#she's in some ways a reflection of the normal citizens in the universe

[gatheringbones]

[“Khiem thao and the Front’s political education in general was what Westerners called “thought control” or “brainwashing.” Of all the aspects of the Vietnamese revolution, it was this domination of the individual by the state which Americans — even those most opposed to their government’s policy in Vietnam — found most difficult to come to terms with.

On their trips to Hanoi in 1968 the writers Mary McCarthy and Susan Sontag discovered to their dismay that the North Vietnamese they met seemed to speak entirely in Communist jargon. “Everything is on one level here,” complained Miss Sontag to her journal. “All the words belong to the same vocabulary: struggle, bombings, friend, aggressor, imperialist, patriot.… I can’t help experiencing them as elements of an official language.” Had Miss Sontag been any less sympathetic to the North Vietnamese, she might have simply concluded that they were “brainwashed victims of Communist tyranny” — though they did not seem to be, for there was not a heavy atmosphere of Stalinism about them. On the contrary, they seemed to take a lucid, almost childlike pride in their government.

In Eastern Europe many intellectuals had made it plain to Miss McCarthy that the official language was an oppressive weight upon their normal speech, but the North Vietnamese seemed to possess no other kind of rhetoric. Neither of the writers could dispute the truth of their hosts’ words (the Americans were indeed, they felt, “imperialists” in Vietnam), but they could not help feeling that the North Vietnamese were in some way children, or, as they were not children, people who lacked a dimension of sensibility. Without any rebelliousness, indeed with a kind of joy in their achievement, the North Vietnamese seemed to have suppressed their private lives, their very personalities, in order to act out the cardboard role of “patriotic citizens.”

Miss McCarthy and Miss Sontag saw in North Vietnam what no American official had ever prepared them for: the very foreignness of the Vietnamese. The familiarity of the Communist language was in many ways a deception, for the Vietnamese were not like the Russians or the East Europeans. As Miss Sontag rightly concluded, the Communist ideology was not responsible for the social discipline of the Vietnamese. Rather, the impetus to such discipline rose out of traditional Vietnamese society.

Traditionally, the Vietnamese notion of society was not that of an aggregate, a collection of people, but that of a complete organism. The whole of society was much greater than the sum of its parts because it reflected and duplicated the overall design of the universe. Within his society the individual had no separate existence. His sense of personal identity came from his sense of participation in the society and in the universe. The moral problem for the individual was to discover not what he himself thought or wanted, but what the society required of him. The goal of speech was less to express the individuality of the ego than to arrive at a harmonious relationship with others and with the laws of the universe. “Truth” was not a conquest of reality, but an attempt to harmonize with it — an ethical as well as a scientific goal.

The French invasion effectively destroyed the Confucian design for society and the universe. It did not, however, change the impulse to a social and ideological coherency. For the Vietnamese “freedom” in the Western sense meant the disjunction of the ego from the superego. A disintegration of the personality, it led only to social chaos and the exploitation of the weak by the strong.”]

frances fitzgerald, from fire in the lake: the vietnamese and the americans in vietnam, 1972

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: shocking news, grumpy psyker Nomad showing a bit of emotion and...some quite colorful imagination about a ship crew member. Things get a little spicy

Genre: fluff with some smut

Pairing: Nomad space marine x fem!oc

TW: Explicit "funky" times near the end Idk the clothes get torn and the psyker is h0rny so-, dom space marine, fluff stuff more than spicy one.

Also first time ever I am posting something slightly more spicy so beware of inexperience (heh pun intended)...I TRIED OKAY qwq

Word count: 3020 words

Goblin tag squad (lemme know if you wanna get tagged too): @cardinalcanis

Blind words and crimson demigods

Roaring laughter and mirth filled the room; the Emperor's Laughter pub was bustling with activity—servitors roamed to and fro, tending to the tables whilst customers caroused and drank themselves into total blackout. A few were discussing the latest news; others played the traditional Imperium tarot, gambling away their meager fortunes.

The place was packed with all manner of citizens, most being part of the stationed Ember Nomads fleet. A group of unruly, obstreperous Ogryns bashed their tankards on the pub’s countertop, ale spilling everywhere and drenching the surrounding soldiers with their stench and spilled drinks.

At the sound of a newcomer arriving into the room everyone fell silent, chairs were quickly moved as every single soul rushed to stand up and salute the giant figure that had just entered the pub; the only human that hadn't stood up was a Iterator in the farthest table, seemingly not aware of her surroundings or just too focused on her meal to pay proper respects.

A giant, almost seven feet tall man stood by the doorframe, all of his yellow and crimson armor reflecting the lights of the pub in an almost blinding light. On the middle of his pauldron laid a insignia, the image of a single rune in the Cthonipem language, marking instantly the Order of Demigods he belonged to; a Nomad, in the flesh, standing right in front of all those people.

The man, if he could ever be called that, had been on the ship of his Chapter but, unlike his battle-brothers, not once the visage of that particular warrior had been seen by anyone in the ship until then. He was one of the psykers, a Witcher of the Storm.

