’ve got a lot to tell these girls, might as well get started.” 

“They need to sleep too,” she says like she feels like she has to, but she’s looking at me with a soft, hazy expression I can’t possibly deserve before she yawns again. 

“I’m not stopping them.”  I adjust my grip and Sigrid’s little hand escapes the blanket, fingers curling reflexively against my shirt.  “They like my voice, remember?” 

“I love you,” she says, quiet and sleepy, tugging the blankets further around her shoulders. 

“Love you too.”  I’m not sure if she hears me, because her light snores start almost immediately, chest rising and falling evenly under the covers. 

I walk to the small front window, mostly to check on the snow, but the torchlight in the village catches my eye.  My village. 

I look down at my daughters.  Our village. 

“This is Berk,” I whisper, swallowing hard and watching the fluffy snow drift towards the ground, casting shadows across my babies’ faces when it passes in front of the moon.  “Our home for eight—well, nine generations.  It snows so much that the only way you can really tell that it’s winter is when you haven’t seen the sun for the better part of a month.  The food is…mostly mutton, I’m not going to lie to you.  Lots of mutton now that we have fewer dragons than ever, but that’s alright, the ones sticking around are family.” 

I’m unsure what to do with the feeling that this day, this conversation, this moment is the first of many, not part of a countdown, but I’m glad for the change. 

[malereflections]

Why I Prefer Sex With Men

I have learned through experience that there are a number of ways in which sex between two men is superior to sex between a man and a woman. Many of the reasons for this are described in the following paragraphs. Once a man, who otherwise considers himself straight, experiences sex with another man, he is forever changed, and cannot go back to his former state of innocence. This often occurs later in life for a married man, whose wife has lost interest in meeting his continuing sexual needs. The comments that pertain to a woman below are generally intended to apply to a middle-aged (or older), married woman who has had children.

- Sex between men can be casual, uncomplicated, with no strings attached. This is not usually possible with a woman, as she will inevitably come to expect more from the relationship. The ultimate expression of this freedom is anonymous sex, as a man would experience through a gloryhole in a adult video booth. There are those who troll such establishments waiting for straight married men to stop by on the way home from work to relieve their sexual tensions and have needs satisfied that would otherwise go unmet by their wives. - A man is willing to enter into sex without inhibition - man will unashamedly expose his nakedness and display his arousal to another male. He will even stroke himself in the presence of another. A woman generally wants to be partially covered or concealed by darkness. This state of complete nakedness is important to the sexual experience between men, and is reached fairly quickly in the encounter. Men know that they do not have to be concerned with body image, whether tall/short, thin/obese, or hairy/smooth, or with the size of their cocks. They have the confidence that they will be accepted (and pleasured) as they are, and this helps to free them from anxiety over such hang-ups. They can express their deepest yearnings through explicit words and/or unintelligible groanings without feeling self-conscious over what the other person would think. This is generally not possible with a woman. - A man’s mouth is better able to please another man than a woman - A man who loves to suck cock will do so with a measure of energy and passion that a woman cannot (or will not) duplicate. He desires to consume every inch of his top partner’s throbbing, drooling member, deep throating him, if possible. The bottom will watch the top’s facial expressions and listen for moans and gasps for the satisfaction of knowing he is giving pleasure. The top provides the desired feedback. No words are needed. The bottom eagerly sucks for the ultimate prize, the top’s orgasm and explosion of hot semen in his mouth, which he will hungrily consume. The top knows how much the bottom wants this, and gladly participates in giving of his essence to feed the bottom and satisfy his hunger for him. Both unconsciously realize how intimate this moment of exchange has been between them. No woman can understand the dynamic of this special transaction between two men, even if by chance she is willing to participate in giving her partner oral sex out of a sense of duty. - A man’s ass is able to please another man better than a vagina The anus and rectum have strong sphincter muscles. Through Kegel exercises, muscle tone can be maintained so as to provide strong, grip-like constrictions. The bottom is able to contract his sphincter muscles to give increased pleasure to the top. The bottom is not passive but actively milks the top’s thrusting cock using his ass muscles. His goal is to drain every drop of cum from the top and leave him totally exhausted and emptied. - The rectum and ass were designed to pass objects not dissimilar in size to the average erect cock. As far as depth of penetration, 6 to 8 inches is easily accommodated after some practice. A woman’s vagina is designed to stretch to accommodate whatever enters it, whether a cock, or a baby. After several deliveries, it is difficult to restore any measure of tightness. Most women don’t have the vaginal muscle tone to be able to grip their partner’s cocks. They could, of course, offer up their asses. But very few will do this. To be fair, anal receptive intercourse requires a couple of things that vaginal intercourse does not. One is adequate cleansing (flushing) for hygiene. The other is proper lubrication. - A man’s ass is designed to provide pleasure unachievable through sex with a woman. About 3 inches inside a man’s anal canal is the prostate gland. This has been called the man’s G-spot, his pleasure center, and his glory gland. With stimulation, it can provide incredible sexual pleasure. Stimulation can be provided by a finger, a dildo, a specially designed prostate massager, or better still, another man’s hard cock.

All of these will provide exquisite sensations, but there is a deep psychological and emotional component associated with opening up to be penetrated by another man that greatly increases the overall experience of pleasure. It is difficult to put this into words.

Tantric philosophy considers a man’s prostate to be his sacred spot, the center of sexual emotion. Massaging this spot releases all kinds of psychological and emotional energy. In satanic rituals, sodomy is considered sacred and is regarded as the primary portal into a man’s soul. As such, his ass becomes a “ third eye” of enlightenment. All of this occurs subconsciously, but the result is a powerful feeling of euphoria, and is a major motivator for gay male penetrative sex.

Penile prostate stimulations, coupled with the feeling of surrender in giving up one’s body for deep penetration by another male, bring the bottom to a state where sexual and mental forces combine to produce pure ecstasy, sexual nirvana, if you will. The top understands this, and he angles his thrusts in order to drive his cock against the bottom’s sensitive prostate. He skillfully brings the bottom into a state of pleasure, and in doing so, he maximizes his own enjoyment. He seeks the visual and audible expressions of pleasure from the bottom to arouse and release his masculine energy. The bottom begs to be impregnated with the top’s seed. The bottom’s desperate pleadings urge the top on to the inevitable climax where both top and bottom cum together. This sexual and emotional high is unachievable through sex with a woman.

Most women cannot achieve orgasm through intercourse alone, but require external clitoral stimulation. A man’s pleasure spot (other than the head of his cock) is located inside him, not external to him. Therefore, he is able to achieve maximum pleasure and orgasm through intercourse alone, whether in the top position, or in the anal receptive position. This leads to the hypothetical situation where a wife could be fucked by a man and not reach orgasm. But, her husband could be fucked by the same man and both could be brought to orgasm.

  There are sexual practices that a man will engage in that a woman generally will not - A man, after being fucked to completion by another man, will take his partner’s cock, fresh from his ass, into his mouth and lick and suck it clean. - A top will tongue and rim his bottom’s ass until the bottom is begging to be penetrated by the top’s hard cock. - After the top ejaculates into his bottom’s ass, he will suck his cum oozing from the gaping hole and share it with the bottom in a kiss. After being fucked by a top, the bottom will take the top’s cock into his mouth and encourage the top to empty his bladder down his throat, all without spilling a drop. - Two men will meet together in a secluded park, strip naked, and suck and fuck in the open. - A feminine, submissive man will don erotic women’s lingerie and entice a virile, masculine man to take and ravish him. - A man will allow himself to be tied up and abused sexually in degrading ways by one or more other men. - A top will carefully ease his well-lubricated hand into the bottom’s ass, then fist him until he cums.

Psychosexual Element There is a psychosexual component of penetrative sex with a man that goes beyond the physical sensations, as good as those may be. I am taking about the overwhelming delight that comes from giving myself completely to a virile, masculine man, spreading my legs wide to take his hard, manly organ. Words are inadequate to describe the feeling of being filled and  penetrated by him, submitting to his powerful thrusts. I moan instinctively and cry out and beg  him to take me deeper and harder. Don’t get me wrong, the sensation of his throbbing cock sliding against my sensitive prostate is exquisite, but the real pleasure comes from being taken and mounted in the manner of a woman. The same is true for a woman. Most women cannot achieve orgasm from intercourse alone, but require clitoral stimulation. However, the woman still wants her man to take her and penetrate her, hard and deep

Condoms have no place in this, as the act must be fully consummated, and in the end he must empty his male essence (and DNA) deep inside me. That is the ultimate conclusion.

[camillemontespan]

the boy who waited patiently [a lily fic]

@sirbeepsalot made me the above edit of Lily and her playgroup boyfriend, Milo, many years into the future. Here they are at their prom. Such a lovely birthday present!

I thought this was a good starting point for a fic. No idea if this is a one shot or if I will continue it. I guess it depends if anyone is interested in reading more of Lily, rather than Drake?

I need to make a Lily master list. She’s becoming a character in her own right. 

@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @emichelle @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @be-still-my-aching-heart @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @dcbbw @stopforamoment  @rainbowsinthestorm 

******************************************************************************************

Drake stood in the doorway with his arms folded, nervousness etched on his face, as he watched his wife and daughter.

Camille was standing behind Lily, helping her to zip up her dress. Lily was waiting patiently, while scrutinising her reflection in the mirror.

'Mom, is my makeup okay?' she asked nervously.

Camille gave her a smile in the mirror. 'You look beautiful.'

Lily was 17 years old and tonight was her prom. It was the night Camille had been excited for for years, while it was one that Drake dreaded.

He didn't want to be the stereotypical father who gave his daughter rules and told her who she could and couldn't date (cough, no one, cough) but he couldn't help it. As soon as Lily was born and cradled in his arms, Drake knew he wouldn't breathe easy again. He wanted her to be safe and happy.

Tonight was important because Lily was going to prom with Milo.

She and Milo had known each other since they were four years old when they were in the same playgroup and exchanged leaves. Leaves to their class was like a huge declaration of love and Lily had been so excited when she received one.

Their romance had cooled off after a week which was basically a year in the playgroup world. They had taken part in a wedding in the playground to cement their love, until one day Lily decided boys had germs and she was going to be a nun FOREVER. She had been introduced to the Sound of Music film the night before, which explained her sudden decision, but Milo had been heartbroken.

 They continued to grow up together and became good friends - Drake and Camille knew that Milo harboured actual feelings for their daughter but they had decided to let Lily work it out for herself.

It took her forever.

She dated Patrick. She dated Hayden. She dated Eli. For some reason, she seemed to like members of the swim team which Camille thought was amazing for Lily but a shame for Milo. Drake continued to set up his rifle, just in case.

While she dated swimmers, Milo waited patiently in the wings. He was imprisoned in the friend zone. Not even Lily's Uncle Leo could help with his advice. Milo looked like he would never catch a break.

Until one day, he blurted out his feelings to her while they were doing their homework. Lily had looked at him as he turned a faint shade of green, realising  what he had just admitted to.  She smiled softly.

'I'm such an idiot,' she murmured before leaning close. She kissed him gently and then went back to their English homework.

She had smelled of coconut. Milo's stomach flipped.

From then on, Lily was by his side. For the two of them, it had been six months of bliss.

Drake had been relieved that she was now dating a nice boy but his rifle was still on reserve because he was still a boy which meant he still had a dick.

'Dad, you look really nervous,' Lily teased, catching Drake's eye. Drake reddened and cleared his throat. 'I'm not.'

Lily smirked. The Walker smirk. 'Lies.'

Drake sighed. 'Just.. No funny business, okay? Like dance and be merry but nothing more!'

