#oh and the cat will kill. she will kill fascists just to be clear

[code31-onthedancefloor]

this is a bit silly but i enjoy the thought of Required Reading becoming somewhat immortal due to the plasm output of the commieghosts and students combined. during le retour perhaps Required Reading becomes something of a guerrilla attack method as it is very difficult to fight or shoot someone when there is a plasm-supercharged cat attacking your face. she rides on uli's shoulders and carries medkits in her little backpack & sniffs out ppl buried under rubble. if the students start to mutate, so should she - with all the love in the apartment + community directed towards her.

[mdhwrites]

I'm sure you're being sent a lot of TOH-related questions right now, but what's your opinion on Belos's rise to power? Its portrayal in Elsewhere and Elsewhen somewhat makes sense for the idea that the Coven system is bad for witches (putting its implementation in the series as a whole aside), but even so it really bothers me, even with the focus on Bonesborough and all, that there's little hint of savagery in the "Savage Ages" and it's made clear that the witches back then deemed the BI Titan dead and not a deity whatsoever, which... is not consistent with how people attained power in reality nor with how the Titan is portrayed throughout the series?

You VASTLY overestimate how many asks I'm actually getting. The fact that I've even had two asks most days as of late is impressive. Mind you, it's not surprising with how anti-criticism this fandom feels and the fact that most people's blogs aren't for sharing the sorts of long winded takes I have. I'm also a small account so my rants mostly stay in my own corner (Or I get lit on fire and accused of having never watched the show).

This is a JUICY one though. The short answer to my thoughts on Belos' rise is that if you want to see it done right, go read the book "Ranger's Apprentice: The Kings of Clonmel." It actually depicts super well and convincingly how a group of bandits and brigands can use these sorts of tactics so as to almost become nobility. Ranger's Apprentice is just an amazing series in general.

As for Belos' rise…

Well, let's first lay down what the trick is he's using. It is theoretically akin to every racist who has risen to power on the platform of "I will make this country great again and part of that plan is to persecute these people who are perceived as a problem for some reason." This is commonly associated with religious or national fervor due to the fact that people don't need concrete proof if that which they have faith in is what they see as being attacked. It also gives the people a wide, established base of those who are already scared and primed for action for one reason or another. This is why rises of fascist movements often happen in countries facing economic decline or severe disparity because people are desperate and ready to believe anything.

The Isles during the savage lands have… LITERALLY NONE OF THIS. Let's review:

The Scapegoat: "Wild witches, those who use all types of magic, are evil murderers out to destroy me!" Um… Except EVERYONE uses all types of magic. So you are claiming EVERYONE is a wild witch currently. You are not narrowing your targets down or giving them an inhuman face, especially with your claim.

The Fear: "They're out to destroy me! Even now they've found me and will burn this place down trying to kill me!" …So you're the problem? The threat isn't against anyone in the Isles, it's just you. And you're the one telling us we're all wrong? Why does trouble and death follow you from town to town, razing as it goes? Suddenly you seem to be the real threat…

The Religion: Um… As you pointed out, the denizens of the Isles consider the Titan to be dead in the past. What did Belos do to convince them that the Titan was alive? How long had they considered the Titan dead? The Titan being a god is obviously not something they considered so why did anyone listen to this crackpot who effectively said, "I HEAR GHOSTS AND WANT TO RULE YOU BECAUSE THE VOICES IN MY HEAD TELL ME"?

The Nation: This is maybe the only positive? It's questionable how connected to the rest of the towns any one town in the Isles is. This creates a problem of identity. "Oh, they burned down this one village? Fuck that village. Their mayor owed me fifty snails and their crazy person told me my cat smells." And if they are connected, then it becomes "I would have heard if my cousin got killed by wild witches! And besides, are you saying Gertrude is a bad person? Her pies are great and she makes them with baking and beast keeping!"

And finally, the unrest: The Isles pre-Belos is depicted as a utopia. Philip gets a man killed and jacks his palisman and the worst that his two brothers? or at least cohorts threaten to do is burn his journal. That is… Fucking nothing compared to literally anything a bad guy does in S1 of TOH. And this is for getting someone MURDERED. This is not a society with a crap ton of problems like we're told in S1 for how Belos came to power (history is written by the victors so I don't even consider this a plothole besides it being just badly done). Instead, it's depicted as being in pure harmony purely to make the kind one time the show actually makes a case for the coven system being bad outside of "Restrictions to expression are bad" that is the basis for the show claiming Covens don't work for the most part.

None of it works. None of it is actually thought out enough to be anything more than taking inspiration from real world events, real world ATROCITIES and plastering them on face value without actually appreciating what goes into those sorts of systems of manipulation and abuse.

Honestly, end of the day it comes off as tone deaf and half assed when this is such a crucial part of your villains ethos, their plan and your plot in general because this should be a large part of explaining how the world got to be the way it is. It isn't though because there's no actual explanation for how we got from Utopia to Belos ruling. None at all. Not when realistically he would have been caged and killed just on the superstition that he brought death everywhere he went.

But I mean, they literally can't keep it consistent from episode to episode whether fucking Belos believes what he says about the Titan or knows that it's dead because he enters its fucking skull. The show did not give a fuck about making this plot work. So why not make something that someone talk about for a thousand words in a think piece over instead of actually trying to make it coherent?

Because there's a lot of that in this show and it's why I can talk so much about it.

========

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

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[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 33

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 33: Ella struggles to maintain her new family life and deal with her brother. 

     “Pretty innit? Nothing prettier than a fully lit menorah, well ‘cept your mum.” Alfie chuckled. He was holding Sofia so she could see the menorah.

           It was the eighth day of Hanukkah but the mood was a little less than celebratory. There was still an anti-Semitic fascist still roaming around London and Tommy Shelby was still at Margate.

           Alfie was happy to spend the holiday with his new little family. The twins would get to experience the holiday for the first time, he could spoil them with gifts. But with Tommy sulking about there a damper over the home. Especially since Ella was so worried about her brother.

           He was significantly less explosive than when he showed up looking to put a bullet in his head. Still, he needed some talking down when he seized up into a panic attack. Any little thing could set him off. A loud noise or Alfie muttering something under his breath.

           But there was an upside. Tommy hardly slept so he would look after the twins if they woke up in the middle of the night. For the first time in months, Alfie and Ella could finally sleep through the night, which was a blessing.

           Still, Alfie didn’t want to spend the holiday with Tommy. He didn’t appreciate the intrusion, especially the way Tommy had arrived.

           Ella wouldn’t turn her back on her brother though. Not when he’d helped with the adoption and not when he made sure she was taken care of in her time of need.

           Looking a bit weary, Ella came into the sitting room where Alfie and the twins were. Ezra was sat on the floor near Cyril who was watching him carefully. The little boy was playing with a toy car that he’d got on the third night of Hanukkah. He clumsily pushed the car back and forth, enraptured by the black painted wood and little wheels.

           Alfie loved how easily distractible they were. Anything eye-catching or with a pleasing sound could turn their heads and keep them entertained for a good while. Sofia especially liked to play with the metal tags on Cyril’s collar. The bullmastiff tolerated her, letting her jangle them about, tugging and pulling at them as she pleased.

           Now she was captivated by the silver menorah with the hypnotic way the little flames on the candles flickered back and forth. She still hadn’t quite grasped why Alfie wouldn’t let her grab a hold of the candles. He’d made the mistake of leaving the menorah on a lower cabinet. Sofia had just started to pull herself up with the aid of furniture. She’d grabbed the base of the menorah but Alfie managed to grab her before she pulled it down on herself.