He looked around the room, taking in every soul and every expression; he didn't seem to mind the sudden silence, in fact, it was normal to him and it wasn't the first time the common citizen had looked upon him that way; his helmet slowly pointed to the Iterator, who had yet to move an inch. He took a deep breath and made a single, slow movement.

His heavy footsteps resonated in the room like two giant rocks slamming against the floor, the jittering and clanking noises of his armor increased in volume as the giant approached the table of the Iterator. He stopped, towering above the woman who finally raised her head at whoever had approached her, the crowd gasped and held their breaths, thinking the lady had just offended one of the most elite warriors in the entire universe, but the woman didn't flinch, didn't move and didn't show any kind of fear. She simply put the cup of recaff down and smiled so brightly and innocent it bordered the limit of mockery.

"May I help you, Sir?" the woman asked, not a single sign of hesitation in her voice; the Nomad, however, didn't move an inch, his helmeted head looked at the woman for a long moment

"What is this?" The Astartes deep voice resonated like a giant bell, the words sounding as if coming from every direction at once.

"What is what?" The Iterator answered back. The man tightened his grip on the sheathed blade upon his right hip.

Everyone witnessing the scene felt a shiver run down their spine, a feeling of dread, a warning, a premonition of imminent danger, yet the woman kept her smile, unfazed by the imposing figure, even after feeling the change in the air, she remained calm and collected.

"I'm sorry, my Lord but, I do not understand"

The Nomad raised a hand, the gauntlet's metal shone and glistened, and pointed at her, the people surrounding the scene began whispering amongst themselves, trying to guess the meaning of the gesture. The Iterator felt a gust of wind hit her face from the sudden movement.

"Why are you not standing?" his tone was harsh, but not as harsh as his expression under the helmet

The Iterator tilted her head slightly to the right in confusion, then she understood. She began to laugh, a clear, innocent and cheerful laugh that surprised the giant before her, who tensed his muscles and grabbed the handle of his sword.

"It is not out of disrespect" She said after calming herself down and smiling again, her expression was soft and warm. "It is simply because of...this" She moved the strands of hair out of her face, showing her glassy white eyes, she was blind. "I cannot see you, I don't know who you are, my Lord"

The Nomad loosened the grip on the sword, the tension on his shoulders seemed to ease as he looked at her, then, the realization came to him, prompting the man to quickly speak once again, but with a hint of softness in his tone

"I see, my apologies"

"Oh, there's nothing to apologize for, my Lord. Do not worry" The woman waved her hand and went back to eating.

The Astartes didn't move, he kept looking at the woman, the crowd around the table exhaled relieved, loosening their shoulders after the tense moment had passed.

"So who am I speaking to, a noble? The captain of the ship?" she asked him after taking a sip from her recaff.

"A member of the Witchers" He answered dryly

"Oh-" The Iterator coughed, fixing her hair and clothes as soon as she heard the name

"It is quite surprising to see a blind Iterator, as your craft demands-" The Witcher paid no mind to her actions

"Sight? I know, trust me, I know" she laughed again. "But it is not as big as a problem as you may think, I can still do my work"

"Then why are you in a pub, instead of a more...suitable place for your occupation?"

"I could ask the same question, my Lord"

"I'm afraid I'm not understanding your question" His voice was firm and authoritative.

"Why is one of the Seers of the Nomads mingling with a mere human?" She asked with sincerity, not hostility or sarcasm.

The marine stood there, motionless, pondering his options. The Iterator didn't say a word, patiently waiting for an answer, she could feel his gaze fixed on her, she heard his heavy breathing and the clank of his armor. After a few moments of contemplation, the Nomad spoke again.

"A omen has guided me here for a reason, I was wondering if the Emperor's sight would show me the way, and it guided me here" his tone was serious.

"That is good to know, my Lord" the Iterator smiled, raising the cup to her lips and finishing the last drop of recaff.

The Nomad was about to walk away, turn around and leave the pub after satisfying his inspection of the place when the voice of the Iterator stopped his tracks.

"You should not be so harsh, my Lord, sometimes, enjoying moments of peace harden our resolve in times of conflict"

The marine turned his head back to the woman, who was still sitting, smiling. Under his helmet, where no one would know, a small smirk formed in his lips.

The crimson giant walked away from the pub, his steps heavy and loud as he disappeared behind the doors, leaving everyone still processing the fact one of those Demi-Gods had come to such a place.

The Iterator, feeling the surge of inspiration soaring in her heart, quickly snapped her fingers and asked for a pen and a piece of paper, ready to write down a new speech, the next one being inspired by the encounter with the wild warrior.

Days flew by for the Iterator, she had finished her speech just in time to present it in public, as she was supposed to accompany the Ecclesiarchy official who would be supervising her task to be accomplished righteously and, too, testify if her speech was up to standards for the Imperial Cult. It was the second time she had been asked to give such speeches, as the Ecclesiarchy was aware of her talent, for as "useless" and "stagnant" her job had become, just preserving the title of "Iterator" but, in reality, she was treated more like a poet than a recorder of history or how respected were the Iterators in the 30k millennium. Her speech was delivered as planned, the audience cheered and clapped, the Iterator couldn't see it but, she could hear the joy in their voices, it was the best she could do, to let them know she was proud to serve the Emperor and, even if she could never see His glorious image, her words would reach His ears.