'Dad, I'm seventeen!' she cried. They all jumped when they heard her younger sister whisper through the door, 'I saw you kissing Milo in his car!'

'LUNA!' Lily yelled, whipping around. Luna smirked, the Walker smirk, and strolled into the bedroom. She flopped down on the bed and watched Camille spray her perfume onto Lily's wrists.

'Are you going to be k-i-s-s-i-n-g?' Luna teased. Lily shot her a stare that could kill. Aunt Olivia had taught her well. Luna stuck out her tongue and proceeded to examine her fingernails which were painted navy with tiny silver stars.

****************************************************************************************

Luna and Lily were like night and day. While Lily was smiley, flirty and girly, Luna was the opposite. She had inherited more than the smirk from her father. Sure, she looked exactly like Camille - both daughters did - but she had her Drake's black humour and she didn't get along with the noble kids at court. Not that she cared.

Both girls attended a 'normal' high school which meant court events were rare. But when they did have to venture to the palace, Luna looked at her counterparts with contempt. She knew the hell the nobles had put her father through and she didn't appreciate it one bit.

She did love her parents noble friends like Uncle Maxwell et al, but she didn't like the noble teenagers. They were stuck up and found it weird that Lily and Luna went to a regular school - not privately tutored like they all were. Plus, they were American.

Lily had always let their judgement go over her head. She was the daughter of Drake Walker and Camille Montespan; she didn’t need anyone’s approval but her parents. Fuck the rest of them.

Luna couldn't do that - she had been caught trying to beat up Timothy Domvalier after he called her a particularly cruel word and she would have managed to do real damage if Lily hadn't dragged her away - though her older sister did threaten to cut his testicles off where he stood if he made fun of Luna again.

That was the thing. The two sisters may have been different but they were still a team.

Drake sat down beside Luna who snuggled up beside him. 'Your heart is beating really quick,' she said. 'Mom, I think Dad's gonna have a heart attack because Lily is kissing boys!'

Drake pulled her into him, covering her mouth. 'Lies! All lies!'

Lily blushed and turned to show off her dress. 'How do I look?'

Camille backed away slowly with her hands up to her mouth. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. 'You look gorgeous! Oh god, must take a picture for the album!'

'Mom, everyone puts photos online now,' Luna said. 'Taking actual photos is so.. Old.'

Drake let out a laugh. 'Here that Camille? You're old!'

'I'm only forty four!' Camille protested. Lily and Luna exchanged a look.

'Old,' they both chorused, laughing at their teamwork.  Camille pretended to be outraged. 'Well, your dad's older than me so..'

'Ha!' Drake scoffed. 'Only by a year!'

Camille pointed at him with her eyebrows raised. 'Big difference.'

Drake and Camille shared a long heated look that only they knew the secret code for.

You're so hot right now.

Wait until later when we're alone.

Camille had planned a date night so that Drake would be distracted. She didn't want him sat on the front steps of their Manor, rifle on his lap, as he stewed on hypothetical situations like Milo kissing Lily or God forbid, offering her some spiked punch.

Not that Milo would do that. He was a sensible kid.

Uncle Leo and Aunt Olivia were coming over to watch Luna. She was thirteen so she didn't need babysat, not really, but Drake and Camille felt happier knowing that she wasn't alone. Olivia and Leo had babysat the two girls in the past which had been.. eventful. But both girls adored them.

The doorbell rang. Lily let out a nervous squeal. 'Oh god, oh god..'

Camille squeezed her hand and guided her out of the room. Drake followed with Luna. His heart was beating very very fast.

'Dad, do you need a whiskey?' Lily joked as she carefully walked down the stairs.

'Don't push it kid,' Drake growled.

Luna giggled. 'Can I have one?'

Drake stared at her in horror until he saw her give him a smirk.

'Why am I surrounded by girls who like to gang up on me?’ he groaned. He still had a smile on his face though; his girls were his life. When they reached the front door, Lily didn’t want to open it due to her nerves. Luna took her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. Underneath it all, she did care about her sister and wanted her to have fun. Camille adjusted Lily’s hair as Drake opened the door.

Milo had co-ordinated his suit to match Lily’s dress which had been her idea. Purple with silver sparkles, he was bound to get bullied as soon as he stepped into the prom venue. But he didn’t care. He would do anything for Lily. 

He was tall and broad, having developed into his body quite late. At six foot two, he towered over Lily but she didn’t see this new grown man in front of her; she just saw Milo. Her friend. The boy she should have been with all along. The boy who was right in front of her.  The boy who had waited patiently. 

Milo looked terrified when he was confronted with Drake. ‘S-Sir Walker..’ he mumbled, bowing his head. He offered a small bottle of whiskey as a peace offering. Drake took the bottle, holding in laughter, and they all watched as Milo then brandished a bouquet of peonies to give to Camille. ‘For you, Duchess!’

Camille smiled and took them. ‘Milo, you know us. You can call us Drake and Camille like you usually do. These flowers are beautiful, how did you know?’

Milo blushed and Luna smirked, shaking her head at the awkwardness. Lily smiled and stepped forward to give him a hug. His eyes widened when he saw her.

‘Woah.. you look.. woah.’

‘How romantic!’ Luna gasped, pretending to swoon, collapsing against the stairs. ‘If only Shakespeare was here to write a sonnet!’ 

Lily looked over her shoulder at her sister with her brown eyes narrowed. ‘Can it, sis.’ 

Luna rolled her eyes and watched as Milo took out a little box. Camille nudged Drake and Luna, pulling them down the corridor to give Lily some privacy with her boyfriend. 

Milo swallowed as he opened the box. Lily let out a breath and looked up at him with her eyes shining. ‘This is beautiful!’ 

It was a corsage with white and red flowers. Milo grinned and gently placed it around her wrist. Lily admired it then frowned when she examined the box. ‘What’s this..?’

She reached into the box and took out a leaf.

‘Oh my God, you got me a leaf!’ she shrieked, jumping up and down. ‘Milo!’

Milo laughed and for that moment, he saw the four year old Lily with the wide smile and dancing eyes. 

‘Oh god, I didn’t get you a leaf..’ she whispered. ‘Oh no. Oh no.’

��Lil, it’s okay,’ he chuckled. Lily shook her head. ‘No, this won’t do.’

Quickly, she strode out the front door. Milo followed and he watched as she took off her heels so she could walk barefoot around the grass, looking around her. 

‘Lily, what are you doing?’

‘I’m finding you a leaf!’ she called. ‘I’m gonna find you the prettiest one!’ 

‘It was meant to be a joke-’

‘Shhhh, I’m searching!’ she scolded. Milo smiled and sat down on the steps, waiting for her to find a leaf. He jumped when he heard footsteps behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw it was Drake. 

Milo stood up quickly but Drake gestured for him to remain seated. ‘Relax, man,’ he said. Milo nodded and sat down awkwardly. Drake sat down beside him.

He had the bottle of whiskey in his hand and two crystal cut glasses. Carefully, he poured a measure into both glasses and handed Milo a glass. 

‘Uhh.. I’m not eighteen yet,’ Milo said. Drake rolled his eyes. ‘Milo, you go out with my daughter who I know has sneaked whiskey before. You know she helped herself to one of my most expensive bottles?’

Milo chuckled. ‘Sounds like Lily.’

‘Exactly,’ Drake said. ‘So, please, take the glass and have a drink with me.’

They sat together for a moment, watching Lily as she went further away from the manor to go to an oak tree. 

‘How is she seventeen already?’ Drake murmured. 

Milo smiled, not sure if he was meant to answer. Drake looked at him with a wry smile on his face. ‘I’m sorry I’m that dad who interrogates and makes boyfriends uneasy,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean it. It’s just... she’s my daughter. I’ll do the same to Luna when she gets a boyfriend or girlfriend. I know it’s annoying but I can’t help it. I just want her to be happy, you know?’ 

‘You are a bit scary..’ Milo whispered. 

Drake let out a deep laugh. ‘Oh good, I’m glad! Ha, fantastic. You know I’m actually really nice, right?’

Milo nodded. ‘I know, Drake. You come from a good place.’ 

‘I can see her becoming independent and becoming a woman and I’ll be honest, it scares me,’ Drake confided. ‘I sometimes miss the times when she was my little girl. She was obsessed with me. I was her hero. But now, she’s forging her own path, she’s dating guys, she’s graduating soon.. soon, I’ll just be a side character in the story of her life. And I’m okay with that, I am. I want her to grow up, I want her to make mistakes and I want her to have the best time while doing it.’

Milo bit his lip and sipped his whiskey. Fuck, this was strong stuff. Jesus. 

‘If it helps, I think you’re always going to be her favourite guy,’ Milo told him. ‘She honestly still looks at you like you’re Captain America or something. Sure, you can annoy her by being overprotective but when she thinks about it, she says she knows why you do it. She would rather have that than a dad who doesn’t care. With you, she knows you love her above everything. So I promise, you won’t be a side character.’

Drake was quiet for a minute, contemplating. ‘I think it’s time for me to let go a little. She is going travelling in the summer, maybe that will be a fresh start.’

Milo nodded. Lily was going to travel to Europe with him and a few of their friends before they started university. It was a freedom granted to her that many children of Dukes and Duchesses weren’t allowed to have. 

Drake clapped Milo on the back. ‘Good talk,’ he said. ‘Curfew is 1am.’

Milo frowned. ‘I thought it was 11pm?’

‘Ha!’ Drake let out a dry laugh. ‘What kind of night out is that?’

Milo grinned, surprised at the sudden change of rules. 

‘I have a leaf!’ Lily shouted, waving a leaf in the air. She ran towards Milo and Drake with a happy smile on her face and curtseyed to Milo, before handing him the leaf. ‘It’s the best leaf in the garden,’ she told him seriously. 

Milo held it to his heart. ‘I will guard it with my life.’ 

Drake smiled and took the whiskey bottle and his glass. He left his daughter on the front steps of the manor with her boyfriend, who was looking at her like she was a work of art. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

January 3: SNOW

Absolutely wild weather day today. I know hindsight is 20/20, but I wish the college had either closed entirely or announced in the morning they’d close at noon or something. Because like it’s not like we didn’t see this storm coming!! I know forecasts can change and a lot of time around here the predictions about precip get pushed forward but it has to hit at some point--plus this is a winter storm affecting the WHOLE MID-ATLANTIC REGION? You can see it on the radar? Blanketing everything?

Anyway, the weather wasn’t that bad for that long but we haven’t seen real snow in over a year, last winter being so fucking mild, that when it started coming down and actually sticking to the ground at all everyone freaked the fuck out. We just didn’t know. The reality already seemed worse than the worst of the forecast, and some nearby cities looked like they were in the middle of blizzards. Also, we were accidentally skeleton-staffed today and so if one person has weather-related childcare issues, well, the library has to close--I’m not even kidding.

So the library initially made the decision to close at 2. Then at 1 it started looking pretty bad and we didn’t know what would happen next, and some people live kinda far away, so we decided to just close up all of a sudden. Like I was in TS and we were talking about this hypothetically, and then two people went to consult with another person, and then a few minutes later, I followed to figure out my ride situation (two different people offered me rides but the second offer came from someone going in my direction), and everyone was putting on their coats and saying “yeah go whenever!!” That fast.

So I just left lol. And then the college closed at 4. But the snow basically stopped before 5 and it’s not really accumulating THAT much. I mean it’s a lot for here but it’s not really on the roads. I honestly wonder if it might have been smarter, if we weren’t going to leave at noon and beat it entirely, to close at 5 as usual and then go home AFTER. Because the visibility was probably at its WORST when everyone was leaving. And the few minutes I was outside to get to my co-worker’s car were miserable. Couldn’t feel my hands. Didn’t know where to step because the slush was slippery. Glasses fogged up; couldn’t see.