           Lesson learned; the menorah was placed on a higher spot.

           “Hi, my loves.” Ella cooed and bent down to kiss Ezra’s cheek. The infant giggled and kicked his feet happily. “Sofi-girl what are you and daddy doing?”

           Sofia gurgled and pressed her cheek into Alfie’s shoulder.

           Ella leaned into Alfie’s side. “It’s so pretty.” She sighed softly at the glowing menorah.

           “Want the kids to open their last gifts?” Alfie wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her hair.

           “Actually, I was hoping you’d go talk to Tommy. He’s outside smoking.”

           Her husband sighed and hid an eye roll from her. “El, he won’t fucking listen to me. You know he won’t.”

           “Language.” She reminded him with a frown. “And he will talk to you, he asked for you to come out and talk to him.”  

           Alfie grunted. “Will it make you happy if I do?”

           “Yes.”

           “Alright.” He handed Sofia to her. “Only because you asked me to, ain’t doing it for his benefit.” He muttered and went to grab his coat.

~~~~~~~~

           “Bloody cold out here, mate.” Alfie stepped outside in the garden where Tommy was stood.

           “Ella doesn’t want me smoking in the house.” He replied quietly.

           “Yeah, well.” Alfie shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets. “Stinks up the home, don’t it? Not pleasant.”

           Tommy didn’t reply, he just kept taking drags of his cigarette and looking out over the empty road.

           Not wanting to stand around in the cold waiting for the man to speak, Alfie cleared his throat. “El said you wanted to talk to me?”

           “When you were shot, you said they put you on drugs.”

           “Yeah, heavy shit. Barely conscious most of the time, s’pose it were good. Didn’t want to feel that sorta pain.”

           “Did you…did you see things when you were taking them?” Tommy’s eyes didn’t look over at him.

           “Like hallucinations? Yeah, weren’t sure if I were awake or not sometimes so I can’t remember if they were dreams or I were just that fucked up. Ella don’t really talk ‘bout it.”

           Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial. He turned it around in between his fingers a few times before handing it over to Alfie. “Makes me see things.”

           “Weren’t aware you were recovering from being shot in the fucking face. Or wait...was that just me?” Alfie took the bottle and uncorked it. He sniffed it but there wasn’t much of an odor. “Morphine, innit?”

           His brother-in-law nodded. “I’ve lost control, Alfie.”

           “Yeah, what gave it away, aye? When you were asking me to kill you? Or when you were asking your sister to kill you?”

           Tommy dropped the butt of his cigarette and stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe. “I knew a long time ago. Been trying to keep it together for everyone. The family, the kids.” He wearily rubbed a hand over his eyes. “But I can’t anymore. Don’t want to fucking wake up in the morning. I just want to be numb. I can’t fucking stand any of it anymore.”

           “Tom, I hate to be the thorn in your side, but this is your doing.” Alfie kept the vial in his hand, he wasn’t comfortable giving it back to him. He’d seen what morphine did to Shelbys and it wasn’t pretty.

           “You don’t think I fucking know that, Alfie?” Tommy snapped venomously.

           “Oi, you wanted my opinion, so you fucking shut up and listen to it or I’ll go back inside and spend the holiday with me family. You’re lucky I ain’t kicked you outta my fucking house already!”

           Tommy frowned like a bratty child. He took a deep breath, the exhale materializing in the frigid air in front of him. “I know I got myself into this mess. But I told myself-when I was about to be buried alive in France, that I wasn’t going to be buried again. I would keep fighting until I found a man who I couldn’t beat.”

           “Think you’ve found that man?”

           Tommy was quiet for a long while. Almost to the point that Alfie thought he was high and had drifted off into a hazy, drugged up bliss. But he finally piped up again. “I have one foot on a land mine.”

           Almost instinctually, Alfie looked down to see that he was only speaking metaphorically. The ex-Captain didn’t take land mines lightly. He’d seen plenty of legs blown off by the weapons.

           “Either I stand on it until I’m exhausted and drop. Or I try to step away and risk being blown up.”

           “Your family is surrounding you,” Alfie responded. “So, whatever move you make, you’re putting them at risk as well.”

           “Not unless they’re moved out,” Tommy replied and tilted his face up to the gray sky.

           “What you on about now?”

           “I have connections in America and various places around Europe. Connections Mosley probably doesn’t know about. If I can move everyone to safety then he won’t have anything against me. He won’t be able to use anyone I care about. It’ll just be me and him. He can as he pleases to me but I’ll go down with a fight.”

           “Keyword, probably. Tom, you’ve no fucking clue what that man is capable of. I know you don’t. None of us do. Even if you move all of us to fucking Australia you think that’ll really stop him? ‘Sides, what makes you so high and mighty that you think you can uproot everyone from their lives?”

           Tommy pursed his lips together. “I’m brainstorming, Alfie. I think I’ve made it fucking clear enough that I’ve no clue what the fuck I’m going to do.”

           “Evidently.”

           “Oh, fuck off, Alfie.” Tommy shot back. “You have a better idea?”

           Alfie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re looking for other people to dig you out of your shit? Tommy, me priorities lie with me wife and children. That ain’t gonna change for you or for anyone else.”

           “Even if they’re being threatened by the man who tried to kill you?” Tommy questioned. “The man who has to issue with killing anyone? He has no morals, Alfie.”

           He scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re trying to get me to be involved ‘cause I’m scared? I’m dead to him, Tom, what do I hafta be scared about? He thinks El’s in America, we ain’t got nothing to fear.”

           “He knows she’s not in America.”

           Alfie lost his temper. He grabbed Tommy by the throat, dropping the vial of morphine, letting it roll down the garden path away from them. Alfie slammed Tommy up against the side of the house, digging his fingers into his throat. “Fucking what!?” He demanded.

           Tommy pried his hand away. “There’s a black cat, Alfie!” He shouted hoarsely. “They’ve been leaking everything to Mosley. I can’t trust anyone that’s why I’m fucking here!”

           Alfie’s blood boiled. “Then I’ll fucking kill whoever it is.”

           “Be my guest. You’ll have to find out who it is first.” Tommy shoved him away so he couldn’t attack him again.

           It should’ve been clear that it was a tactic to get Alfie on board. Tommy needed another strong player. Someone who was thinking a bit clearer than he was. Alfie huffed angrily and paced a little bit, roughly running a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He growled. “So he’s gonna come after her?”

           “I don’t know what he’s planning,” Tommy admitted. It had been something alarming when Mosley casually mentioned how Ella must be enjoying her time on the English coast. Tommy corrected him but the man simply chuckled and asked if he looked stupid. The situation was left at that. Tommy nearly lost his mind right then and there. He was so close to strangling the man and facing the consequences. If he was hanged, so be it. But then he remembered his children. His wife.

           Tommy sighed and shook his head. “I need help, Alfie.”

           “I’m dead, mate.”

           “Then I need you to be resurrected.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Yes, those are your presents, but we’ve got to wait until daddy comes in from talking to Uncle Tommy.” Ella was sat by the window with Ezra and Sofia. Ezra was tugging at the neatly wrapped present that was lying in wait. He whined and tried to pull the blue and silver ribbon off the box.

           “Ah, ah, ah, no.” Ella picked him up and cradled him close. “Gotta wait for daddy. Patience, chavi.”

           The front door opened and Tommy and Alfie came back inside. A cold burst of air traveled down the hall for a moment.

           “Alright, then let’s open presents.” Alfie walked into the sitting room. Sofia squealed happily and reached toward him. “Hi, sheifale.” He picked her up and sat down in his armchair.

           Ella saw Tommy pass by the doorway. “Tom?” She called after him. “Come sit with us.”

           He paused in the hallway but shook his head to himself. “Need to make a few calls.” He replied and went to shut himself in Alfie’s study.