As she stepped down from the platform, she felt a chill running down her spine that weakened her legs and almost made her fall to the ground, but her shaky legs stabilized just in time to regain her standing. She dismissed the few serfs that went to help her, excusing herself speaking of how it was probably the nerves making her act this way.

"Lady Iterator"

The sound of a deep voice, like the one she had heard from the Nomad in their encounter at the pub, echoed through her mind, she gasped as soon as the words hit her, but her expression remained unchanged. She turned around but heard no one calling for her again, there was nobody there. It was all a message, a private one, that she could only hear inside of her head; a psyker was doing this.

"Your speech was quite good, the words were…passionate" "Thank you, my Lord" she thought, knowing the message would reach the Astartes. "Do not mention it"

She could feel the marine was near, but she had no idea where, all she knew was that the warrior was close. She tried to focus her hearing as best as she could, attempting to hear a distant sound that would be unmistakable for a marine to do, or perhaps hear someone addressing a "Lord" so she could know where... "Don't do that" The voice of the Witcher interrupted her trail of thoughts, she could visualize him grinning for some reason "There is no need for you to search for me, I already know where you are Roza" The Iterator slowly nodded; feeling her body trembling again, she felt helpless, disarmed in mind and body by the sudden intrusion of the psyker in her mind, scared if she even thought something out of line the end of her life would be near, just a flick of his tongue or hand was going to be enough to blow her head from the inside out with some sort of Warp power. She tried not to think of that, instead the best she could do at that moment was trying to flee from the scene and find a good spot to hide in her own mind.

"I'm not going to kill you, I promise" The voice returned, and Roza could feel him smiling, as if he was amused by the situation. "You promise?" Her mental voice echoed. "Yes"

She nodded once again, her mind trying to find a good response to that, but none came up. She could feel her heartbeat increasing, her breath getting short, the sweat running down her back, her hands shaking uncontrollably, the urge to run away was too strong and yet there she was, unable to do so because a part of her felt attracted somehow to all of this, to have such an important figure as a psyker notice her to the point he was speaking to Roza in the most private of places: her own mind. The Iterator bit her lower lip and held her holopad tightly, trying to get that thought out of her mind and at least focus on what she should be doing at that moment. The ceremony, it had concluded, what was expected of her was to return to her room, reinforcing that idea were the two escort guardsmen that by now had a puzzled expression on their faces, wondering why the poet was acting in such a strange manner.

"I'm sorry, I-I will be leaving now" She said in a weak tone of voice, feeling as if the world around her was spinning, she took one step forward, followed by another, the escort guardsman followed her with puzzled looks, not knowing exactly why the poet was acting so strangely once she had done her duty for the day.

She tried to walk in a normal way, even though she was shaking like a leaf in the wind, there was no need to rush, even though it was clear that the person who was talking to her wasn't going to do anything bad to her or the like, there was a sense of uneasiness in the air, the Witcher's presence in her mind was still there, although he wasn't doing anything to her, the mere fact he could chime in at any second was not the most calmest of thoughts, it only made her more nervous. Roza walked slowly down the aisle, towards the large metal door that would lead her to the outside and back to the guest quarters where she was supposed to be resting by now. It took a while for her to reach the exit, each step was slow and steady, almost as if she was trying to delay her return as much as possible. The door opened with a loud screech, the metal grinding against each other as it did, the Iterator took another step forward before stopping; her heart racing inside her chest, her hands shaking uncontrollably, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she remained silent for a second. She didn't know why she was feeling so anxious about all of this, perhaps it was the fear of having the undivided attention of an Astartes, a Nomad no less, or maybe she just wanted to know what he wanted from her. It was then that a sudden realization dawned upon her, she had been so focused on the Witcher himself, on the fact he was talking to her that she hadn't even considered the reason for it; it couldn't be just because he wanted to tease her, nor could it be for any military subject since she was only a poet. It was other, much more intimate reason, wasn't it? She felt her face burn up at that thought, and for a few seconds she forgot about the fact there was an Astartes inside her mind. It was then that a sudden realization dawned upon her, she had been so focused on the Witcher himself, on the fact he was talking to her that she hadn't even considered the reason for it; it couldn't be just because he wanted to "play" with her, nor could it be for any military subject since she was only a poet. It was other, much more intimate reason, wasn't it? She felt her face burn up at that thought, and for a few seconds she forgot about the fact there was an Astartes inside her mind. So focused she was on that trail of thought she didn't heard someone knocking at the door, only snapping out of it when the knocking became banging. Rushing with trembling hands she pushed the button and the door grind upwards, showing the figure of a tall man with his face uncovered. It was him, the Witcher, and it was here right in front of her, even if she did not had eyesight, she just knew it was him.

"Can I come in?" His voice was surreal coming from a real mouth and not inside her head "I…I…of-of course" She stuttered still in shock

Once she moved out of the way, the Witcher had to lower his head to fit in the "small" space of the room, he towered even the largest of bookshelf in her chambers; his gloved hands passing through some of the literature and opening a few of the books before putting them back in their right places. His demeanor was different from that which had been on her mind since the speech, confusing Roza even more than what she already was.