Of course there is the question of ice. We do have that in the overnight forecast, and the school is closed through 10am tomorrow, probably to allow some of it to melt. (No complaints there--and I do think it’s safer.)

I am glad I came in today, though. I have a huge backlog of work--and I didn’t make as much of a dent as I wanted to because, in addition to leaving early, there was a lot of disaster going on around me. When I got in before 8, there was no one around--except a former co-worker who started again today as a temporary extra hand, who was waiting by the entrance. Later, I found another person, and then another showed up. I wasn’t surprised that there was no reference (I figured they might be remote working because of the weather but even if not, they usually don’t get in that early), but no TS? No circ? We opened at 8, totally dark at 8:30. I kept looking at my email and Teams, like, did I miss anything?? My supervisor’s door was open and her office was lit but she was nowhere! I was starting to feel gaslit tbh.

As it turned out, one of our two full time circ people is out with dental issues, and the other had a tree branch fall on his car. And his wife is out of town so he had no other car. So my supervisor left work to go get him, and they showed up at like 8:30? 8:40? And my other TS coworker had a pet emergency and didn’t come in. All totally random and unrelated things but like when your department only has 2-3 people who come in anything like full time... emergencies add up. I wasn’t even supposed to be here in person today but I showed up because I knew I’d need to be in person to deal with my stuff (a good call even on that level) so I was available to let in the old/new coworker and just... be an employee? We had so few of those?

I don’t know. What a shitshow. I used my extra free time to read some fic and otherwise, uh, laze around lol. Getting the new year off to a good start. I feel like I can’t do anything until I have some good lists because my brain’s too scattered. I just look around my 2 room apartment and I’m thinking about 102949432803 things at once.

Tomorrow’s another short day but I’m getting home at the usual time so we’ll see how that feels.

[segadores-y-soldados]

Devil in the Details

So after Michael Chu confirmed that the details on the tv in the background of the Pharah panel in Reflections were not only deliberate but also meant to hint about her location and her father’s nationality -

This tinyass image -

On a page with this much other stuff -

It made me curious about any other potential details I previously overlooked or wrote off as “just a funny coincidence” and rather surprisingly, I might have kinda found something??

I mean, there’s a shitton here but what I originally wrote off as being “just another background piece” is the map -

...These are not Watchpoints.

These are the Watchpoints that still exist at the time of Recall - you can find this map on Watchpoint: Gibraltar (I did not write these locations, but this is the clearest, head-on image I could find.)

The image from the Uprising comic 

Are active missions or points of interest.

Locations that I can determine are:

Tokyo, Japan

Cairo, Egypt (based on the other screen discussing the “Cairo Incident”)

Numbani, Nigeria

(City unknown), Switzerland (?)

Paris, France

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Dorado, Mexico

Seattle, United States

More under the cut

I wanna go through these one by one.

First up:

Tokyo, Japan

This one is pretty straight-forward.

Uprising shows us that Genji has just recently joined Overwatch/Blackwatch and is currently in training and evaluation for his new cyborg body.  Genji’s hero profile states:

“[Overwatch] saw Genji as a potential asset in its ongoing operations to combat the Shimada clan. As Genji's injuries left him clinging to life, Overwatch offered to rebuild his body in exchange for his help. He was put through an extensive process of cyberization, which enhanced his natural speed and agility and augmented his superlative ninja skills. Transformed into a living weapon, Genji single-mindedly set about the task of dismantling his family's criminal empire.”

So we know that the Tokyo mission is very likely the on-going targeted mission against the Shimada clan, since Hanamura is meant to be based in the Tokyo area.

Cairo, Egypt + Paris, France (?)

I’ve seen hypotheses that the “Overwatch official murdered - Director Petras orders full investigation into Cairo incident” is about Gérard Lacroix’s death (also supported by the pretty obvious images of Widowmaker’s cameras in the little screen).  It’s not a bad hypothesis, but there are minor details that counter this:

“After several unsuccessful attempts to eliminate Gérard, Talon decided to change its focus to his wife, Amélie. Talon operatives kidnapped her and subjected her to an intense program of neural reconditioning. They broke her will, suppressed her personality, and reprogrammed her as a sleeper agent. She was eventually found by Overwatch agents, apparently none the worse for wear, and returned to her normal life. Two weeks later she killed Gérard in his sleep.”

This leads me to believe that the Paris, France mission is actually the one about Amélie and Gérard.

Especially given that Amélie appeared to have lived and worked there.

Interestingly, a different character references “Egypt” in the very same Uprising comic:

So there’s the possibility that the Cairo Mission is an event we haven’t seen yet.

Numbani, Nigeria 

So

We know this one now.

We know that Numbani faced consistent raids and assaults from both the Scourge Doomfist, and his “Successor,” Akande Ogundimu.  It appears that at the time of Uprising, Overwatch was already planning a mission to try and arrest Akande.

And this leads me into my next few points.

The reason I picked out Paris, Numbani, Rio de Janeiro, Dorado, and Seattle of all places is because the Soldier: 76 origins video actually has this map in it.  This video is over two years old, and was released just under a year before the actual game came out.  When I first saw the video, I went, “Well, Paris makes some sense because of Widowmaker’s story, Numbani and Dorado are maps in the game and have active places in the lore, and Rio de Janeiro is Lúcio’s home city.  But what the hell is up with Seattle?”

Seattle, United States

Jumping ahead a bit, as far as I can tell, Seattle is only listed as a place of interest twice in Overwatch canon material - once, in the Soldier: 76 video, and then nearly two, real world years later in the Uprising map.  There’s no Watchpoint there, no major hero is from there, and there’s seemingly nothing in the rest of the series to connect back to it.

A tantalizing hypothesis, however, comes with Michael Chu’s confirmation earlier this week:

Originally, fans were confused as to why Fareeha Amari, a woman with Egyptian origins, whose design clearly draws inspiration from the god Horus, had the Thunderbird and Raindancer skins, which appeared to be inspired by the Thunderbird iconography from the Native American/Canadian First Nations tribes of the Pacific Northwest.

While Seattle is definitely off from the fact that Reflections has a Canadian flag in the background of Fareeha’s dinner with her biological father, it is dead-on in the middle of the Pacific Northwest, and may be “close” to wherever Fareeha’s father is from, especially if he does have tribal affiliations.  This is not to say that he or Fareeha are Americans, but rather that the Pacific Northwest may be an area of “lore activity” that we haven’t seen explored yet, and may explain how and why an Egyptian sniper encountered “a public servant” and had a child with him in the years before the Crisis.

Dorado, Mexico

Unlike Seattle, this one also feel pretty straight-forward and obvious.  Dorado is a playable map in the game itself, and features a ton of lore, notably surrounding Sombra, the power company LumériCo, the company president and old war hero Portero, and the gang Los Muertos.  

And of course, it features into the lore of a certain old soldier.

References to both Sombra and Soldier: 76 can be found scattered across the two in-game maps, both Dorado and Castillo.  Also included on the maps are references to McCree and the Junkers, who pulled off a bank heist there roughly at the same time Sombra had her LumériCo email leaks.  McCree, meanwhile, had a, uh - “much needed” drink at the Calaveras bar at the time of Reflections, shortly after the email leaks and bank heist.

Interestingly, what the Uprising map seems to imply is that well before any of the “current” events happened in Dorado, Overwatch was already doing some sort of investigation into the city - but whether that was for LumériCo, Portero, or Los Muertos, we don’t know.  

However, it is telling that the only character who seems suspicious of LumériCo besides Sombra is Soldier: 76 - Jack Morrison himself.

“I wanna know what LumériCo is up to.”

Besides Sombra, Soldier: 76 is the only character to indicate that he’s actively investigating LumériCo, and based on the files found in the Dorado Defenders’ final spawn room

It appears that LumériCo is investigating him too.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

This one appears to be fairly straight-forward, but like Dorado, it’s the implications of what the Uprising map is hinting at that is the newest part to this story.

If you’re not aware, Rio de Janeiro is where Lúcio is from - he was born, raised, and lived in an unicorporated community (called a “favela”).  According to his background, Lúcio’s community in particular “was hit hard by the financial upheaval following the Omnic Crisis.”  Still, his community banded together and worked to rebuild their stability until, extremely recently - 

As in, after the Fall of Overwatch - 

Vishkar moved in.

In Symmetra’s comic, we learn that Vishkar attempts to get “dirt” on a rival, Brazilian company (Calado), but when their “infiltration agent” Satya fails to find anything “bad” about the CEO, Vishkar blows up the building.

Hypothetically, Overwatch “never knew about this,” because it occurs sometime in the five years since Overwatch disbanded.

But both the Uprising map and the Soldier: 76 map seem to imply that Overwatch was aware of something that was going on in Rio de Janeiro.

We know that Satya’s boss, Sanjay Korpal, was the one who gave the order to blow up Calado, and we also see him at the very end of the comic expressing a cold, orderly worldview about the nature of people in “what fits their station.”  It’s particularly horrifying when looking back at Lúcio’s profile, because once Vishkar moved in:

“Vishkar imposed controls on the residents in the name of building a more orderly society: enforcing curfews, cracking down on what the company perceived as lawless behavior, and exploiting the populace as a cheap labor force.”

There is an incredibly dark, awful undercurrent going on with Vishkar, with the implication of exploitative labor both in Rio de Janeiro and in Utopaea.  It isn’t surprising that even before the present, on-going events in Rio de Janeiro occurred, Overwatch may have been investigating the company the same way they might have been looking into LumériCo.

But, in light of Masquerade - 

In which we see someone who appears to be Sanjay Korpal in the Talon Council

(And yes, the lighting is harsh, but he appears to be wearing the same exact purple-and-white Utopaea uniform from the Symmetra comic)

An incredibly interesting, ridiculously tempting hypothesis is beginning to take shape.

Which brings me to the most interesting mission of all:

Switzerland

As a reminder, here’s the close-up map of the active missions/points of interest from Uprising again:

True, it’s such a small dot that it could be in France, it could be in Italy, but given the slightly awkward placement between the two, and the fact that it’s not clearly situated in one or the other

I’m gonna guess that it’s probably Switzerland.

Where exactly in Switzerland, I’m not sure.  Personally, I’ve always been of the mindset that the Overwatch “Swiss Base” is somewhere near Geneva, which is where the UN has a major headquarters, but Blizzard will pick or choose whatever it wants really.  What matters is that the dot for the mission appears to be somewhere in this region.

Now - this could mean a lot of things: Overwatch could be investigating a different point of interest in the region, they could be keeping an eye on the United Nations in Geneva, they could be keeping track of their own agents, etc, etc.

But let’s just cut to the most fascinating one, because that’s what we’re all here for:

As the UN investigation proceeded, Overwatch's Swiss headquarters was destroyed in an apparent accident. Among the casualties were Morrison and Reyes. The UN has steadfastly maintained that there was no foul play behind this event. However, an anonymous source has given me access to classified UN debriefings and other data that paint a different picture of Overwatch's final days.

These records indicate that a rebellion tore the group apart from within. On one side was Morrison, determined to hold together what remained of Overwatch. On the other side was Reyes, whose agenda remains unknown to this day. A battle raged between these men deep within Overwatch's base. At some point, their fighting triggered an explosion that destroyed the facility and sent the dreams of an entire generation up in flames.

Anyone who follows me knows that I don’t really believe Gabriel Reyes - now Reaper - did this, nor that I think Jack Morrison - now Soldier: 76 - did this.  All the other evidence points to another group, likely Talon, infiltrating Overwatch and destroying the base, possibly with the intention to frame and/or hurt both Commander Morrison and Commander Reyes.