           Ella looked to her husband. “Did you talk to him?” She asked quietly.

           He only nodded and leaned down to pick up Sofia’s present. “Want to open this?” He prompted her by tearing a bit of the paper off.

           Sofia smiled and did her best to rip the present open. She managed to unravel the ribbon and became infatuated with it almost immediately. Giggling, she pressed it to Alfie’s face.

           “What’re you doing?” He chuckled and tried to take the ribbon from her. “Let’s see what you got for Hanukkah.”

           But Sofia decided she was uninterested in the gift, waving the ribbon about in her pudgy fist.

           Ella smiled. “Maybe we should just buy her ribbon next time.” She teased and handed Ezra his present. “Here, love.”

           Their son was a little more impatient and tore open the present. Delighted, he pulled out the teddy bear with a blue button nose and a matching ribbon. Ezra gurgled happily and hugged the bear close to him.

           Ella kissed his forehead. “You like it?”

           Alfie finished unwrapping Sofia’s present for her. A matching teddy bear with a yellow ribbon instead. “Lookit, see that?” He propped the bear up to face his daughter. Sofia grabbed the bear’s snout but decided the gift’s ribbon was more fun. She tossed the bear to the side and continued flailing the ribbon about.

           “Glad you like it.” Alfie sighed and kissed her cheek.

           Ella laughed and smoothed back Ezra’s hair. She couldn’t help but think about how happy she was. Tommy would heal. Things would be okay. They had to be.

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[twitchesandstitches]

Red Lantern Alighting

In the dark, there was loss.

In ages so often made dark and grim by the selfishness and vainglory of those who measured personal achievement in mountains of the dead, there were plenty who looked up from the bottom of the heap, and found something there.

Jackboots ground down on their faces, and the warlords who destroyed their lives cared nothing for the suffering they wrought. Tyrants, fascists, conquerors and world-wreckers all simply did their thing, and like incredibly inattentive farmers, did not realize what they were sowing.

The people ground down on the bottom learned well what it meant to suffer. To lose everything. And in the pits, in the slave arenas and at the end of an overseer’s whip, they learned the shape of hate.

And one day, on so many worlds stained with suffering, made into something filthy by despair and torment, a red star bloomed in the sky.

And those who suffered the most, burning on the inside, found a clawed hand extended to them.

And in his claws, there was a ring offered out to them.

“Make them pay.”

-------

It was a common rumor, perhaps to pass the time, but there was enough of an edge to it to suggest some panic that remained in the news, all the same:

Ten thousand worlds are burning.

To many across the places touched by the Eunoianet, the magical web of communications, stories, and media that connected the Fleet worlds and kept their culture alive, there was some mild interest. Plenty took the news literally, and organized fire brigade fleets to put the fires out.

Blaster, an Endowed Autobot with a keen interest in xenosociology particularly as related to culture and music, thought something was off the moment she first heard the specific phrasing, and its connections to conflicts on a chain of interstellar empires.

“Ten thousands worlds,” as she told her team, “Is a kenning.” Her team gave her politely incomprehensible looks. With a look of delight, one of her daughters (a minibot named Rewind) eagerly leaned out of her seat, visor shining bright, faceplate wiggling excitedly.

Wicke, possibly one of Blaster’s closest friends in the theoretical engineering sub-sets, opened her mouth to say that she knew what it meant. Blaster shook her head repeatedly. ‘Let Rewind have her moment!’

Rewind spoke up. Like many minibots, she was human-sized; about seven feet tall, but so incredibly thick that she was almost that wide too (at least at the chest-mounted Energon tanks and her impressively massive hips), her heavily plated exterior indicating her preferred alt mode of a tanky attack drone. As she began to speak, her present siblings (both of them beastformers; a moody red robot rhino named Ramhorn and a yellow leonine tracker called Steeljaw) rolled their optics. “Did you all know? A kenning! Is a common term for a culture-specific metaphor, usually tied to folklore. Typically it is a shorthand for a more complicated concept, you see!”

Wicke, shifting about and balancing her gargantuan breasts onto legs easily thick enough to be bust-supporting shelves, nodded. “And what might this kenning refer to, dear?”

The other two of this particular mission winced at Rewind went into a needlessly and painful convoluted explanation with too much time spent on unnecessary asides on cultural context. Bismuth, rolled her temporary optics and tried to nap. A tricky thing considering that to save on space, she had installed her Gem into a fembot shell that at least matched her amazonian, outrageously curvy true form, but one of the things it couldn’t do was sleep. Smaller even than Rewind was arguably the most famous of them all; Toshinori Yagi, better known by his professional name All Might; once a massive tower of muscle and masculine charm, his self-sacrificing job as a Fleet champion had left him an emaciated wreck, his powers too dangerous to access often. Nonetheless, his experience made him a highly skilled mech pilot to channel his spirit. He was doing his best to pretend to be listening but was clearly suffering.

The gist of the lecture, in any case, was this: ‘a thousand worlds is slang, in this little intersection between a dozen or so little empires, for all known worlds’.

“So,” Toshinori said gravely after some thought. “It’s a great deal more serious than even ten thousand individual worlds!”

Bismuth’s fembot shell shrugged its expansive shoulders. “Honestly, you sure it’s even appropriate for us to get involved? I mean, I’m all for intervening, but the people in this area…” Her shell’s emoticon-displaying face cycled through a number of uncomfortable expressions. “They’re not gonna be welcoming or appreciate us.”

“The power structure could use a shake-up,” Steeljaw observed, his voice cultured, deliberately refined. This was the voice of a cat-bot who could somehow hold a cup with his pinky-claw out. It was a strange thing to see from someone who had grown up in a society where setting yourself on fire was considered a good icebreaker. “They’re… well, I shouldn’t SAY they are dreadful tyrants, by and by, but alas…”

“Can we kick their ass?” Ramhorn said hopefully. “Please tell me, we get to do some tyrant toppling!”

They looked at Blaster, to see what her vote might be. She thought about it and shrugged. “Personally I’d rather do what we can if trouble comes to us; I won’t say no to rescue, even if the folks around here yell at us. But actively dismantling their empire, however deserved, is really not a good idea. We’d need to work things out better before we decide if we have the RIGHT to do that or not.”

The ship approached the first world to investigate, and Toshinori’s eyes widened, the modded dark patches around them accentuating his shock. “I… do not believe we will have the opportunity! Look!”

They looked out.

The flames were bright on the windows, even from super-orbit.

They had seen continents, entire landmasses, on fire before.

They hadn’t often seen the landmasses in question rearranged to spell out an extremely crude message.

“...Ah,” Wicke said, wincing. “I suppose the worlds being on fire was not entirely a metaphor, then.”

The ship found stable orbit, relatively safe from most sensors, and with their on-board alchemizers and raw materials, it was a simple matter to build an observation station to live in and wait to come to some kind of a conclusion. If there was a problem with the Fleet’s organization, Blaster mused, it was that waiting for every participating citizen to come to some kind of a consensus took forever, even with cybernetic telepathic stations to work it out. At least with this small group, it was easier to work it out.

Rewind and Blaster were considered the best at stealth to go down and put the fires out; Wicke was undoubtedly the most powerful but her raw power made her inefficient at HIDING her presence, and they weren’t sure if they were ready for confrontation. Bismuth waiting for the all clear (and once she got it, she alchemized terraforming rainfall that put the fires out in days), and Toshinori had many sterling qualities to make him such a paragon, they put his face in the Big Book of How To Hero. Holding back or being stealthy was NOT one of those traits.

Before Bismuth got to work, Rewind gave her report to the others:

“Most strange, so very strange indeed? Did you know, it is very strange for there to be no one left on the planet?”

“The place WAS on fire,” Bismuth had said. Sourly, she had added, “Maybe they were attacking each other… this whole region is a mess of conquerors trying to kill each other. Yeerks looking for better hosts to enslave, elven supremacists, orks that kill everything just to get a better fight out of it…”

Rewind nodded. “Yes, certainly! But, there were NO bodies! Not on the scale that we ought to have seen!” She had paused, looking uncomfortable. “At the very least, those bodies were not killed by the fire.”

Wicke frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rewind was equipped with recording abilities, in her role as a scout. She did warn them first, though, that it would be graphic; Wicke often was employed as a coroner to study the bodies of metanatural encounters, Bismuth was a vetern of many revolutions, and Toshinori had been a hero for a very long time. All of them were acquainted with brutality.

Even so, they were taken aback by the horrors on the screen. “Oh… Arceus’ peg…” Wicke said softly, as they showed them ashen streets and bodies that were by then mostly… pulled apart. Heads were mounted on spikes, and were the only recognizable bit. Everything else had been torn apart, burned so badly and then pulverized into a meaty pulp to coat buildings and streets.

The Fleet was a rough place, and its heroes tended towards extreme fury and ferocity as a rule; nonetheless, this was extreme, even by the standards Wicke knew. “I thought you said fire hadn’t killed them?”

“Analysis indicates that they WERE burned to death, but not by the fires we see. It was a different sort of burning inconsistent with what’s ravaging the planets.

Bismuth had examined several other such photos. She was a ferocious fighter, even by the standards of her Dinobot partners (long since married to them, by this point), but even the greatest savagery of Grimlock or the combined fury of Volcanicus had a point; the shock was intended to terrify the enemy into retreat, or encourage allies to greater morale. This felt more like just randomized lashing out.

Toshinori didn’t much like what he was looking at. “Infighting, perhaps? This is just so… excessive, though. Why would they kill each other so brutally?”

“Rivalries? Combat doctrine?” Ramhorn suggested.

“Or maybe whoever killed them was really angry,” Bismuth suggested. “I’ve done stuff that… okay, not as bad as THIS but… when you’ve been ground done long enough, you’d be surprised what happens when you let that monster off its leash.”

Toshinori considered this. His eyes widened. “Oh…! Rewind, Blaster! You said there were no bodies found, yes?”

“Indeed, sir!” Rewind said. “No bodies besides these!”

“No ashes, then?”

“None that would fit the profile of the bodies, or any traces of incinerated corpses on the scale of an entire population.”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Perhaps there are no survivors because they have already been evacuated from the world.”

Bismuth brightened up. “Oh! That’d be a relief.” Perhaps thinking along the same lines as whatever was prompting Toshinori, she compared the visible mounted heads, stabbed on display by whoever had been angry enough to burn the whole planet down, and compared them with all Fleet records of multiversally-wanted villains.

Most of them matched someone on the lists, with the ones who weren’t at least suspected of awful crimes. Bismuth did not much dwell on the evil deeds attached to them; it was sickening to behold, but it was enough to know that very evil men and women had died this day. “Check this out. I compared the skulls to records of some serious bad guys, and they’re all… yeah, the multiverse is better off without them.”

Toshinori nodded. “As I suspected.”

Steeljaw was several times the size of Toshinori (who was tall for a human, but puny by Fleet women standards), but he gave him an adoring look nonetheless. “Sir, do you perhaps have an idea?”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Let us at least consider the idea that the downtrodden of this world may have had their opportunity to rise up, at least.”

“You think so?” Wicke said, raising an eyebrow. “This much destruction is rather excessive.”

“People who have suffered terribly, all their lives, often do not have much reason to hold back once they have the opportunity to strike!”

“True enough.” Wicke had turned, and other matters called their attention.

Bismuth’s terraformers conjured forth enough rain, with a mild connection to the Elemental Plane of Water, to put out the fires and render the planet suitable for all of them to at least walk on. Several days onwards, they landed to investigate properly.

As they suspected, there was no life on the planet anywhere. Blaster had flown across the planet in her preferred aerial form with a massive armory of sensory drones, and there was no signs of life; no organic presence, no living movement, no hints of the electromagnetic activity that marked the presence of synthetic life forms. And the ashes of burned things did not account for all the inhabitants being dead, either.

Several days, the mystery continued to deepen as they continued the search on other worlds, and the pattern on the first repeated itself. Uncannily the same, at that.

And it WAS a pattern; Wicke was certain.

Above them, far in the sky, a red star seemed to appear; the figure within watched them dispassionately, weighing their hearts.

They shone bright and good. But, he judged, they did not have the burning anger he sought out.

He contemplated the Gem, however. There was the spark of fury there…. Perhaps later, then.

The red light flew away, leaving the battleground behind.

And in the meantime, unaware of this, Blaster’s team continued to search. Unexpectedly, they found something interesting on one of the cities that hadn’t quite been exploded.

Blaster was over sixty feet tall, her minibot offspring incorporated into her body in cassette forms and channeling their power to her, so she could achieve a far greater size and curve level than normal, and she had to be careful not to let her waist-level bustline demolish things worse. Slowly she leaned forward, studying something on the wall. “I found something!”

Bismuth was in her true form now that she had room to grow, and she stood over a hundred and twenty feet, not even a trickle of her full power being used. SHe wasn’t just an amazon, she was a gigantic gray-blue beauty, her multi-colored dreadlocks shining bright, her gem core just barely visible in the cleavage of two massive breasts with lower slopes extending past her mighty thighs. Power crackled in her hard light body, and she was cheerfully refusing to reign it in. (“This much awesome DESERVES to be on display!” she had boasted, and kissed her biceps.) “Whatcha got there, Blast?”

Toshinori approached. While he did have his own powers, they were so strong as to be a serious threat to his emaciated body, and he preferred to channel them through powered exoskeleton frames; in this case, he operated a mech slightly too large to be considered power armor, but small enough to operate on a human scale, which seemed to be the standard size on this world. It looked like a brightly colored egg, with powerful limbs to channel his energies through and punch things, and a colorful aura of energy created a luminous V-shape above him from the back.

Its sensors relayed it to him. Toshinori studied it. “Graffiti, or perhaps a calling card.”

Wicke, standing at a very far distance from everyone else in case she suddenly needed to grow to fight (and would thus need a LOT of space; she could exceed planetary size without even putting in effort), linked up to Toshinori’s mech to see it for herself. “It IS more recent. I think this was left as a message.”

It was all red against the slag; a bright cherry-red color that would have been friendly if not for it being carved into the collected skulls of, apparently, the most cruel and hateful tyrants in the entire system. It had been burned into them, in fact, possibly by whatever had set the planets on fire, and then painted over.

It looked a little bit, then, like a round circle. Two vertical lines were set on either side, with additional zags moving outwards over that. There was a short message, written in an unfamiliar script similar to the Daedric alphabet. “A curious sign,” Rewind communed to Blaster. “It resembles that of the Green Lantern Order.”

“Green Lanterns?” Blaster said aloud.

Toshinori shifted. “Green Lanterns, did you say?” He looked at the sign. Bismuth and Wicke were running a translation cipher, comparing the letters to the most likely solutions. “They were an ancient order of heroes! They predated the Cataclysm by many eons; I suspect the last of them perished trying to fight that disaster, though they left behind relics and lore.” He patted his chest proudly. “My heroic predecessor, One For All, supposedly refined the power I carry with Green Lantern secrets!”