"My people have a habit when courting" The Witcher whispered "If you truly love someone you give them a gift so unique, so big and beautiful no other suitor can ever attempt to surpass your show of appreciation…and then your beloved would understand nobody else wants them more than you" He closed the gap between them in one swift step "Your gift…?" Roza spoke up until the Witcher placed one finger in her lips to silence her

"Yes, my gift to you is the connection through my psyker abilities, one I have not shared with anyone before and will not share ever with nobody else" He looked directly at Roza eyes even if she couldn't see him in return

Roza inhaled deeply and held her breath, the Nomad was so close to her she could almost touch his face; she felt the heat emanating from his breath whenever he exhaled. It created some "heretical" thoughts inside her head that were very difficult to shake off.

"I want you" The Witcher gave one step towards her and she backed up, he stepped forward again and she again took a step back "I have seen you in my dreams, at first you were a shadow, a figure in the distance. Then your features became more clearer, I could hear your voice, your poems, your speeches. Then I could see your back, but your face was still hidden from me...I only realized it was you today, when I heard that speech, my songbird" He said so soothingly

"Lord…I-" She touched the edge of her bed with her body

She felt something touching her between her legs, his breathing hitting her naked thighs and then something wet….a sudden bliss took her by surprise when Roza guessed too late what was touching her body: his tongue. A bliss that for the next hour would only increase to heights Roza could had not dream of even in her most vivid dreams.

[thisworldisablackhole]

A Memory Called Empire, by Arkady Martine - 4.5/5

Turns out I fucking love space operas. My god. I wish I had discovered this book so much earlier in my reading journey. I feel like this is the book I've always wanted to read, the one that finally takes all my favourite pieces of the stories I love and puts them together the right way. It's taken me a long time to sit down and write about it, because I barely know where to start, the story was just so intoxicating and personal that I almost feel like just keeping this one to myself, close to the heart. But I'll try anyway...

Right off the bat, I got big The Left Hand Of Darkness (Ursula K. Le Guin) vibes from this story. It has a similar premise, and explores similar themes; An ambassador is sent from a different planet with some sort of goal in mind, and they get embroiled in a mess of political intrigue as they struggle to grasp for familiarity in a strange new culture. Themes of duality in identity are explored as well, although this is a VASTLY different take than Le Guin's and it is damn brilliant. But A Memory Called Empire, despite mostly taking place in one city, also has the massive scale of a world spanning sci-fi epic such as Fall Of Hyperion, in the way that the actions of our main character trigger a cascade of events that ripple throughout the universe (there are also frequent mentions of "jumpgates" that remind me a lot of Hyperion's farcaster portals). So it truly has the best of both worlds; the deeply intricate (and often confusing) personal relationships—and when you zoom out—the space battles, the crusading empire and it's mass planetary colonization efforts.

A Memory Called Empire is home to some of the best worldbuilding and character work I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Martine just pays so much attention to the minute details of everything. She is truly an observer of humanity, and it shines in her writing. Every gesture, every facial expression, every subtle difference in the phrasings of different cultures are put under the magnifying glass. Every character has such a unique and believable personality, and I really felt like I was beside Mahit Dzmare the whole time as she tries to navigate and understand the differences between herself and the citizens of Teixcalaan. This book also made me realize just how important colour is in worldbuilding. This is easy to do poorly (for example, how Dan Simmons' heedless overuse of "lapis lazuli" basically turned into a inside joke amongst readers), but everything in Teixcalaan is bathed in rose quartz and gold and silver whites, a really flowery language that is befitting of a place nicknamed the "Jewel of the World". Martine brings a sense of soft elegance to the empire and it's technological marvels that was utterly engrossing, and a stark contrast to the insidious nature of the Empire.

A lot of this story revolves around understanding the nuances of language. The people of Teixcalaan often speak in poetry and even encrypt their political discourse with poems and fancy glyphs, but this sense of poetry and decryption is also present directly in Martine's prose. There are a lot of reflections of our modern society to be found in here, some of which are implemented beautifully, some of them a little awkwardly. My only real criticism of the book is that there are a few moments where the metaphors became almost too clear. It's not that I didn't appreciate the underlying meaning, it just sort of took me out of the story and ruined my immersion. Fortunately it doesn't take long for Martine to get the story back on track and stop indulging in poetic double entendres, and these moments sort of just become little hiccups in an otherwise beautiful journey.

A Memory Called Empire was just so refreshing. This is the tale that contemporary readers of science fiction deserve. It's sensitive, it's aware, it turns the social norms of modern society upside down and completely normalizes things such as same-sex relations, ambiguous identities and our deep internal conflicts without lowering any of the stakes of the plot or deterring the average reader. We need more writers like Martine in this world. I wish I could have read this slower, but thankfully there's a sequel that I'm already about 60 pages into and holy shit, it's already just as good.