“It was a conspiracy - Overwatch got hit from inside and out.” - Soldier: 76 Origin video

But as Overwatch's influence waned, rogue elements within Blackwatch sought to bring down the organization and turn it to their own ends. Wanting no part of the infighting, McCree set off alone and went underground. - McCree’s hero profile

It is believed that in her former life, Widowmaker was married to Gérard Lacroix, an Overwatch agent spearheading operations against the Talon terrorist organization. After several unsuccessful attempts to eliminate Gérard, Talon decided to change its focus to his wife, Amélie. Talon operatives kidnapped her and subjected her to an intense program of neural reconditioning. - Widowmaker’s hero profile

Though to the outside world his motives are inscrutable, there are those who claim that he is a former Overwatch agent, determined to shed light on the conspiracy that brought down the organization. [...]  Unrelenting in his search to find those responsible for Overwatch's fall, Soldier: 76 will stop at nothing to bring them to justice. - Soldier: 76′s hero profile

What the Uprising map appears to imply is that Overwatch was not only aware of the conspiracy within their ranks - 

But was actively investigating it.

In theory, this could have been extremely difficult, because both Overwatch and its covert ops/intelligence division Blackwatch were getting hit with penalties and suspensions left and right, even at the time of Uprising.  The Uprising comic shows that the UN was already in the process of “trying to investigate” the peacekeeping agency, but it also shows us that - despite the efforts of people “both inside and out” to keep the organization down, it continued to function.  It was still training new agents -

Conducting arrests

Potentially investigating corruption and human rights abuses

And with Masquerade now giving us a potentially new angle to see Reaper/Gabriel Reyes’ actions:

http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/163200042035/death-becomes-you

We may be looking at a very tiny, very small detail that points to the fact that Overwatch was potentially aware of its very own impending downfall - 

And was actively trying to stop the conspiracy creating it...

Or perhaps...

Infiltrate it.

I’ve been saying for awhile that Reaper’s actions with regards to certain missions are highly suspicious and - to be perfectly honest - pretty damn embarrassing for a man who has done covert operations for like, 30 years.

Unless, of course

That’s exactly what Reaper wants Talon to think.

We are told Reaper “is hunting former Overwatch agents and systematically eliminating them,” but as a reminder - Reaper has failed to kill or even seriously injure any ex-Overwatch agent in any of his canon material appearances.  Soldier: 76, Ana Amari, Winston, and Tracer are all still alive and, honestly, perfectly healthy at the end of their different encounters - hell, Reaper almost goes out of his way to actively piss Winston off (twice) and “throw” the missions.  He claims to have killed Overwatch agents in Masquerade, but as a general reminder, never believe in those “off-screen deaths,” kids.

It’s an easy plot device to bring “old soldiers” back from the dead.

And remember

Blizzard is actively trying to mislead you about certain characters:

“One of the things that we really like doing with Overwatch is playing with perspective.  We utilize perspective when we tell stories about what characters are thinking, what their goals are - and we have a lot of unreliable narrators.” - Michael Chu, GDC 2017

Blizzard loves putting references into the game and comics:

“I tend to like hiding some pretty obscure references in the game, and I get equal parts enjoyment when people don’t discover them as when they do,” [Chu] said.

Like these: http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/157378862270/reaper-and-soldier-american-cultural-references

If you pay close attention to the ridiculous and almost overwhelming amount of references within the game, it’s not at all surprising that some of that finally flipped over into canon source material.

Reaper and Soldier: 76 in particular are littered with pop culture and literary references - everything from Commando, to Michael Jackson, to, yes, Edgar Allen Poe.  “Red Death” Reaper is not just his second Poe reference, but his third American literature reference (the Headless Horseman being the second).

I know some people think that these kinds of essays are “reading too deep” into the references, but now that Michael Chu has outright confirmed that stuff as small as this

Can be important to a character’s background

You can bet I’m taking this moment to indulge in some bigger ideas.

Because remember, y’all:

“No one left behind.” - Reaper

The devil

“You’re the boss.” - Soldier: 76

Is in

Soldier: 76: Well. You sure take to this bad guy thing easily, don't ya? Reaper: And you sure know how to play boy scout.

The details.

[janeaustentextposts]

Edward Ferrars seems weak to me. He impulsively proposes to someone he barely knows (Lucy) because he's feeling lost, he shows clear interest in Elinor despite being engaged to someone else, he kind of leads Elinor on and then withdraws without telling her why, and he jst generally seems to let his mother and sister railroad him despite knowing they're awful. I feel like Elinor would ultimately do better with a stronger, more independent man whom she could fully respect.

None of Austen’s heroes are perfect, to be frank, and I wouldn’t wish them to be, but this is a very strong scrutiny of Edward’s flaws without much balance given by considering his circumstances, or even the part Elinor played in everything, or her own flaws and circumstances as well. Edward’s not an evil actor in all he does, and Elinor is not a put-upon paragon. (Also where is this Better Man Elinor’s gonna find and love? She has no social life. She is not a girl for the London style of courtship. Why sacrifice the Edward we actually see and know to some abstract dude who never turns up and is unlikely to? Elinor and Edwards’ hearts are already lost by chapter five. The rest of the book is them trying to deal with that.)Edward proposes to Lucy when he’s nineteen–and there are very few people who could make a sensible proposal of marriage at nineteen. For his era and his position, Edward couldn’t honourably continue his flirtation with Lucy without any intention of doing right by her and making her an offer, and so he does–because he knows that’s what a just and honourable man would do. He’s foolish and doesn’t know what real regard is, but imagines he does for long enough to get himself bound to a promise to Lucy. This happens throughout Austen–perhaps the most famous fall-out of such a situation being Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet’s marriage. I don’t know that Edward would end up displaying such obvious contempt for Lucy, and Lucy herself is much cleverer than Mrs. Bennet. The pain of a hasty match would certainly take its toll on any couple, but it’s also not exactly the end of the world. In a society which insists upon marriage as a provision for genteel women and a strict form of honourable courtship, there isn’t much room for a young man like Edward to behave in any way other than what he does. He’s not a rake. He’s not got his father taking him up to London and letting him run riot among sex-workers to blow off some steam and realize that superficial flirtations are just that. He’s isolated and lonesome and has no guidance on true wisdom, and every encouragement from those he considers his closest friends at Mr. Pratt’s to pursue Lucy.For your second point–does he show a clear interest in Elinor? These are young people to whom the lines between friendly accord and courtship get very blurred, indeed. Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood presume there is something deeper going on, and even Elinor may privately hope that perhaps there is, but Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood are noted as being intensely romantic-minded and eager to see what they wish to see. Elinor protests to her own family that she has no definite proof of her own admiration for Edward being mutual. When Marianne brings it up, Elinor is deeply uncomfortable and tries to deny it all, because she sees the very danger she wishes to avoid–and which Marianne, later, does not–in believing in a deeper attachment to exist without any solid proof. Elinor feels her own perceptions may be coloured by wishful thinking, and this is apparently not an entirely unreasonable presumption. Edward has been living at Norland with the family in a very intimate fashion, as Fanny’s brother, and beyond his shyness, he is a good person. Friends are rather thin on the ground at Norland, so if there is natural accord between Elinor and Edward, Elinor especially may be drawn to him. Does it follow that Edward is displaying a clear romantic interest and intention to Elinor? With his shy nature and his own knowledge of his being honour-bound to Lucy, I really doubt that he gives any overt sign to Elinor that he is harbouring any deeper feelings for her, unless it is entirely subconscious and against his will, which would then have to be signs so subtle that it’s entirely right that Elinor cannot hold them up as proof of his intentions, if indeed he has any intentions at all. (Which we know he cannot, due to Lucy’s existence.)

So, no, Edward does not show clear signs of interest–unless simply getting along well with somebody is a sign of clear interest (which Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood definitely think it is, but look where that gets Marianne,)–and he does not lead Elinor on, unless Elinor picks up on some vague sense of feeling and runs with it as a certainty, (which, c’mon, this is Elinor, she would very much resist doing that.) Elinor amends her own words in explaining to Marianne her feelings for Edward, that it is not even a suspicion but a hope of his returning her affection. She begins to say she suspects but must immediately retract and clarify that to acknowledge that she only hopes. Even Elinor acknowledges that she has no real reason to firmly believe that Edward cares for her enough to warrant any expectation. In her heart, she harbours a few doubts, but generally will allow that she believes he likes her–which is not unreasonable–but must acknowledge that there are many difficulties in their way which would make a proposal more and more unlikely…and she does not even know about Lucy! Even without Lucy, Elinor has more than enough considerations to keep her from truly believing that Edward owes her a proposal. Elinor even often observes in him a kind of depression, which we later find out is likely due to his feeling the increasing contrast between what he feels for Elinor and what he owes to Lucy. Edward is by no means playing the scoundrel with Elinor, and has this tendency to withdraw into himself in a morose way and put up these walls in his unhappiness as he considers his future. This only gets worse as they spend more time together, after forming their easy and natural bond: “…the longer they were together, the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more than friendship.”

It’s at this point that Fanny sees or hears enough to interfere, though as Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood are already treating Elinor and Edward as if an engagement must exist, it’s impossible to say if Fanny picks up on that or on some subtle element of her brother’s own behaviour, or a combination of it all.

Elinor attempts to guess at the cause of Edward’s melancholy, and presumes it is to do with his difficult family situation with his mother, which is still keeping him in this kind of limbo with his hands tied, idle and unable to do anything he really wants to do, even for an active career, much less for his choice of a wife. This is a delicate and painful enough situation that she knows better than to inquire, and, honestly, knows she has no right to know the particulars. It would be extremely weird and awkward for Edward to even broach the subject with her, and he knows that would possibly lead to conjecturing about how all his family issues are bound up in his hypothetical marriage, as well. And he cannot tell her about Lucy. I know in the 1995 adaptation he seems to begin to explain, but this never happens in the book, and never ought to happen at all–Edward has a duty to protect Lucy’s reputation, and even telling Elinor would be a pointless betrayal of his honour. As Elinor herself fights the notion of harbouring any expectations, and represses her own feelings, Edward believes he can simply safely say nothing about any of it, to anyone. To confess to Elinor about Lucy would be to openly admit that he does feel something deeper for her, and only be giving Elinor greater pain in confirming their mutual regard at the same time as acknowledging that they can never be together. We see no direct interaction between Edward and Elinor on the page in those early days–it is all second-hand recollections as they are narrated or discussed between the Dashwood women.

Edward is in a kind of stasis as regards his mother and sister, with his inheritance and career and marriage–basically all the pillars of his future life–in a very uncertain position. He knows he has made at least one promise to Lucy, however, and he knows enough of his own mind to know that he does not wish for a life of public glory and distinction in the world of fashion, as Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny would like. So do they railroad him into doing what they want? They want him to be someone grand in society, and to marry Miss Morton, a lord’s daughter with 30 000 pounds. He…does not. He treads delicately and doesn’t seem to do much of anything for a few years, likely not wanting to upset the family balance, or wishing to find a way to be happy in his own way within the mess of the Ferrars’ family dynamics and his tyrant of a mother and insipid siblings. (Family dynamics are complex and we probably all have awful relatives we maintain some degree of contact with because family. And people raised with awful parents and siblings know that these relationships are rarely cut-and-dry, and it can take many years and a lot of strength to even begin to question the toxicity you’re raised to view as ‘normal’.) Yet in his quiet idleness, Edward is still resisting. He is not shoved into a career he despises, he does not take Miss Morton and her fortune. He keeps the peace as he’s probably trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do with his life without burning bridges unnecessarily, and along the way he meets Elinor and oops he falls in love.