“So perhaps whoever did this was evoking their legacy?” Blaster said. Well, Ramhorn asked, and she relayed it.

Toshinori considered it. “I think that is possible, but it would be an odd thing. The symbol is different; the Green Lantern sigil was a, well, a lantern, with horizontal lines above and below.” He pointed out another thing: two circles inside the sign, at angles. “Nothing like that there. And it was green, of course. Not… well, red.”

Bismuth glanced aside. “It does look like a lantern, though.”

“Yes,” Blaster said thoughtfully, surrounded by charred landscape, burned by the rage of those suffering for so long. “A red lantern.”

“Got it!” Wicke said triumphantly. “The script originates from Beforus! A curious thing; It hasn’t been spoken since Beforus.was lost; it is similar to various forms that have derived from it since then, but… oh, just a digression, not that important.”

Rewind perked up, eager to hear more, but Blaster was in a hurry. “So why Beforus? It’s not anywhere near here, and these worlds didn’t have a significant troll population.”

“Yes. That is the difficult part. And the language is fairly obscure; there are a few figures who survived Beforus and gained the ability to avoid aging who would still speak it, but I can’t imagine what they would be doing here.”

The Condesce, Blaster thought. The Dolorosa, mother of vampires. The Grand Highblood. The Blue Arrow and executioner of the degenerate. The Psiionic, sailor of the stars. And the others, the founders of modern troll-kind and preservationists of their culture; most were within the Fleet, and all of them had at least spent some time with it, in the past. Most were accounted for.

But not at all.

Bismuth frowned as the translation software ran. “The symbol thing is a bit wonky; someone chipped away a few bits here and there. See?”

“Yes,” Toshinori said. “It looks a bit like like an incomplete circle, then. I wonder if it was sending a message?”

Blaster leaned in. “And with those little circles inside, it kind of looks like the astrological sign for Cancer, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, it does!”

Blaster chuckled. “Now that’s obscure, what does that even-”

Oh. OH.

Bright red colored. Mutant red.

A sign that looked like what trolls called the Iron Manacles, the Crab Claws.

And Beforan script, as would be remembered by someone who had actually lived through the fall of Beforus.

And now, she realized, she had seen this level of brutal destructiveness, this unfettered and passionate rage.

She kept it to herself for now. “Is that translation ready?”

“Yes,” said Wicke. She cleared her throat, and spoke aloud. “Bear in mind, this is quite a rough translation, and the software likes poetic meter, but nonetheless, this should get the spirit across.”

Wicke translated thusly:

“With blood and rage of crimson red,

“Passed on by those long dead.

“Together with our righteous hate,

“We will burn them all.

“No one else will share our fate.”

Wicke finished. “And it is signed… I think it translates as the Anointed.  Of… the Red Lantern Corps? I don’t suppose you know anyone by that term.”

“None that fit the situation,” Toshinori said. Bismuth said much the same.

“Kankri Vantas the first.”

Blaster said this heavily, with mounting shock.

The name called to mind a fussy and passive-aggressively angry young troll, a bit older than the likes of Terezi and her generation. “Uh, are you sure you have the right guy?” Bismuth said. “Kankri, you said? Chubby, really pretty? Has a really bad case of pent-up anger he needs to deal with?”

“Not him,” Bismuth said. “The other one.”

“What other one, I don’t- oh.” Bismuth’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“The Sufferer.” Toshinori said, horrified. “He’s here!?”

“Or he was. It fits his… preference for rising up. But on a bigger scale. And of course, the Anointed is what Beforan religious practices named him. He’s never liked being called the Sufferer or the Signless.”

There was silence, then, for a time.

It was not bad news, exactly. But it was certainly concerning.

The Signless, the Suffferer or whatever you might call him, had come here. He had… slaughtered the worst of these worlds, and had done something with everyone else. The wording indicated numbers; the ‘we’ and all’. Perhaps… he had been recruiting?

For what?

They stared at the sign of a red lantern, shaped to be like the sign of suffering among trolls; an icon of enduring the unspeakable, a sign for those fighting to make a kinder world even if you did it on a tide of blood.

Kankri Vantas of Beforus was the kindest of his people. A living prophet to some, handing down law and covenant to mortals, fulfilling ancient prophecies and setting people free. He was a just man, a good man.

And he was also someone who had waged wars so bloody that even the Condesce, a woman no stranger to cruelty and ferocity, had been afraid of his savagery.

“Let’s get back up and upload our findings to the Eunoianet,” Blaster suggested. “We need to figure out what to do from here. And someone give the word to Karkat Vantas that I need to have a talk with him,” she said wearily.

“We’ve found his ancestor.”

-----

(It should be noted that some elements of this fic aren’t exactly in chronlogical order.

Yes, the Signless is the leader of the Red Lanterns here, rather than Atrocitus. As it is, they are the only extant Lanterns, but the others will soon arise, more likely than not. This much is certain!

However, I’ve planned for Signless’ Red Lanterns to predate the Fleet, at least as a fully functional organization. He may either have been making it during his initial time with the Fleet, or at some point, the proto-Fleet’s founding families discovered relics that the Signless was inspired to create the first Red Power Battery and rings from; it could be that he’s only recently made them fully practical and is expanding his Corps’ reach.

They are intended as heroes; merciless, angry and destructive, but they are good guys all the same. Their job is to make the monsters fuckin’ BURN. They are not antagonists, but the Fleet does not yet know what to make of them!)

[marinette-buginette]

Serial Killer AU (End 1)

All my thanks to @queenlypirate for suggesting two endings. Either works, so pick your fave. I know which is mine. Also in this one, Marinette took the ‘Chat needed help’ a little bit too literally.

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| End 2|

Tikki opened the door to Marinette’s apartment wearily. Putting the key she found in the potted plant next to the door in her pocket, Tikki entered the house. Everything seemed unchanged, save for the thin layer of dust that appeared to settle over everything. Tikki got a grip on her gun and began to move slowly, taking in her surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place, no sign of fighting or resistance. Still, something was out of place. Marinette called about two weeks ago saying she needs a medical leave. Something about exhaustion and other things that might affect her performance at work. Tikki, of course, approved the medical leave. She didn’t want Marinette putting her health in peril or the sake of working. But when she tried to call last week to ask her about her whereabout the line went dead. She assumed Marinette might just have her phone closed. But after continuous calls for a couple of days, Tikki figured something had to be wrong. So she came to visit. It seems like her instincts were right.

Gripping her gun tighter, she approached the door of Marinette’s bedroom before kicking it open with all her might and storming in, gun pointed. It was empty. Tikki’s blue eyes scanned the room. Oddly, Marinette’s sketchbooks were gone. But her phone was still there. Seeing there was no direct threat near, Tikki lowered the gun and went to grab Marinette’s phone. She was really grateful Marinette never bothered to put a password. She unlocked the screen, expecting to see the amount of missed calls. She didn’t expect it to open to a picture of her and Marinette. Tikki narrowed her eyes at the screen. She recognized it. It had been Christmas party from last year. Both women were smiling brightly at the camera, striking a silly pose. Tikki remembered vaguely they might have been a little tipsy. Was this the last thing Marinette had looked on her phone? She obviously didn’t bother to exit her gallery. There was no sign of a fight in the apartment, so if there had been a kidnapping it hadn’t been a violent one. Tikki frowned, trying to put some order on in her thoughts. Something was wrong.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her. Tikki felt a chill run down her spine. She had a bad feeling about this. Checking her screen, Tikki saw the number of the department. Yet, it didn’t ease her nerves.

“Speak.” Tikki ordered, finally answering the call.

“Boss, we have a problem.”