[purplesurveys]

1840

When was the last time you were sick? How incapacitated were you by the illness/ailment? End of November. A nasty flu had been going around, so even though I just had Covid the month before I still managed to catch the bug and had a 40-degree fever. It wasn't nearly as bad as Covid, but with that high of a fever I still felt very weak and very very cold. My skin felt like glass, and I was too lethargic to eat which didn't feel good.

Do you often reflect on your past in terms of "eras" or “milestone” time frames (eg, looking back and saying, “it’s been 10 years since X”, etc.)? Sure. It just makes things easier to remember that way, and in some ways a wholesome reminder of how far I've come.

Is there something you would like to do or be, but have pretty much accepted it won’t happen because it’s just “not the kind of person you are” or is otherwise incompatible with your personality, character, etc.? I doubt I will ever make it to the WWE just because it's such a huge, HUGE company with highly selective employment (only 800 employees, and that's including their satellite offices worldwide), plus the fact that I am not an American citizen already kills off any chance I'd have. It's a dream I'm not necessarily killing but have nonetheless accepted that it has little to no chance of ever happening.

Such is life.

When was the last time you experienced cognitive dissonance? Not sure when the last time was exactly, but the sample scenario I thought of is whenever I have a short temper at work. I need to remind myself that it, in the words of Gen Z, "it's not that serious." lol

If you use Letterboxd, what causes you to “heart”/“like” a film? I don't use Letterboxd and I don't really watch movies anymore.

Do you like people watching and is it something you do often? If so, where are your favorite locations to do so? Yeah, but I have to be in a certain disposition or location to do it. I like people-watching in foreign countries, or in my university which is open to the public.

Whether you want to have children or not, what do you think has had the greatest influence on your views of children/childrearing (eg, your parents, your own upbringing, your interactions with children as an adult, etc.)? It would be my experiences and realizations so far as I navigate being an adult. What I mean by that is in the time that I've been on this 'journey,' I've been learning that I like being alone. I'm also very focused on my career and, quite selfishly, I like keeping most of the money I earn for myself and for building my life and doing the things I'd love to experience for my own, like traveling. I don't see myself as the type of person who would go for juggling both career and family.

Is there anything that you enjoy that you simultaneously find intensely cringey? Is it so cringey that you wouldn’t normally admit to actually enjoying it? No. Life is too short to be overly conscious of things you like, and lbr people hardly give a fuck as we have our own lives to deal with.

I just spent four days straight spamming the shit out of my Instagram stories with extremely wordy reviews of the first 17 Wrestlemanias - 15-year-old Robyn would have talked herself out of doing that, worrying that people would think she is a loser lol. But I went ahead and did it anyway regardless if people would read it or not, because in the first place I did it for myself thinking it'd be lovely to have an archive of my experiences watching the shows.

When was the last time you felt someone was being dishonest with you — not necessarily downright lying to your face, but acting or responding to you in a way that seemed false or did not feel like their true self? It's been a while since I felt like this.

Similarly, when was the last time you saw a side of someone that made you question your preexisting perception of them? It's an ongoing process currently. Ange was recently transferred to my team, but I was warned that she didn't have the best reputation in her previous department as she was known for being condescending and bossy, especially towards her juniors.

I don't have a final verdict on her yet as we've only been working together for all of two weeks, but it's something I actively have my eyes on.

If you were a doll, what outfit(s) and accessories would you come with? Purple hair, a t-shirt tightly cropped just right above the belly button, denim jeans, white sneakers, and a cute lil handbag hanging on my shoulder. And an Army Bomb hehe.

What was the last bit of praise you received? People complimented my lipstick a few days ago, I guess that counts? Hahaha.

When you hear or see your name written out (as in /your/ name, not someone else who shares your name), do you immediately recognize it as your own, or is there a moment of disconnect before that recognition? Good question. There's definitely a bit of a disconnect, mainly because my name is relatively uncommon and there's that moment of "hey that's me" when I see my name spelled out hahaha

[paulgadzikowski]

You're absolutely right, and that's what Superman is talking about in this archive Three Faces which is one of my own favorites:

But it's like what Three Faces says about fiction-plane reflection from, for instance, the plane of The Godfather: On that plane, people who extort and murder are the sympathetic protagonists because the natural moral laws are different than on ours. Or from Star Trek: The Doctor argues that non-interference is as imperialist as colonialism, just the opposite extreme, but on that plane it's proven over centuries to be the productive, compassionate, and moral option.

On Superman's plane (with some rare exceptions which occasionally rise as story points, like the time a judge orders Killer Frost freed from the freezer containment that keeps her from killing people because it's cruel and unusual punishment, at which point of course she kills everyone in the courtroom), it's seen and validated by the narrative that a superhero has every moral right to make a citizen's arrest during the comission of a crime for which the perpetrators are then prosecuted normally, under precedent established and observed since the first superheroes (whenever that history began as of the most recent crisis). Superman has pledged to uphold the law precisely so that he isn't seen to and doesn't become the de facto ruler of the world no matter how much his detractors argue he already is (and, on his plane, only his detractors argue this, and are entirely unsupported by the narrative when they do). [Or, if that's not how it works in the source(s) these days, that's how it worked when I was a regular reader and that's how it works on his plane in Three Faces.]