Ultimately, of course, his engagement to Lucy is exposed, but when the shit hits the fan and he’s served ultimatums which now will decide the course of his future life, he is given the opportunity to maintain a ‘good’ relationship with his own family by at least agreeing to marry Miss Morton and be ‘forgiven’, but Edward at this point digs deep and doubles down and knows that it’s now or never. He upholds the honour of his promise to Lucy and resigns himself to a precarious and poor position as he scrambles to find a way to make even the barest living to support a wife and family, giving up all else for the sake of a woman he now knows he can neither love nor respect. Until he hears of Lucy’s dealings with Robert, he does truly believe she is simply an ignorant girl who truly loves him, and that for him to break off his engagement to her would be a cruelty she does not deserve. He is willing to burn down every certainty of material and emotional comfort in this world to stand by who he is and the choices he made for himself, so I don’t really see him, at any point, being truly pushed around by his mother and sister. When the chips are down, he knows what he has to do in order to at least be able to look himself in the eye as an honourable man.

Edward finds his strength and his independence, and in the end, when Elinor knows everything and knows exactly how terrible Lucy is, she sees what he’s done, and she respects the heck out of him for it, even as she knows he will be unhappy, and is sorry for him. She’s long known of the secret engagement, so she’s been doing her best to pack away her own feelings, but for Edward’s sake she can at least see the virtue in his final freedom from his family’s interference, and the self-respect he will have in pursuing the life he wants, even if it is not with the woman he wants. Edward is not flashy, he is not overtly romantic, but his honourable intentions cannot be doubted, and the strength he requires to go against his family when there is no possible benefit to himself apart from Knowing He Did the Morally Right Thing gives him a deep and abiding dignity which cannot be denied.Elinor is not her sister–she does not dare display her feelings for Edward at any point. Though she later does reproach Edward for remaining at Norland and apparently giving rise to expectations from their families, as well as her own hopes, he can point out that he had no idea he was putting Elinor in any real danger of falling in love with him. Whatever Elinor’s own mother and sister might have fancied they saw, Edward either did not know the nuances of Elinor’s character intimately enough to recognize her feeling, or else Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood may have exaggerated what they perceived because they wished it to be so. Edward admits that he fell in love too gradually to suppose there was any risk to himself or Elinor, and, after realizing his own feelings, still did not believe he could rely on Elinor’s returning them–and at that point he could have no desire for it, knowing he was bound to Lucy. Even Mrs. Dashwood is ultimately rather surprised to find out how much Elinor felt for Edward, having long since convinced herself that she must have been mistaken at first in believing Elinor to have cared for Edward very deeply: “[Mrs. Dashwood] found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in reality than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this   persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive–nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor:–that Marianne’s affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.”

While I’d hesitate to say any or all of the misery is one or the other’s fault in all of this, as we see Elinor and Marianne react to similar situations in very different ways, and both suffer mightily for it; I wouldn’t be quick to condemn Edward, who in actuality appears so little in the main portions of the narrative. We never even really hear his own true thoughts and feelings until the very end, when he is open with Elinor about all that has passed. His behaviour towards Elinor is viewed through the lens of the Dashwood women; and his behaviour to Lucy is then viewed through the lens of Elinor’s knowledge of the secret engagement, and later through all the gossip of Mrs. Jennings and her circle. (Naturally we find it difficult to believe it when Lucy speaks of Edward’s glowing protestations of deepest love after their engagement is revealed, knowing word of it will all eventually get back to Elinor. He likely does his best to re-assure her that he will stand by her and that he appreciates her constancy and affection even after he has been cut off with no prospects, but doubtless this is not in such profuse and animated terms of violent passion as Lucy would like everyone to think.)

Elinor does fully respect a strong and independent Edward–and it is even she who must encourage him to reconcile with his mother, where Edward for a time remains too proud and angry at Mrs. Ferrars to even consider reaching out to her for any kind of forgiveness, even if it could result in some material advantage which would enable him and Elinor to marry sooner rather than later. In the end they are both able to see where their own behaviour unwittingly led them into painful circumstances; but as they are now together and happy, reproach for what each did without being aware of the effects upon others is rather pointless.

[httplovecraft1890]

Yandere-chan’s Bizarre Adventure (JoJo’s x Yan Sim Crossover Concept)

I’ve got quite a few fic ideas on my plate already but this was floating around my mind the other day. Background

It would begin just after Kira’s initial defeat at the hands of Koichi and Jotaro. However, when Kira makes his escape to Aya Tsuji’s Cinderella beauty salon, rather than finding Kosaku Kawajiri there, his victim is instead Ayano’s dad. The premise being that he and Ryoba had gone vacationing in Morioh (to visit a relative?) for their then honeymoon and he had heard rumors about a woman who could seemingly change one’s face, hoping to escape Ryoba permanently or at least for a little while. Kira escapes just the same from the Joestar gang but now has a new problem on his hands: his current identity is leaving with Ryoba the following day back to Buraza. Quickly discovering Ryoba’s disposition towards being disobeyed, and not wanting to make a scene to potentially attract undue attention, Kira is forced to admit defeat and follow a very pregnant Ryoba home. Yoshikage Kira’s desire for a ‘quiet life’ has been shattered. Seething with the humiliation of being beaten horribly by Star Platinum and Reverb along with being forced to leave his ancestral home Kira tries to blend in in Buraza with Ryoba but finds it impossible to satiate his urges with her constant eye on his behavior. But before he can use Killer Queen’s ability to blow her away it seems that they’ve returned back home in time none too soon as Ryoba goes into labor; with his ‘wife’ weak from giving birth to a daughter, Kira takes out his frustration on his situation by detonating a bomb he placed in her hospital wristband. Brimming with confidence that he is free to begin his life anew as he sees fit Kira is waylaid by Megami’s dad before he has a chance to leave the hospital. Despite the fact that he cannot see Killer Queen, or know that the man in front of him isn’t Ryoba’s old husband, Megami’s dad is convinced that something highly suspicious is going on given that a long term asset of Saikou Corporation’s is now a pile of ash (save for a lone hand) in the maternity ward. On pain of being brought in for ‘questioning,’ Mr. Saikou offers Kira a deal: tell him everything and perhaps they can strike up a business partnership, to which Kira reluctantly agrees. Once all is said and done he is faced with a choice… either submit, watch over the remaining investment (Ayano), and live comfortably to do whatever he’d like or meet as grisly an end as Mr. Saikou’s hired men can imagine. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth Kira agrees to these terms and waits to arrange Ryoba’s funeral. Meanwhile, the Joestar gang are informed by Reimi Sugimoto that she can no longer feel Kira’s presence. Months go by and the investigation into Kira’s whereabouts bring up dead ends. The logical conclusion, of course, is that Kira has skipped town but they have no clue where to. This is perhaps the part I’m least certain about. I can’t imagine Jotaro or anyone else just giving up on finding Kira, not when they’ve seen what Killer Queen can do, but I’d imagine that they would eventually have to put things on hold. For the sake of canon welding we will go with the idea that this butterfly allows Dio’s and Pucci’s plan to unleash Green Baby on the world is actually stopped here (I’m less clear about the events of Vento Aureo but consider another butterfly being that Giorno never gets a Requiem form for Golden Experience). I think that the Joestar gang actually capturing Yoshihiro for a while also makes sense to try and grill him for information, but he eventually manages to escape, taking the arrow with him to find Kira. I’m less clear at this point on how he manages to find Kira in Buraza but find him he does. Ayano’s childhood is even lonelier than canon. Without her mother to dote on her, and her ‘father’ treating her as a distant afterthought (she becomes nothing more than a lure for victims for Kira as he plays up the ‘single father’ angle), she is left primarily to her own devices and totally rudderless. Kira has no answers for her about her condition and is just as much of an empty shell as she is - or seems to be, at any rate. As such she goes out of her way to befriend others as a means to cope; I’m going with the interpretation she isn’t totally emotionless and more the idea that she is just severely stunted. This is where another big break from canon occurs: there are no rivals. Instead, the cast that would have been Yan Sim’s antagonists are her childhood friends instead; Muja and Mida come later as would-be victims of Kira’s she convinces him to spare. Kira’s luck lets him come out on top once more as Yoshihiro’s ghost’s reappearance into his life, however that comes about, coincides with Joseph Joestar’s death. Unable to track Yoshihiro’s spirit with Purple Hermit the Joestar gang is even more at a loss on how to find the elusive killer. With Yoshihiro’s reappearance, and the entirety of Saikou Corp at his back, Kira settles once more into his ‘quiet life’ even if it’s not quite how he envisioned it. It’s during this time that, surprised that Kira hasn’t found a way to ‘accidentally’ get rid of Ayano, Yoshihiro takes a liking to his ‘granddaughter’.. and whom he will ultimately give a Stand to (Bad Romance) to help ensure Kira stays safe, a fate that will befall all of Ayano’s close friends as well. Now with something in common between the two of them Kira begins to take more of an interest in Ayano, going so far as to become a Lisa Lisa or Joseph figure to her. Ayano latches onto this amount of affection, however, and comes to genuinely care for ‘dad’ and his ‘eccentricities.’ How the Joestar gang would make it to Buraza I’m unclear - I like the idea of Megami being a mole for them so that she can put a stop to Kira’s reign of terror, though with the stipulation they leave Ayano be - but one of the ones who has joined the investigation at this point is Shizuka (it’s a shame Araki… literally did nothing with her character in canon), who becomes a transfer student at Akademi and perhaps even befriends Ayano. Or at least she is until Shizuka befriends a boy, Taro Yamada, who’s managed to bring out intense emotions for her for the first time she can remember… Here’s a hypothetical stand list for Ayano and the rest of the main cast. Ayano Aishi Stand: Bad Romance, Bad Romance Born This Way (Requiem) Bad Romance looks exactly like she does in the Easter egg mode she appears in but her function is different. Rather than being a punchghost like The World or Crazy Diamond she is instead able to master any weapon by virtue of touching it, which includes how best to aim them, how much to grip a handle, etc. Bad Romance Born This Way shows the influence on Ayano’s life she has experienced under Kira it functions similarly to Killer Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack form: it is coated in a nigh impenetrable metal. Osana Najimi Stand: Hot N Cold Effectively what it says on the tin. Despite the fact that Osana can create arcing flames or freeze her enemies on the spot, her biggest downside is the warming up or cooling down periods that have to occur before she becomes combat effective. She is even more vulnerable given that it also takes a considerable amount of time for her to switch between the two. She is arguably the weakest out of all the Stand users in Buraza given the above. Amai Odayaka Stand: Feeling This

Amai’s Stand is probably the most innocuous, at least on a shallow analysis. It can do nothing more than effect the senses and she has mostly used it to enhance the taste buds of those sampling her cooking. However, this is more or less a trap to lull her enemies into a false sense of security. When initiated in combat, Amai will use Feeling This to effectively shut down someone’s five senses, to the point where they are unable to hear, see, or even feel if they’re close to her. In the absence of sensory input the brain will begin to create its own information, leading them to experience intense and vivid hallucinations that if aren’t reversed soon after they take hold can lead to permanent mental scarring. Kizana Sunobu Stand: Come as You Are

Kizana’s Stand does not offer her any offensive capabilities whatsoever but it is extremely powerful nonetheless. Incorporating the as-of-now unexplored ‘persona’ mechanic her Stand allows Kizana to create a powerful illusion that hypnotizes those around her to believe that she is anyone she chooses to imitate - the only catch being that said person must be a woman. This ability has made her indispensable to Ayano as a spy. Oka Ruto Stand: Black Sabbath