*earlier that night*

Adrien looked at his work with a satisfied smile. The red of the blood was eye-catching, compared to the cream colour of the building. It was truly standing out. Chat nodded appreciatively at his work as she began to wipe his bloody hands on a rag. It was a peaceful night of June, maybe a little too silent for Paris. It was pretty warm, but a chill breeze made sure it wasn’t suffocating. He didn’t know what could make the night more wonderful than killing a gang of fascists.

“Nice work you did there, handsome.”

On second thought, there was something that could certainly make his night much lovelier. Or someone.

“Why, thank you.” his satisfied grin turned tender as he glanced down at her. “It is a dedication for someone very, very special.”

“Oh? They must really be for such a declaration.” they both glanced at the wall of the building again, the red traces of blood forming a perfect message.

Thank you for loving me.

“The most special.” he declared solemnly while glancing at her.

Ladybug giggled. “You are adorable. And you know, that declaration is quite funny.”

“How so?” Chat questioned with a frown.

Ladybug gave him a look that he knew very well. It meant she knew something he didn’t. Taking his hands, she began guiding him away. “Close your eyes. It is a surprise.”

He did as she asked and let her guide him through the small, dark streets of Paris until their movements came to a stop.

“You can open them now.” she whispered in his ear. Chat couldn’t help the smile that appeared once his eyes found the bloody writing.

I will always love you.

“Well, it seems like we were synchronized.” Chat slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “I want to make a Disney reference, actually.”

Ladybug could only snort. What a dork. He was her dork, though. And she wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world. Getting on her tip toes, Marinette nuzzled her nose against his. She could almost hear him purr in delight. With a small giggle, she tilted her head, letting her lips slide over his. Chat sighed against her mouth. He will never get tired of her kisses, no matter if they were in their new little home on the outskirts of the city or in a dark alley with their hands covered in blood. She pulled at his shoulders, beginning to deepen the kiss. Chat considered they should call it a night and go home where they could kiss in peace. Too bad, a vibration interrupted them. Chat let out an unhappy growl as Ladybug moved away from him to open the message she received on the communicator.

“Seems like we got a new target.” Chat muttered while looking over her shoulder at the data sent by the leader of the Miraculous, Master Fu.

“Just one this time, not a gang.” Ladybug glanced up at him. “Are you in the mood? Or should we postpone it?”

Chat’s grin gave her enough of an answer.

There was something lurking in the dark. He knew that and tried to ignore it as much as he could, but his instincts were screaming at him to run for his life. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to go out at this hour. Not with the things happening in Paris. The man let out a strangled gasp as a rope circled around his neck, dragging him down and hardening his breath.

“I wouldn’t scream if I were you.” the man looked with big eyes as a woman clad in dark and black approached, the end of the rope in her hand and… was that a yoyo? She didn’t look what one would have imagined the serial killer that put Paris on its toes would look like.

“Wonderful catch, ma choupinette.”

The man eyes snapped towards the voice, his gaze landing on a tall man coming from the other direction. His cat-like eyes pierced through the man who was currently lying on the ground, grabbing at the rope and trying to pull himself free.

“Please,” he begged, his voice strangled. “No, please.”

The woman behind him laughed dryly. “Would you look at that? He learned the meaning of the words now.” the anger was clear in her voice as she tightened the rope a little more.

“Hm, so what shall it be?” the man asked, opening one of the pockets of his belt and revealing some small vials.

“Remind me again, how old was that kid?”

“If the report was correct and they always are, then, ten years old.” he answered nonchalantly.

The woman glared down at the culprit before her expression changed into a sadistic smirk. “Do you happen to have that one poison that makes the intern organs melt?” she asked her partner.

He pulled out one of the vials along with a syringe, smirking back at her. “I love the way you think, my lady.” his eyes shifted towards their target. “Now stay still.”

Ladybug arranged her yoyo back to her belt once they were done. Chat was smiling happily at her, the cat lenses he wore making his eyes glow in the dark of the night. She found it more comforting rather than scary now. Chat extended his hand and Ladybug took it happily, letting him pull her close to him. She sighed contently.

“Let’s go home, my love.”

[aclockworkfilmsnob]

Thank you for making it so clear you support pedophiles. Since you are encouraging support for Split and Split has the very clear message that CSA makes the one girl "better" and "pure" you obviously agree with this view, which at least victims know to block you now you have been so open about your support for our abuse. Misrepresentation of DID was far from the only problem with Split.

I’m glad you see my end. Just like how I support rape and murder because of Alex being the protagonist, and the definitive example of an organic human being, in one of my all time favorite films, A Clockwork Orange. I also support satanists because of Rosemary’s Baby, murdering your children because of Titus, fascist control  because of Starship Troopers, organized crime because of Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs, and allowing innocent people to die with complete apathy because of Escape from New York. You clearly understand cinema more than I do. 

Let me ask you a question, friendo. Who advocated the corruption of mankind in Split? Was it the protagonist? Oh, wait, no it wasn’t. It was the beast. The one with the clearly established misguided motives, like Mr. Glass in Unbreakable. At no point does the film say “See, it’s a good thing that Anya Taylor Joy was molested by her uncle.” No, it only ended up saving her because of the depressing harshness of reality. The film says that the ones who have been exposed to abuse are the ones who understand that the world is a cruel place, they are the ones who are not asleep. The film does not say that this is a good thing, Again, that’s just like saying that Alex DeLarge, the rapist murderer, was RIGHT for doing what he did because he was the embodiment of how organically terrible the world can be. It’s not right, it’s absolutely wrong and immoral. But it’s not like it’s a reality we can hide from. 

Casey suffered, and her life would have been better had her father been there to protect her from her uncle. The film is so fucking obvious in saying this. She does not live a better life because of what happened to her, but she grew stronger through the events of being locked up by the horde that the audience could infer that she was strong enough to fight against it. It’s not an easy pill to swallow, and we don’t know if she succeeds in exposing her uncle for the monster he is, but she grew through controversial and unsettling means (NOT through her being molested, that was the major conflict she had to overcome, NOT what made her overcome such conflict) 

I’m sorry that you’re cherry picking things to belittle Split for since I’ve already supplied some pretty compelling arguments against the DID claims. That’s actually kind of sad, thinking about it now. It’s like beating somebody in an argument against ACO supporting rape, and then the person says “Oh yeah, well... why didn’t Alex rape the cat lady? What was she not young or attractive enough for him? Thanks for letting me know that you support sexism.” Like okay, that’s not a stretch at all. 

I’m sorry if you’ve suffered through these issues in real life, genuinely, I am. I can only imagine what you’ve been through and I really hope you stay strong to overcome and embrace the hardships of your life, I understand that it is a very difficult thing to deal with and you have my full sympathy and support in your real life endeavors, my heart goes out to you. But I need to make something abundantly clear, ignoring everything about this fictional movie. I still view you, and everybody similar to you, and everybody who suffers so much more than you and would kill to be in your position, as a person. I am not going to treat you like a caged animal and give you special treatment as if you’re some wild creature that should be kept in an endangered animal preserve. People who suffer from mental illness are still people in my eyes. And some people are cowards and assholes. 