The gripping hand is, in Three Faces' DC universe, Inadequacy Lad nevertheless may ultimately suffer instead whatever will be the same consequences or lack of consequences as he does on our plane, depending entirely on which way it breaks in whatever gag about it comes to me next, if any.

The Hero of Three Faces is fanfiction crossovers, but it’s comic strips with stick figures, but they’re triangles. Click here for cartoon homepage. Or see this blog’s FAQ, or my archive tumblog’s FAQ. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. Cartoons posted to Tumblr 11:00 (Central US time) daily are the previous day’s new update and the posts are pinned to the top of this blog. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 22:00 daily are usually from the archive and the posts are pinned only during annual summer hiatus of new updates; but archive cartoon postings currently are temporarily suspended, and the 11:00 new cartoon post, if any, is reblogged at 22:00.

Thanks for reading.

[masterthespianduchovny]

Tell me more about how Stuckies are wrong in the What if and why Steve and Bucky aren't romantic, please, I need some sense on my dash.

For starters: assume any analysis I conduct will take CA: TFA into account.

Okay, so I rewatched "What If..." and Steve and Bucky's relationship is one of best friends with brotherly elements. Yet, they aren't as close or as inseparable as believed.

This isn't to say they didn't care about each other or weren't close at all. However, when you look at their interactions pre serum Steve and compare it to post serum Steve, it's remarkably different.

Bucky acts like a big brother of sorts to Steve who is looking out for a little brother who is always getting into shit. Stuckies like to frame it as if they have this incredibly close relationship since the beginning, but it's not in the way that they like to frame it. These two weren't inseparable or it was just them, and then everyone else. And this is important to note because of how Stuckies talk about Steve and Bucky's relationship as well as how they talk about Peggy and her relationship relationship with Steve.

Steve and Bucky became close due to war, which tends to bond many people who are in the same unit together. Although Bucky cared for Steve he didn't necessarily respect him. As a friend, but not as a man. (Peggy respected him as a person)

It took Steve taking the super serum and saving Bucky for Bucky to respect Steve as a man and his convictions. It took him being saved to recognize that this was what Steve stood for when he was Skinny!Steve, which is why he was proud of him. But he didn't appreciate these values and convictions until his ass was on the line.

When Bucky is on the date (with the girlS bc he probably went home with both or hooked up with both. lol) he checks in on Steve, but he's focused on his date. Steve is, for all intents and purposes, a fourth wheel. When Bucky realizes that Steve has wandered off, he finds him and tries to talk sense into him, but again, as a big brother type/good friend.

Hell, even Steve is indifferent to Bucky's behavior because this is his friend and someone he cares about, but his world didn't revolve around Bucky nor was there any indication that his feelings went deeper than that (knowingly or otherwise).

However, Steve was concerned about Bucky because Bucky was his best friend and family. Steve literally had no one else outside of Bucky. Both of his parents were dead and he literally had no other family. He not only grew up with Bucky, he stayed with him for a bit as well.

This isn't to say that romantic feelings couldn't have ever developed, however, Steve was concerned about a friend/brother not the fact that he could be losing someone he had feelings for.

Steve cared about keeping his remaining family (and teether to the past) alive when he's saving Bucky. Again, some may see this as romantic and maybe Steve and Bucky don't realize their queer identities at the same. However consider this, as true as this might be, society overemphasizes romantic love as being the most important and significant (even when it comes to grieving). We trivialize and diminish platonic love and grief. We say that it can't be as powerful or as devastating as romantic love.

The only reason Steve would want to save Bucky was if he was in love with him and not because that was his best friend/brother. Never mind the fact that Steve wagered half of the universe to save Vision (and failed), that he refused to kill Tony despite Tony trying to kill Bucky, that Steve literally risked his life to save every Sokovian citizen on the rock than let one die. That Steve went on the run for his beliefs even before Civil War.

People position it as if Steve and Bucky can't function without each other when we literally see Steve function just fine without Bucky. He just refuses to let someone he care about die or others get harmed in the process while trying to take on Bucky. Steve even willingly took Bucky in to be arrested with no issue whatsoever. Bucky and Steve lived separate lives while either was on the run or in hiding.

"Will you ever get to What if???"

I said in another post that even if Peggy and Steve shared similar scenes as Steve and Bucky, the beat is different because the context is different.

Bucky started respected Steve as a man because of the serum, which made him appreciate Skinny Steve. Steve already respected Peggy as a person pre serum and said her outside finally matched her inside (as in others were now seeing what he's already seen).

When Bucky is encouraging others to cheer for Steve, it's a way of him finally giving Steve validation for his conviction to fight in the war. When Steve is encouraging others to cheer for Peggy, it's him wanting others to see what he's always see in her and also to have people respect Peggy. Steve was genuinely proud of her.

People mention the bar scene, but I believe these are totally two different things. 1. Steve and Bucky don't have a monopoly on bar conversations. 2. It's normal for people who are in the army and fighting wars to go drink. 3. Steve and Bucky's conversation is a very different context and feel. Again, Bucky is validating who Steve was before the serum and assuaging his fears--being a good friend.