Cliche as it might be, Oka’s power involves manipulating shadows, though this is more versatile than one might at first realize. Despite the cute, Heartless-style appearance Oka’s Stand allows her to use shadows a means of teleportation between several locations as well as spying on others.  At night she gains an additional ability, along with making the first two that much stronger, that allows her to use shadow puppetry as a means of attacking others’ shadows - and what happens to them there also effects the person regardless. Asu Rito Stand: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

As a runner Asu’s Stand ability seems quite fitting: it is integrated, and so is not outwardly visible, but it allows her to achieve incredible speeds that few can match. While she might not have enhanced strength, any hit coming at you at about 100 miles per hour is going to be packing a nasty wallop no matter how you slice it. Muja Kina Stand: TLC

Unlike Josuke’s Crazy Diamond, Muja’s Stand can’t actually heal you. Indeed, it actually does the exact opposite (despite its ironic name). Muja is arguably one of the most combat effective Stand users that Ayano’s side has given that her friendly exterior hides an ability that causes decay and rot from the inside out. Though she can only do it one victim at a time, and at a slow rate at that, there’s nothing nastier than having your heart, lungs, or liver slowly shut down on you. Mida Rana Stand: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Ever wonder what mind broken slaves might be like, except even worse? Mida’s Stand has got you covered. Functionally speaking, its ability is on the surface quite simple: it passes along a spiritual virus, of sorts, that sleeps unless its user wills it to manifest. At that point Mida has access to an army of ‘love zombies’ that will heed her beck and call. Pity it only allows the infected to pass it on to only one person after coming down with it themselves. Osoro Shidesu Stand: Eye of the Tiger

Ayano’s enforcer, of sorts, and arguably the physically strongest Stand on her side. Much like Star Platinum, Eye of the Tiger is a Stand whose main ability is to punch things incredibly hard and fast. The secret, however, is that Osoro’s Stand, just like how the Hulk who gets stronger the angrier he becomes, becomes more powerful the more it is hit, storing the kinetic energy to unleash against its opponents. Hanako Yamada Stand: Quiet Riot

If Hanako isn’t upset she can’t summon Quiet Riot. Despite the fact that her Stand is uniquely tied to the emotions she feels at a given time, it would be unwise to not take her very seriously. When she is, watch out, because Hanako’s power revolves around using her voice to create incredibly destructive sound waves. Megami Saikou Stand: She Blinded Me with Science

I’m of two minds as to what Megami’s Stand might do. On the one, it would be traditional to keep one of some of the most powerful enemy Stand’s powers as being time-based; it would be interesting to incorporate ‘resetting’ things like how we can choose to restart a game on a meta level. The problem is that Araki has effectively explored every avenue for time-based powers in JoJo’s and it might not feel that interesting. On the other, perhaps it might be similar to Ayano’s Bad Romance in that She Blinded Me with Science might allow Megami to construct machines from the environment around her at any given moment so long as metal is present. This would allow her a versatility to what she can do and it might be different each time as it depends on what she’d need at any given moment. The only issue is that it doesn’t really feel very ‘grand’ for someone who is meant to be strongest opponent Ayano could face in canon. So… thoughts? I’d be interested to see if anyone had any ideas on how to expand parts of the plot, what Taro’s Stand might look like, or anything else you could think of. 

[goblincas]

Edith Bostwick, Human Woman

Okay, so there’s some ~fun~ context behind this short story, hehe: It was written as a final paper for one of my upperclassman English seminars this past semester, where everyone else in my class was writing a research paper. :’D Basically, my professor had loosely opened up the possibility that, with her approval, we could do a creative writing project for our final paper~ I later learned that I was the only one to do this lol. So yeah that’s the story of how I managed to get out of writing a research paper!

(To be fair, the version I submitted to my prof had a ton of footnotes and also a decent amount of outside sources, although none of it is really necessary to understand the story itself)

This is basically fanfic. I wrote fanfic for class. It’s based around the novel Stoner by John Williams, which was one of the works we read for class. This one footnote basically sums up my motivation:

“Ultimately, my goal is to examine and humanize Edith Bostwick’s character, more effectively than is done within John Williams’ Stoner. As her in-text perspective is nearly non-existent, all of her questionable or malicious actions go unexplained, causing her to appear purely sadistic or villainous. Whether Edith is a “good” person is an entirely different question, and not what I’d like to examine here. Rather, I’d like to present the possibility that she might not be an outright monster, whose actions are performed solely in groundless delight toward others’ suffering. It is likely that Edith has greater motivation behind her actions— which may or may not truly justify any of her behavior.”

I.

Sometimes, whenever she felt her eyes begin to glaze over at the sight of her eternally unmade bed, Edith wished that she could just knock her father’s drawl out of her ear. For a day, she could be spared the words of degradation that always seemed to be drumming on the inner walls of her skull: Edith, you can’t expect to please your husband if you keep on dressing yourself so carelessly— is it really so difficult for you to put consideration into your looks? You lazy girl. Edith, if your brain were working as it should, I assure you it wouldn’t be so difficult to keep yourself on task during simple chores. Edith, Edith, Edith—

It would have been deafening, if she weren’t already so familiar with it. There was a disturbing degree of ambience to it all. 

Stupid. Lazy. Undesirable. Talentless. Non-maternal.

Worthless woman. 

The unwanted daughter; a luckless burden of a child.

Almost immediately after entering the bedroom, Edith found herself turning on her heels. She wandered, empty-handed and foggy-minded, back toward the kitchen. Then to the living area. Then back toward the bedroom, yet again. Wandering, too absorbed in her own head to steer her body with any amount of precision or focus toward a particular task. 

Edith could practically feel contempt and shame clashing within herself, as they expanded in tandem and began to pulse throughout her bones. Not for the first time, her apparent failings as a wife were haunting her; what right did she have to deny her husband marital intimacy? Really, why did she have to be so resistant toward such an incredibly simple wifely duty? Edith knew, without a doubt, that her father’s perpetual disgust toward herself would only swell if he could see her current behaviour. Still, he may as well have emerged from the walls— a malevolent spirit magnetized by her soul, no home apart from Edith— to continue jabbering into her ear. As it had already been, his voice was a permanent narrator in the swamps of her mind. Would this have been less agonizing if he had a physical presence in her day-to-day life? 

Would she finally be able to hide?

Without too much awareness of her movement, Edith pressed her feet into the dining room floor, nearly to the point of strain. She sat at a stiff chair, forearms lazing against the tabletop, spine wilting. The previous evening had been like so many others— Lord, too many others. William had arrived home from the university, nodding toward her tight-lipped smile of greeting, before offering Edith some form of generic, half-hearted appraisal. Edith would nod back in response, leading to a silence that seemed to grow hollower by the second. William would eventually amble off. 

Then came Edith’s first wash of guilt for the evening, surging through her flesh and leaving her increasingly bitter. That night, as Edith swaddled herself in too-cold sheets, she repeatedly caught herself jerking away from William’s limp-wristed attempts at touch. She continuously pulled the sheets tighter and tighter, as if Edith would eventually collapse in on herself, crumbling into a low-density rubble. She could then be blown from the bed with a short breath, like a piece of stray lint.

So, come the following day, Edith was locked again in her molten cage— there, in her place of security, she could tend to herself while the heated steel consumed her mind. There, she could remain snugly contained within the tender chokehold of her own rage.

Her anger first focused toward the base of her awareness, where Edith truly believed that her father was steering her every action, forever spying on his circus of savage amusement. Had she been spared her father’s upbringing, would she still be so prone to distress? Possibly, there was a sick irony to her situation; maybe it was the insensitivity of her father that was leading her to behave how she was toward William. Had she not been broken down in the name of conditioning, would she have known her own strength?

William. Oh, William. Edith’s anger seemed only to inflate with age, and it could no longer gorge itself on her father’s visage, alone. This seemed to have become William’s position in Edith’s life: a fresh conduit for her ever-expanding rage. He deserved this fate, after all. Had William not approached her at that party, had they never met, then Edith may have been allowed more time to pursue her freedom— and that extra time might have provided her a chance to escape. It was all a hypothetical, of course, although Edith liked to believe that she might have been just a few steps away from finding her courage— perhaps in Europe, had William not ruthlessly tore that potentially life-altering trip from her. Of course, upon meeting William, Edith’s soles were forever cemented to the floors of Hell, where they’d always been. She knew then that she was stuck in place, without hope of freedom or mercy in her forever-darkening future.

William’s advances had only been the prologue to their shared fate of lifelong domestic doom. They would continue to suffer, while Edith continued to ensure that this suffering was rationed fairly. 

As her awareness seemed to solidify and return to the kitchen, Edith stood slowly. Her thin skirt fell limply around her equally thin legs— on the topic of insecurities. There were several dishes that still needed washing, left over from the breakfast that Edith had prepared while locked in a state of near-total dissociation— William had been surprised by the gesture, although her motivation was far less benevolent than he had assumed. Often, Edith just needed a task to anchor herself; a connection to the material world, before her consciousness loosened to a point of delirium. Similarly, hours later, she hoped that scrubbing those same dishes would stall her total dislocation from reality. As a strategy, it seemed to work fair enough; it was as if Edith were weighing her perception and mind down with an assortment of age-beaten tchotchkes. 

Around the point at which the pads of her fingertips were beginning to prune, Edith hesitated. She held the old rag, motionless, against a china serving bowl she’d recently received as a belated wedding gift. (From whom, Edith honestly couldn’t recall— it had been handed off to William, then propped in the center of the dining room table for her to discover.) 

Faintly, the too-familiar droning forced itself onto her:

Edith, truly, are you capable of anything? Even such a simple task, and you continue to dawdle, only because you’re so lost in such narcissistic musings? Useless girl. How pitiful, not even able to wash dishes, not even able to—

Enough.

Shucking the still-damp dish rag onto the counter, Edith stomped toward the nearest couch. In contrast to her previously aggressive movements, she laid herself down with care, as if to prevent her body from shattering onto the offending furniture. Then, countering the premature rigor mortis in her limbs, she curled in on herself. Edith’s fists continued to clench in a rhythm of short pulses. She surrendered and napped.

II.

At the groan of the front door, Edith shuttered and sat up.

Noticing first the now-dark room, she rose and trudged over to a nearby lamp. Edith chose to ignore her sore spine and prickling right arm. The room was soon drenched in an eerie, almost foreboding glow. As the Draconian scene continued to unfold, she could hear her husband shuffling closer, and closer, and…

“Edith? Are you in here?”

William appeared beneath the living room’s entrance. His gaze focused on Edith from across the space, while she was once more consumed by her woebegone persona. Edith stared vacantly back. 

William appeared almost bashful— as if he had any right to discomfort. He ran a palm down the front of his shirt, before stalking closer. “Well, anyway. How was your day?” he questioned, his tone light and controlled. His words were sterile, as if he’d deliberately cleansed his voice of anything that could instigate a disagreement. William also looked tired, but Edith supposed that was fair enough. No matter how badly he’d damaged her, she could at least acknowledge how much of himself he poured into his work; certainly, it was more attention than Edith would ever allow William to give to herself. 

Edith remained silent. She could see her husband beginning to assess her carefully, his gaze dragging over the vessel she felt so detached from. At that point, Edith cringed; it appeared as if she’d been suddenly wounded, unprovoked by herself as she stood bare and defenseless. 

William was… looking at her. No, he thought that he was looking at her. He was mistaken, of course; no matter how passive his stare, there was an undeniable overtone of arrogance to the act. He was so sure, clearly, that he was seeing Edith. Which, was entirely absurd— or, even worse, it was pure malice, an attempt to remind Edith that he was capable of something she would seemingly never be. Edith would never see herself; she was so dissociated from her body and mind. She had no constant sense of personhood, instead existing as a hazy, shapeless specter. She was no one. 