You are a coward and an asshole. This is completely irrelevant of what terrible things life has thrown your way. You still anonymously accused me of terrible things. You’re hiding your identity behind tumblr’s anonymous ask system, you don’t even have the yarbles to reveal your account name, which probably has 0 information on what your identity actually is. I show my face and my name, and if I’m going to accuse somebody of something so fucking extreme, I will not hide behind anonymity like a little child. You have the audacity to accuse me of advocating something as horrible as pedophilia and you can’t even do the bare minimum and expose your account? Yeah my stupid SJW trolling phase may have been a waste of everybody’s time, but at least I showed myself. Because I was confident in what I was saying, and I had no problem backing up what I said when people inevitably replied to my claims. You, on the other hand, are a weepy child. You make outrageous claims absolutely antagonizing me, and you have the safety of my followers not knowing who you are because of the possibility that I could debunk your stupid fucking claims.

 For whatever you’ve been through in life, my heart goes out to you and I hope things improve for you. But as a person, you get 0 sympathy from me. You’re an overly provocative asshole hiding behind safe spaces and outlandish claims, and that will get you nowhere in life. You talk about the people being offended by my claims blocking me, and if they’re anything like you, I couldn’t ask for a better gift. People like you can keep sending me these stupid anons, keep calling me out on frivolous nonsense that just isn’t true, and keep antagonizing me as if you know who I am and you know what I’ve been through in my own life. But I’ll always have the satisfaction of knowing that I can state my opinion without being scared of what people have to say to me directly in response to my controversial claims. I have a lot of unpopular opinions, buddy. I’m convinced that 60% of tumblr would consider me racist, sexist, misogynistic, and insensitive to people with mental illness. And if you want to accuse me of such, I welcome it, I’ll gladly have that debate. A nozh scrap anytime you say. But if you want your argument to be redeemable or respectable in any way shape or form, at least have the decency to show yourself. Otherwise, no matter what you’re fighting for, you’re telling me and everybody else that you are afraid of backlash, and you are not confident in your argument. And in that case, no one will take you seriously. Not even if you’re right.  

[kenyedoesfiction]

A Defiant Daughter, Pt. 1

So, some fic to go with my Kenyedian Rebellion idea. Takes place in the early 1940s in their world. 

A young blonde, teenage girl was sitting in the library of the private all girls’ school she went to with her friends. They were all visiting and killing time during their lunch break period.

 These weren’t just any girls and this wasn’t just any school though. This was the most prestigious private girls’ school in all of the country. These girls were all daughters of generals and government officials. This particular girl, the blonde we’re focusing on, is the daughter of the president of The Republic of Kenyedia. Her name was Freja Wiedel.

 Her father, the president of Kenyedia, headed a far-right fascist party (The National Movement of Kenyedia, usually abbreviated as NMK) that, as time went on, became more open about racial supremacist ideals and was open in oppressing and taking rights away from those they deemed “beneath” them. Despite being of a race that explored and colonized the region, the NMK were even very disrespectful to the native Kenyedians. If anything, the natives probably got the worst treatment of all the other races in the nation. Anymore, the only time a native being killed made it to the news, it was if the story could somehow be made to make them look bad and that the killing was a good thing.

 Freja was a very quite girl. Most took this as her being polite and well behaved, but the truth was that she held a lot inside because she was afraid.

 A couple of the girls were flipping through a magazine that was on the rack in the library. It was a political magazine (pro- NMK, of course) and the cover story was a look at the leader of the resistance movement and party, otherwise known as the Peoples Party of Kenyedia (PPK), Xavier Bashar Alzanjo.

 “Ugh, he’s so ugly!”

“Of course he is! He’s a fullblood Yuko (derogatory term for Kenyedian natives).”

“But he’s ugly even for them! All tall and gangly, stupid haircut, piercing his ear, wearing his shirts all open and sleazy-like, wearing pants much to tight for him.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s one of those who feels the need to show off his junk. Gross. No modest at all.”

The other girls took turns scrutinizing the man’s looks. Freja just sat quietly.

“Doesn’t he look positively gross, Freja?”

“One should be more concerned with his actions, not his appearance.” The girl said quietly.

“True, but his actions are also gross. He’s a Yuko who thinks all races are equal! That all people are equal! He thinks more than just normal heterosexual monogamous couples should be able to be together, wed, and even be parents!”

“Father says all Yuko men are the same! Rapists, pedophiles, psychopaths, drunks, woman-beaters—you name it!”

“And they love to seduce Telaran women and take advantage of us! We’re so lucky our fathers raised us better than to fall for scum like those Yuko men. Right, Freja?” A girl every saw as Freja’s best friend turned to her.

“Oh, yes, I suppose.”

“Say, Freja, how are you and Dieter? Hehe.” One of the girls asked, giggling.

 Freja took a deep sigh. Dieter was the son of one of the head generals of the army and her father absolutely loved the idea of her and the young man being together. His exact words once were “It would be so lovely if you and Dieter got together and made many beautiful Telaran babies to help preserve our magnificent race! He’s such a strong and handsome young man and you’re an endlessly beautiful young woman! Perfect Telaran specimens!”

 In truth, Freja thought Dieter was annoying and not really much to look at. “He’s a pasty white plastic doll with as much personality as a stale cracker that someone scraped all of the salt off of.” She once moaned to her beloved pet cat.  

 “We are… people?” Freja wasn’t sure what to say. She really didn’t care a lick about the boy her father constantly pushed on her.

“You two are gonna marry, for sure!” Freja’s friend nudged and winked at her.

 After school, her friends and her had originally planned to go out to the café together, but she feigned a queasy stomach and said she’s just walk to her father’s office in the capital plaza instead. They bought and let her go.

 She took the long way to see her father though.

 There just happened to be a PPK rally going on that afternoon and it just happened to be on the route of “the long way” to see her father. She snuck through a few alleyways and found herself a spot right by the little stage that had been set up. A man and a woman, both with black hair tied up in ponytails, were talking to the audience. The man was of Xian origin and the woman seemed to be mixed race. As they spoke, Freja heard things that were so different than everything she’d ever known—and they made much more sense.

 Once the man an woman were done, the audience clapped enthusiastically. Then, a tall, dark, and striking man took the stage. The audience grew even more excited. As Freja studied him she realized it was the leader of the PPK, Mr. Alzanjo. She could feel her heart-beat increase and her body temperature—but why? Why was her body going into such a rush seeing him in person?

 He opened his mouth and spoke in voice that seemed to melt her and put her at ease. His tone, his accent, and the words he spoke were some of the most profound she’d ever heard. All the years of feeling like she HAD to follow her father’s wishes and beliefs were fading away. She felt like someone finally made sense in all this political chaos.

 “Hey.” A hand touched her shoulder.

“I’m sorry! I was only passing through!” Freja shrieked softly.

“It’s okay! It’s a free rally! I was just wondering why you were hiding back here.” A tall, older man was standing behind her. He seemed rough and perhaps a bit grumpy to look at, but something about him seemed kind and friendly at the same time. He had wild dark salt and pepper colored hair and a rather muscular frame.

“I just… didn’t want to be seen by anyone who knows me.” She moaned softly.

“Why’s that?” The woman who was previously on stage now appeared next to them.

“Er, I just—“

“Wait, you seem familiar.” The Xian man was now there as well.

“I, um, you see—“

“I know! I see girls that look like you on NMK posters all the time!”

“Ugh, yes, I’m used a model for those posters all the time.” Freja rolled her eyes and groaned.

“Why is that? Why would you model for them?”