Peggy and Steve are just grabbing drinks and he listens to her talk about how people treat her due to being Captain Carter now. Steve is happy for her, but feels down about himself. They both show admiration for each other before almost kissing.

How are these scenes the "same" thing? Or that Bucky and Steve's scene now has a romantic subtext because Steve and Peggy's does? The context between both are different. As mentioned before, Steve and Peggy were already established as to having feelings for one another.

Peggy literally trains alongside Steve while he's is in physical therapy and regularly did so before Howard made her the suit and shield.

Let's talk about CA: TFA and how Bucky was trying to flirt with Peggy as she and Steve eye fucked. And then he said, "I now feel invisible like you." Yes, please tell me more about how this is a reflection of Bucky's feelings for Steve and not his dismay of not being the center of female attention.

Every scene, repurposed Steve and Bucky scenes or not, are tinged with romantic subtext between Steve and Peggy. These two are sooooo into each and they could barely contain themselves. They're so supportive of one another and genuinely believe in each other. And the live action or the animated versions of thee characters felt that way before the serum.

Although I do believe that Bucky would've had more of a reaction when Steve was "blown up", other than that, his interactions with Steve was on brand. That's his friend and he's proud of him, but Bucky wasn't on Steve's ass. He's his own person who exists outside of Steve. Bucky actually behaved like he did before he was shipped off to war--just doing him.

Although Bucky respected Steve more in the Hydra Stomper suit, it wasn't the same as when Steve got the serum. His buddy had a nice gadget, but he was still Skinny Steve--he just now had a way to be on the battlefield despite his medical concerns.

Like, please point of where the romance is here?

[mothernerd]

blood 1 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

Masterlist 

Chapter Playlist

1 - an empty grave

Cast:

The Royal House Stark:

King Obadiah Stark (Obadiah Stane)

King Anthony Stark (presumed dead)

Queen Virginia Stark (Pepper)

The Late Queen Alexandra Stark (your mother)

Princess Stark!Reader- you

Prince Peter Stark (Peter Parker)

Princess Morgan Stark

Knights:

Sir Samuel Wilson

Sir Steven Rogers

Sir Clinton Barton

Spellcasters/Master Sorcerers/Sorceresses:

Stephen Strange

Wanda Maximoff

Master Wong

Loyal to House Stark:

Natalia Romanoff (Natasha)- Assassin

James Barnes- her partner

Prince Thor- of Asgard, United with Stark’s kingdom

Prince Loki- of Asgard

Lady Brunhilde- of Asgard

Lady Sif- of Asgard

King T’Challa- of Wakanda

Princess Shuri- of Wakanda

(---) 

In a final twist of irony, the day of the funeral was bright and warm. 

You’d stood quietly while the priest recited his words, while candles were lit, while the Queen trembled silently next to you. You held Morgan’s hand, you listened while the choir sang, the ominous sound reverberating through your chest. 

The mourners in black whispered while the royal family walked up to an empty coffin. You touched the polished wood, fist tightening at your side. Pepper bowed her head, reciting a quiet prayer. 

How stupid. All of this was stupid. Praying to an empty box, crying over nothing. 

You kept your eyes down, lest you betray your own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for rebellion. Not when your queen step-mother was relying so heavily on tradition and ritual to get through the day. It’d be borderline cruel to start antagonizing her in this way. 

No, you’d wait. 

Peter, your half-brother in blood but full brother in heart, touched your elbow, pulling you from your thoughts, and guiding you away from the coffin. He kept his eyes forward, expression stoic while he lead the family back to their positions in the massive cathedral. 

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmured low into your ear, as if reading your mind. The words were laced with a malice you’d never heard from the normally cheerful prince. 

You didn’t reply, instead you grabbed your younger brother’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. A silent agreement. 

The attack had been a betrayal of one of the kingdom’s oldest allies, a neighboring kingdom ruled by someone your father had once trusted with his life. 

Apparently nothing was sacred anymore. 

The funeral ended somberly, mourners murmuring amongst each other, ladies fawning over Pepper, though the queen looked none too pleased with the attention. 

You searched the crowd for a pair of familiar of blue eyes, finding their owner tucked away from the crowd in a secluded corner. He was speaking quietly to the sorceress, Wanda, his eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. With a small nod, he signaled you over.

Weaving through the mass of people, you slipped into the conversation with Wanda regarding you, frowning in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, your highness,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Your father was a good man, and an honest king. The realm is less for this loss.”

“Thank you,” your tone was colder than you’d intended, a reflection of the bitterness taking form within. Clearing your throat, you tried again, softer and more agreeable this time. “He truly was the best of us.”

Stephen sent Wanda a quick glance and the sorceress excused herself, parting the hall in a hurry.

“You’re angry,” he noted quietly. 

“Am I?” you hummed, quirking a brow up at your friend. “I thought I was supposed to be sad?”

“You’re allowed to be angry,” he replied, folding his hands behind his back. “It just means you understand the injustice of it all.”

“Peter wants revenge,” you stated, mimicking his motion and staring out at the sea of royals and court members. 

“Understandable,” he murmured. “I imagine a number of officials feel similarly.”