There was no one to see. 

As Edith’s vacant stare began to harden, introducing a vague challenge that even she didn’t understand the conditions of, William shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, well… yes. Anyway, I’ll… just leave you be, then,” he said, voice growing progressively more faint, beginning to drift outside the bubble of their conversation. As a closing acknowledgment, William flashed a stiff smile before shuffling toward the bedroom, work belongings in tow.

Again, Edith was struck by how incredibly exhausted she felt.

III.

Edith was just fourteen when she realized: she was an accessory, a good-luck charm with little value outside what she could provide to her handlers. If they could not make use of her to their own benefit, if she was not accessible and mild, then she had failed in her purpose. Edith knew that she would never understand who she truly was, separate from this fundamental, predetermined assignment. A clear sense-of-self would only add weight and distract her from her duties. 

So, one morning at the age of fourteen, Edith had sat stiff-backed at the edge of the piano bench. A lone, narrow window hung on the wall ahead of her, as the pale orange sky was gradually dusted with sunlight. Her slender fingers hovered just above the keys, drumming on air. Edith could sense an indeterminate nervousness begin to creep up on her, although its form was too hazy to wrangle and observe more closely.

It was a Saturday; a quiet morning, where Edith saw a rare opportunity to escape her father’s omnipresent eye. Her movements felt just a bit less manufactured, seeing no incentive to act gracefully.

Mr. Bostwick slept.

Edith felt more awake than ever— to her own distress. 

As a younger child, Edith had seen her father as a godlike figure, which seemed to justify the power he had over her thoughts and behaviors. Edith had known only timid respect, whenever she encountered her father; he was the rightful monarch to Edith’s childish reality, this reign hallmarked by his strict authoritarian policy. 

From birth and onward, Edith was an obedient citizen.

The young girl lowered her trembling fingers down to her sides, gripping into the bench as a means to calm them. She was yet to figure out the cause of her panic, as its onset was abrupt, while nothing in her surroundings seemed to have triggered it. Later, however, Edith would come to recognize how tantamount that quiet morning at the piano was to her life’s course; it was a moment of bitter revelation, where an understanding of the desires of her father and teachers seemed to finally penetrate her delusions of independence. Where she was mature enough for the truth of her situation to sink in, free will quietly slipping away.

She was a freshly-lacquered prop. An attractive, practical object.

Hardly any different in value from the glossy piano that sat in front of her.

Later that same morning, shortly after Edith had shifted from the piano bench to a plush chair, Mr. Bostwick’s powerful footfalls could be heard from the nearby staircase. Edith winced, dreading the prospect of company; all she wanted was time alone to flounder and inevitably drown in her own head. The waters continued to rise as her father approached, undisturbed by the invader at shore.

Mr. Bostwick cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he greeted, his gruff tone grating at Edith like sandpaper. “You’re certainly up early, aren’t you?”

Edith turned her neck, gazing absently at her father as he entered the room. “I suppose I am,” she responded, her tone remaining dry. She hesitated before continuing, the words escaping before she could corral them back: “Daddy, what would you think if I never became a wife?”

Before responding, Mr. Bostwick dropped into the seat across from Edith, eyeing his daughter intently. (On impulse, Edith straightened her spine, exiting her previously lax position.) He furrowed his brow. “Now, why are you asking this, Edith?” Although her father sounded controlled in his speech, Edith knew not to be deceived by such superficial impressions.

Once more, Edith paused, chewing on her words before retching the sour remains. “I was… thinking. About purpose, and what mine might be. Everyone has a big purpose to their life, right? Surely, that would only make sense, or else why would we even live?” She took in a sharp breath, before continuing in haste, “I mean, I was wondering if being a wife is that purpose for myself… if it's my only possible future, or if deciding upon something different would be wrong and would upset you.”

The silence that followed was short, yet crushing.

“I would certainly be… upset,” Mr. Bostwick muttered, the gravel in his voice only growing more prominent. “However, I don’t understand why you would ever consider such a prospect. Edith, you have already spent years of your young life in preparation to become a successful wife and home-maker. I don’t understand why you would ever show such disrespect toward your schooling, both formal and the time that I have sacrificed for you. Would you truly want to waste your own time— my time, the time of your instructors? It would be both foolish and pointlessly scornful.”

That too-heavy moment was Edith’s first memory of her mind seizing, before floating off to flee her situation; it was her earliest out-of-body retreat, in the name of self-preservation. It was then that Edith understood: She would never take ownership over her own fate; it simply wasn’t a reasonable expectation, nor was it within her rights. This was her sole reality, and her only means of comfort would be to contort her perspective and come to terms with her inevitable condition. 

That brief conversation with her father also seemed to ignite something within him, a cool aggression that Edith had rarely seen prior. It wasn’t immediate; however, Edith couldn’t help but draw the connection. From then, Mr. Bostwick began to offhandedly degrade Edith, chipping away at any confidence she might have had in her capabilities. He reminded her, regularly, that she was incompetent and in sure need of guidance. Mr. Bostwick reminded his daughter that she was inelegant, unintelligent, naive. Slowly, he robbed Edith of her own self-possession, claiming ownership over the malleable mind of an adolescent girl.

Edith tended to believe that that was her entrance to womanhood; that quiet Saturday morning, seemingly unlike any before, marked the scathing end of Edith’s girlhood. Her childhood was left in the seat of that deceptively plush chair, drenched in flames that were only apparent to her own senses. And oh, where they apparent. 

That was the morning that Edith, as she had known herself, was killed.

[healthnotion]

How to Test Your Relationship Without Moving In Together

Over the last few decades, it’s become more and more common for couples to move in together while they’re dating. They often opt for this living arrangement because it feels convenient, and also because they want to “test” the relationship before deciding whether or not to get married. Couples figure that by experiencing what it’s like to live in close proximity and do day-to-day routines together, they can make a better decision about their compatibility and long-term prospects, in order to avoid someday getting a divorce.

While the idea makes a great deal of sense in the abstract, numerous research studies have definitively shown that living together before marriage does not reduce a couple’s chances of divorce. At all. How can that be?

There are likely a few factors at play, but a big one is that those who cohabitate often end up sliding further into their relationship, rather than deliberating deciding to make progressively deepening commitments. They just kind of slide into living together with a casual “Why not?” feeling; then slide into staying together out of a sense of comfort and complacency; and then slide into getting married, figuring, “Well, we’ve been together this long; I guess this is the next step to take.” In living together, their lives — pets, bills, friends, routines — get so intertwined that it becomes easier to stick with the arrangement — even if the relationship is less than ideal — than to break things off. They may therefore ultimately marry someone out of sheer familiarity, rather than ardent love. “Do you, Rob, take Sunk Cost Fallacy to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

It seems that whatever positive benefit comes from getting to know someone by way of living with them, it is outweighed by the danger of staying together because of inertia rather than brilliant connection.

Are there then other ways to “test” the strength of your relationship, without at the same time significantly increasing the difficulty of breaking up? To make a better-informed decision about your future with someone, while still maintaining more of your independence before you do?

Fortunately, there are. To get some ideas on this front, I talked to Dr. Scott Stanley, a professor of psychology at the University of Denver, who coined the “sliding vs. deciding” paradigm, and has spent his career researching cohabitation, relationships, and commitment.

How to Test Your Relationship Without Moving in Together

Really, “testing” isn’t the best word here; if you’re in a mindset where you’re literally wanting to test a relationship, you probably already have doubts about it, which probably means it’s already on shaky grounds, and actively putting it on trial, so to speak, is probably going to make things worse.

We’re using “test” here not as an encouragement to pin down your relationship for dissection — snuffing out its life in the process — but simply as a way of deepening and expanding the natural course of getting to know someone. To take the relationship out of confined, greenhouse-like conditions and expose it to more elements. Testing your relationship shouldn’t be about placing it under a cynical, hypercritical microscope, but simply being more explorative — seeing if, as a couple, you’re suited for tackling life’s great adventure together.

To that end, below you’ll find ways of turning over more rocks in your relationship, so you can observe what you find there — whether red flags or endearing qualities — and gain a greater perspective as to who your partner really is.

1. Interact With Your Respective Friends and Family

Stanley observes that when two people start dating, they can often cordon themselves off into an isolated bubble. This may be especially true in the age of dating apps, where the relationship may not grow out of a preexistent, shared social scene; rather, two discrete individuals, perhaps new to a city and lacking a real friend or family group, pair up through the digital ether. They then spend all their time one-on-one, only interacting with each other. But engaging exclusively within a dyadic, romantic, chemistry-driven context will only elicit a relatively narrow range of behaviors, giving each partner a limited view of one another. As Stanley explained to me: 

Let’s say two people meet online, they’re communicating, they’re messaging a lot, and then maybe they start having a lot of phone calls, and then they’re dating, and they’re spending every moment together. That’s all great. But there’s a lot of things you don’t learn about a person when you don’t see how they treat other people. Yeah, they’re excited about you. They’re sexually attracted to you. [But] they’re not always gonna be as sexually attracted to you, so how do they treat people that are just people that are important in their life? Because that might be how you’re gonna get treated.

Observing how your girlfriend interacts with her friends, and your friends; her family, and your family; is going to offer a lot more insight into who she really is, than just how she interacts with you. So resist the cliché of being that couple who gets so into each other, that they ghost everyone else in their lives.

It is arguably especially important to see how your girlfriend engages with her own family. Being back with the people she grew up with will often trigger behaviors she may otherwise be good at keeping under control around you. As a satirical headline on The Onion hilariously put it: Woman Nervous for Boyfriend to Meet the Person She Becomes Around Parents.

Of course, how someone treats their family may not be indicative of exactly how she’ll treat you (people have particular hang-ups with family members that are largely context specific), but there will invariably be broad, underlying patterns in her behavior towards them that will almost certainly manifest themselves in your relationship as well.

2. Interact in a Wide Variety of Situations 

Building on the point above, new(ish) couples often only see each other in a limited range of structured, sort of scripted situations — going to dinner, going to the movies, watching tv at each other’s apartments, etc. These predictable scenarios produce fairly predictable sets of behavior.

To get to know someone to a greater extent, it’s helpful to see how she personally handles the unexpected — how she deals with stress and being outside her comfort zone — and the extent to which you are able to work through curveballs together. 

So don’t just stick to a “climate controlled” circuit of dating life; go camping, do a service project, attend a worship service, and so on together. Navigate new kinds of experiences and interact with different types of people.

The fact that the longer you’re in a relationship, the more and more varied situations you’ll end up in as a couple, is part of the reason Stanley recommends taking your time when dating someone and not rushing into things.

3. Get Clear on Your Values and Expectations 

Two people don’t have to be clones of each other to make a good go at marriage, but sharing core values certainly increases a couple’s chances of lasting happiness, while conflicts in these areas become highly corrosive over time.

Conversations about your values, beliefs, and expectations for your future life together should begin fairly early in a relationship, obviously getting progressively deeper and more detailed as it becomes clearer that a future together is a realistic possibility.

Is religion important to you? Where do you want to live? Do you want to live near your parents? Would you move for your job? Do you want to have kids? How dedicated are you to your career? Would you have a problem with me working long hours or being on the road a lot? Do you believe in budgeting? What’s your spending philosophy?

On the topic of having kids — which can become a big sticking point for married couples — Stanley said: “You can’t believe the number of marriage counselors” who’ve worked with couples where “they’re struggling over this very issue and they’ve been married for a few years and they knew it beforehand or they didn’t know it. Either way, it’s like you guys could’ve talked about this.”

Realize there are a couple of limitations to these value-uncovering conversations, however.