“Because she is the president’s daughter.” A woman with dark skin, appearing to be of Rhetakani blood.

“What?” The other three all gasped in unison.

“… Yes. My father is the president. But please! I’m not here to spy or be rude! I just wanted to see your leader speak! I enjoyed it!”

“So… you don’t agree with the NMK?” The mixed woman raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not! Just because my father is some hateful bigot, doesn’t mean I have to be!” The teen girl stomped her foot.

“That is beautiful news to hear!” The leader of the PPK stood behind all of them.

 Freja’s pale face suddenly was bright red like a ripe tomato and her blue eyes became as bright as the blue sky on a clear day. She studied him closely and took his whole appearance and aura both in. He was tall and older like the man with the wild hair, but he wasn’t as tall or as old. He his hair was in a black mullet cut and he has a mustache under his hook shaped nose. His skin was olive in color and he wasn’t too hairy. Just like in the photos she’d seen of him, he wore and open shirt that expose his bare chest and his pants were very tight—she really couldn’t ignore this especially.

The Rhatakani woman waved her hand in front of Freja’s face but got no reaction. The mixed woman giggled and whispered to the Xian man, who then chuckled in response.

 “ My name is Xavier Bashar Alzanjo and I would be more than happy to discuss politics with you over a drink, if that’s not too forward of me to ask!” The mustached man grinned down at the blushing teen.

“I, well, my father isn’t expecting me home for a while… sure! And my name is Freja Wiedel Oh, but what sort of drink? I’m not old enough to drink alcohol.”

“No worries! We can go to this one little tavern I frequent and have some soda pops! And whatever else you want.”

“I, I, think I’d enjoy that! And I much want to be exposed to something other than my father’s ignorant drivel.”

 A bit later at the tavern…

 “You see, many native tribes had a system of communal living that was great. There was equality, everyone was taken care of, and no one was hateful of one another. I decided it would be nice to mesh that idea with modern socialism and communism and I know that this would be the best for all the people. We need to get away from his nationalistic, racist, hateful way of life.” Xavier was letting his mind open up to the young girl.

“I think I’m going to cry!” Freja sighed.

“What’s wrong?” The older man seemed concerned.

“It’s just nice to finally hear a man go on and on about things that are actually logical and beautiful, and not just spewing hateful trash. You should hear the things my father say about you and your race! Let alone your party.”

 A few years ago~

 “I can’t believe it! THIS is what the rebels are putting up against me? A degenerate predator?” President Wiedel slapped his hand down on that mornings newspaper. It had a mugshot of Xavier on it. He was arrested for allegedly sexually assaulting a young teen girl. There was barely any proof he did anything, but his race and political affiliation stamped his guilty either way.

“They consider THIS to be brilliant! Sure, he talks like he knows a lot, but it’s not that hard to see he’s nothing but sinful scum!”

 Freja was doing her history homework at one end of her father’s office while he met with and ranted to his Chief of Staff. She was studying a chapter on when the Telarans came over to the Kenyedia way back in the days and “fought against the immoral and savage natives and brought civilization to the land”. She always secretly wished she had a time machine to go back and see how it really was. One time, in class, a girl dared to claim that it was the Telaran people who were actually the savages. She disappeared to the school and Freja never saw anything of her ever again. The staff claimed her family had to move away due to family trouble in another region of the country, but Freja, knowing the way her father’s people ran the country, figured she was silenced and sent away to be “reeducated”. This is why Freja was always so quiet. She worried she would accidentally speak against the ways of her father and have terrible things happen to her.

 “He is truly a disgusting specimen. True textbook form of a savage Yuko man. He just managed to learn how to sound like an intelligent being.” Her father’s Chief of Staff shook his head.

“Everyone knows how many young girls he’s raped, yet they still laud him as a brilliant leader. Imagine that lanky oaf leading a country! It would be a dictatorship of degeneracy! No age of consent laws! And you know what else he supports? Same-sex relations! Transsexualism! Polygamy even as well! And of course, race mixing! Add that to his rampant support and practice of pedophilia, I wouldn’ be shocked if he at least supports rights for zoophiles and God only knows what else! And he’d force it on all of us!”

“Truly disgusting, sir!”

 Freja was getting a headache. She wished her father would just talk about something nice for once instead of saying terrible things about others. This is what she grew up with every day of her life.

 Back to the present time in the story~

 “I’m not shocked your father feels that way. And, of course, I was in prison for raping a young girl.”

“You were accused and the justice system is biased against the far-left and native Kenyedians. They didn’t care if you actually did anything, so it’s no proof that you did.”

 Xavier leaned forward closer to Freja and rested his big, boney hand on her knee.

“And what if I told you that I actually did sleep with her?”

“I’m… sure there’s an explanation.”

“Of course there is! She was thirteen, hormones racing, body well formed, and she wanted to do something wild and crazy. She flirted with me, even started rubbing herself on me, rubbing my junk even. Asked me if I wanted to take a chance and show a young girl a good time by fucking her. I gave in, because golly, a hot young thing inviting you to sleep with her is hard to resist, especially when she’s flat out asking you to sleep with her. She was so into the idea, I didn’t see how it could go wrong! Then, a few days later, I got the police breaking down my door and telling me I’m arrested for raping an underage girl. She went to her parents and started crying about how I took merciless advantage over her. Of course, when you have a pretty young Telaran girl and a ‘savage Yuko’ man, we all know who our society is going to side with.” The black haired man bit his lip. “Some would say it shouldn’t matter if she asked me or not. That I’m a bad person for saying yes and doing it. I say if two people are aware enough to understand what they’re doing, it’s fine. She knew what she was doing. In fact, maybe I’m just a fool for not realizing she was setting a trap, not really trying to have fun. Or… maybe the trap was fun for her.” He trailed off, visibly upset at what he saw as his own foolishness.

 Freja became saddened that he was upset and started to speak, “I don’t think—“

“I need to use the bathroom.” Xavier’s boots smacked the floor as he rose up on his long legs and swiftly walked toward the men’s room.

“Ah, he got himself sad, didn’t he? Thinking too much about how he is with girls.” The Xian man, who she now knew as Zhi sighed.

“He feels that’s his great fault; his weakness for younger women. So many times in his life, it’s lead him to getting in trouble or getting hurt.”

“Hey now, I was young when he and I met and I didn’t turn out as bad news for him!” The mixed woman, Kati, butted in.

“Of course you’re not bad for him, Kati. But one good friend that works doesn’t make up for a bunch of hurtful flings. And I know the pain! As a man who loves the ladies, I get it.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Freja was still concerned for Xavier.

“Knowing him, yes he will be. Left to his own devices, this mood just eventually dissipates and he’ll be back to normal. But… if he had some help…” A smirk came over Kati’s face.

“Hmm?”

“She’s saying we both can see you got something for Xavi and maybe if you did all you could to comfort him, he’d feel better faster!” Zhi winked at the young girl.

 Xavier finally came back from the bathroom. At the same time, Freja noticed the time and realized she had to be back to her father soon. Very little time to properly comfort a man.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to, but I have to go home. Here, I’ll come find you again soon!” She gently grabbed Xavier by his shirt collar and pulled him down into a long kiss on the lips. His mustache tickled her face a bit, but it was a great feeling.

“Once again, I’m sorry, but it was amazing meeting you and we need to get together again soon!” She finally pulled away and then started jogging out the door.

 “Damn it, guys, I think I like my sworn enemy’s daughter.” Xavier smirked and sighed.

“Think?” Zhi leaned over and glanced at the huge bulge in his friend’s pants.