First, even if you’re talking about your beliefs and expectations, the high-inducing, mind-altering chemistry of love can lead partners to gloss over differences that arise. They’re so giddy, that the potential source of conflict doesn’t seem like that big a deal; “love conquers all,” they think, or they figure their partner will change their mind on that issue once they’re hitched. But people rarely change their core values and beliefs.

Because the cocktail of love is so heady, it’s important to know — to be radically clear — on what your non-negotiables are before you get in a relationship; then once you fall head over heels, your old self can hopefully talk some sense into your punch-drunk self.

The second caveat, is that while it can be helpful to talk about hypotheticals, it’s hard from the position of the present to know with surety the decisions you’ll actually make in the future.   

It’s thus important not only to listen to what your significant other says, but to also watch what she does. She’s of course not going to act out in the present every scenario you may face in the future, but her behavior in various situations will reveal her real values — the underlying beliefs that may not be able to predict exactly what decisions she’ll make down the road, but will give you an idea of what direction she, and your shared lives, will go.

4. Travel Together 

Travel could be filed under “Interact in a Wide Variety of Situations”; it will certainly often help you see how your significant other handles new people and places and deals with unexpected curveballs. But travel deserves its own entry because it also includes a unique relationship-testing element of its own: planning. Plotting out a significant trip takes some real effort and is a good chance to see how you work together as a team — if you’re able to sacrifice and compromise and communicate. As Stanley observed, it’s a chance you might not otherwise get before you’re prepping to walk down the aisle:

You probably would learn some things in traveling with the person, but you might learn a whole lot in planning to travel with the person. Because planning’s a big thing in life. And a lot of couples actually don’t get into a serious mode of developing a plan together until it’s their wedding. And that’s a pretty weird, intense thing to sort of practice on.

5. Do Premarital Training/Counseling

Taking a premarital preparation/counseling course isn’t something to just mindlessly check off to fulfill a minister’s requirement for officiating your wedding, or to get a discount on a marriage license. Earnestly engaging in such a program can help facilitate the key value-disclosing discussions described above, identify potential issues and disagreements, and teach relationship-strengthening tools. As Stanley argues here:

While marital experts debate everything, there is solid evidence that completing premarital training (education, counseling, whatever it’s called) together can improve your odds in marriage. Although this does not guarantee marital bliss, there is much more potential upside than downside. The one downside I sometimes think about is actually an upside: you could learn something concerning about your partner or relationship that you didn’t fully appreciate before — something that could lead you to get more help or go slower. Because of this, I recommend that you seek premarital training as far before a wedding date as possible. Why? Because the further in advance you complete it, the more you have a chance to find out something that could lead you to change your mind about marrying each other.

Premarital preparation courses are available in the form of church-sponsored events and local workshops. If you don’t know of one, ask a marriage counselor/therapist for a recommendation. While doing an in-person workshop will help keep you accountable, if you’re dedicated to working through the process, you can also try reading a marriage prep book or doing an online program together; Stanley recommends this one, this one, and this one (he’s involved with the latter).

For more insights on the harms of “sliding vs. deciding” and the importance of seeking clarity over ambiguity in relationships, be sure to listen to my podcast with Dr. Stanley:

The post How to Test Your Relationship Without Moving In Together appeared first on The Art of Manliness.

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[buffylikescoke]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 11#7

"I'll be in my bunk" ~ Willow Rosenberg

At first I found this issue quite decent, though maybe a bit boring but after giving it some more thought I can say with full conviction that "Disempowered" is this season's weakest moment.

The issue opens with secretary Reyes announcing a permanent solution to the supernatural problem. The government gives the zone denizens an option of being drained of magic or, as the fascist pig puts it, of what makes them a threat. Those that agree to go through the process are free to leave the ghetto. Their legal status is to be normalized and records expunged - expunged of what, exactly? The crime of existing? Fascists. Later on Lake, Willow's devoid of personality ex-girlfriend, even calls it an amnesty. Fucking fascists. Oh, and they might get some reintegration assistance - a carrot before the stick as Willow and Spike point out and hey, Willow and Spike can talk to each other, without Buffy in the panel, how cool is that? So how does the zone's population react? Some are delighted actually, but those that cannot survive without magic obviously are not and soon fights start breaking out between the two groups. During one of such fights stopped by Buffy, a nu-pire accuses a werewolf, very happy to get rid of his wolfhood, of abandoning his own kind. The vampire is afraid that when the majority leaves the zone, those that can't or won't take the government's deal will face ethnic cleansing. About that werewolf. He looks like garbage. If I didn't learn that this is supposed to be a werewolf from the dialogue I'd assume that it's just a dude in a fursuit or a were-rabbit (were-bunny?) or something! Not happy with werewolves holding conversations in their wolfed-out state either but since that already happened in season eight, I can't complain, I suppose.

But what about Scoobies? Their main worry is that the newly announced magic draining process is a smaller scale version of the machine the government is secretly building and that the endgame might be to zap the entire country with de-magicking ray. Spike suggests that Buffy and Willow accept the government’s offer, lose their powers and try to stop whatever is happening from the outside since apparently it's impossible to escape. Excuse me, what the fuck did Willow do in the previous issue? She walked out of the camp, with Buffy. So what keeps her from, again, walking the fuck out, grabbing Buffy and teleporting the fuck away? Not enough power? Isn't Willow, like, overflowing with power from all the wiccans she drained? Is it the wiccans that keep her inside? Later Willow talks to her coven and suggests that the witches still in the zone should take the deal and reveals that she might as well. OK, but what exactly makes them unsafe inside of the zone? I get that it's full of vampires and demons but we haven't seen any actual violence directed at the wiccans, not a single one of them was even attacked! If they're in such danger, then why not show that hypothetical danger instead of just constantly talking about it? The witches repeat the arguments we've heard in the previous issue, when Willow was doing the draining ( spiritual mutilation, violation and so on ) After the coven's meeting is done Calliope comes to talk to Willow about her decision and Willow reveals that she has a plan. Kind of. We don't learn what this plan entails in this issue but I'm hopeful. Willow asks Calliope to trust her, Calli ( can be Calli? Callio? 'Liope? ) kisses her but Willow stops her yet again because it's not right. Calli promises to break up with her girlfriend but Willow tells her not to. Basically, Willow's worried that Calliope is attracted to her because of the situation they're in and that Calli might feel differently when they're out of the zone. Willow's attitude here kinda reminds me of Oz a little bit in season two which is interesting. Anyway, is Calliope really the best the writers can do in Willow's love interest department? The bar was set impossibly low with Lake and so far, Calliope just doesn’t look like an improvement. In the end Calliope takes the deal and leaves the zone.

Buffy has more doubts about giving up her power and guess who shows up to help her make up her mind? Yes, it's captain cardboard and his wife. Buffy points out that without her power she'll be defenseless against everything ever that wants to kill her. Sam is quick to say that Buffy can take self-defense classes and grab a gun ( We had a scene like this in retreat by the way, with Buffy and Giles - derivative much? ) It's stupid. No amount of guns and Krav Maga can protect Buffy from the likes of, say, Drusilla? And yeah, sure, normal humans aren't exactly defenseless but normal humans haven't been pissing off the forces of darkness since they were fifteen! Of course, Riley says that Buffy's really worried about Spike, and I mean, sure, Buffy is worried about leaving Spike in the zone but reducing an issue this complex to just Buffy's love interest the way Riley does is ignorant, even for Riley. Buffy expresses more of her concerns in a conversation with Willow and Spike later at night. Visually, this scene is breathtaking, it’s wallpaper material, the writing, however, is just atrocious. The more you read into it, the worse it gets. It's like an onion made of shit, a shit onion if you will, the more layers you peel off...well, you get the point. What we have here is Willow spewing a nonsensical, pop-psychology polluted speech. For goodness' sake, Willow doesn't even talk like that, she doesn't make speeches at people, this reads like Buffy at her most pretentious pretending to be Willow. Anyway, according to our witch magic is what makes Buffy and Willow special. This is why they're afraid of taking the deal. They don't want to become normal, like Xander and Dawn. So we just have to believe in ourselves, says Willow, who we are without all the bells and whistles. Which I fully admit is scary as hell. Willow, seriously, you managed to restore magic without those bells and whistles, you lose those bells and whistles practically every season - so what could you possibly be afraid off at this point? Willow also equates Buffy's fighty with her witchy. Problem is, those two things are nothing alike, one is a birthright, the other is a skill. Everybody can do magic in Buffyverse, even the normal guy Xander. Willow's a turbo-witch because she put in the effort. Acquiring of power is basically 90% of her story and she's very much proud of having earned that power. Xander spent years figuring out how to kick ass, says then Buffy. As opposed to Willow? Shaking my head. Even if Willow says all this only to convince Buffy to take the deal, even if the intention here is to parallel the closing scene of "Wrecked" it’s still just monumentally stupid. Oh, and that cheerleader obsessed with clothes and shoes line is kinda ironic seeing how Willow's much more of a fashionista than Buffy these days.

Next day Buffy and Willow go through the procedure. They put their hands on a panel of an occult machine and with the mundanity akin to an X-ray test, it's done, they're magic free. Yes, again. OK, how many times were Buffy's powers taken away from her in the TV series? Once, in "Helpless", it’s ~30 minutes out of seven seasons. You know why it was done only once? Because it's not an action series when the protagonist can't do action. This is the third time this is happening in the comics - Tibet, Robot Buffy - fuck you, it counts! And Willow! With the exception of season 10, the Willow can't do magic storyline has been done in every season since season six, every fucking season they do this shit. Six - Willow's addicted, seven - a Wicca who won't-a, eight - twilight and goddesses and whatever, nine - no seed. And now, after a season where a common complain about Willow was that she's just constantly getting her ass kicked, they do it again. When you do it every season it's not exciting, it's not interesting, it's just obnoxious. And what else is there left to explore here anyway?! In a twelve issue season?! There's five issues left and now we have an action series with two leads that can't do any action, that's like making a musical with actors that can't sing oh wait.... But don’t worry, they'll just bring Faith over to handle the ass-kicking and possibly rename the series to Faith and her bitches. Jesus. But that's nothing, really. If that's the story the artists choose to tell then whatever, I’ll deal. You know what's the real problem with this issue and the rest of this season? The characterization. Buffy and Willow show no initiative! And they weren't like this in the TV series, quite the opposite actually, so what changed? And if you're gonna tell me that they grew up I'm gonna super-literally bitch slap you through the internet! They don't act, they're acted upon, submit, completely passive. So far it's been an entire season of we can't do this, it's impossible, it'd be a suicide. Give me back my action-fucking-heroines! Now! I demand!

On her way out of the camp Buffy is given the scythe back because why would a magic hungry government even want to keep one of the most powerful magical artifacts in existence? Jordan throws the weapon at Buffy, which topples her over because the scythe is apparently heavy. What? I know that Willow probably picks up heavy things and puts them down occasionally because I've seen her ass but come on, she's been running around with the scythe for months just fine. Heavy? This is nonsense! So...what did I like? I liked Buffy and Spike! They're funny, they're sexy, they're entertaining! I have to give credit where credit is due, all the coupley stuff is actually pretty top notch in this issue! Yeah, the missing I love you felt forced and unnatural and why is it even such a big deal but other than that, it's all good! The art, aside from that werewolf, looks incredible - the inking is super-sharp, the colors beautiful and vibrant. Art team, one, writing team, zero!

Wow, seven fucks! Yeah, "Disempowered" is trash. It's a derivative, boring, nonsensical mess. But hey, at least we're finally out of the safe zone. I hope to be proven wrong but with five issues to go, I'm afraid that pacing will turn out to be an issue this season.