“He isn’t old enough to take the throne,” you supplied. “We can’t go to war without a seated leader.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time an heir succeeded in an unorthodox manner,” he noted before turning his head to look at you. “How are you, truly?”

You opened your mouth to reply, words catching in your throat. You felt hollow. You felt like you wanted to scream until you woke up from whatever nightmare you were caught in. Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest and stomped on. 

“I’m not certain,” you finally confessed, hands straining against each other behind your back. “Part of me wants to ride through the night and kill that traitor. The other wants to curl on the ground and fill the empty grave myself.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Grief is a powerful thing,” he replied softly, scanning the room before turning and giving you his full attention . “Would you like hide in the observatory a while?”

You looked up to him in surprise. The room was still full of mourners, citizens, and members of the court. Your duty would be to talk to everyone as they passed, pulling the burden off of Pepper.

“Can we?” you asked, voice cracking at the thought of having to converse any further.

Stephen gave you a mischievous smirk, nudging you toward a side door of the church. You followed his lead, slipping out of sight and tucking yourselves away from the crowds inside a small alcove. 

“They’ll want to focus on Peter and the queen anyway,” he noted casually, drawing up a portal with his fingers. “No point in dwelling. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you fainted from the stress and required immediate medical attention.”

“I’m sure they’ll all believe it,” you retorted with a matching grin, taking his hand and letting him help you through the portal with all of your heavy mourning apparel. 

The observatory had been a new addition to the palace after Stephen had arrived as its master sorcerer. Before, it’d been an abandoned archer’s tower, last used by the late king’s father, Howard, as a means of defense against the previously antagonistic kingdoms. 

After King Anthony had taken the throne and negotiated trade and peace treaties with the nearby kings, the reinforcements had largely been forgotten. 

Stephen had suggested it as an ideal place to study the cosmos above, and after some urging on your part, your father agreed to let the two of you repair the small space. When the foundation had been fixed to his specifications, Stephen added another enchantment to increase the size internally.

From there, the two of you worked to fill the space with objects of learning and interest. 

The walls had been lined with stacks of books, maps of the universe, and healing runes. Tables had been set with with all sorts of alchemical experiments, glowing amulets, and charmed quills. A small greenhouse had been established on one of the many turret balconies, where you helped tend to some medicinal herbs and enchanted florals. 

It was a place of peace and knowledge in a world of chaos and ignorance and in it, Stephen had taken the time to teach you the secrets of the universe. It was one of the few places you knew you truly could belong without judgement. 

“I’m not convinced this isn’t sabotage,” he stated once you were alone, the glowing orange portal snapping shut behind him. 

“What makes you say that?” you asked, lifting a book, flipping through a few pages in an attempt to distract yourself from his blunt words. You agreed there was some kind of malice involved in the attack, but sabotage suggested someone within the kingdom had betrayed your father. For such as honest and good your father was, your heart couldn’t handle such a reality.

“Whispers in the village,” he answered tersely. “Wanda was giving me her report when you approached. She is traveling to the next village over as we speak.”

“Rumlow betrayed his alliance,” you replied bitterly, refusing to look up from your book, though you couldn’t tell what the thing was about. Plants? Chaos magic? “What more is there to discover?”

“Why did he do it?” he asked. “What motivation does he have to sever one of the strongest military alliances in history?” 

“Greed? We’ve had a surprise in economic activity since the scholar agreement with Wakanda,” you guessed with a shrug. “This isn’t a smart man we’re dealing with. I’m met him once before. He’s ambitious and motivated, but not particularly clever.”

“Peter is almost of age, your father has prepared him for his new role thoroughly,” he continued, pacing the space. “It doesn’t make sense. Everyone is well aware he will be of age to take the throne in six months time, and now this just ensures his placement.”

“Not everything does,” you reminded him. “You taught me that. Or don’t you remember?”

You paused after a moment, peeking up from the book after letting his words settle.

“Maybe he plans to use Peter’s inexperience against him?” you suggested quietly. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but even with the training and learning, Peter was a different person than your father, perhaps not in morals but certainly in other areas like strategy and planning. 

“I intend to get to the bottom of this,” he stated, his hand tightening at his side. You’d never seen Stephen so inflamed before. “At the very least, I can try to retrieve his body. Negotiate a dignified exchange.”

The words pierced your heart far more painfully than you’d anticipated, your hand gave a jerk and you dropped the book you’d been fidgeting with while he spoke. 

The mental image of your fathers head on a pike outside of Rumlow’s keep was enough to make you nauseous. 

“I’m sorry,” Stephen’s tone shifted at your reaction. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Don’t apologize,” you assured him, clearing your throat and composing yourself. “You’re just doing your job. It’s why he trusted you to the position. You’re asking the questions that need to be asked.”

He watched you pluck the book off the ground and toss it on a nearby table with a low sigh. This was a precarious position he found himself in. 

On the one hand, he’d been appointed as the Master Sorcerer of this castle and this realm. He had an obligation to serve that role and ensure the safety of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Not to mention, his obligation as a peacekeeper in his position as Sorcerer Supreme at Kamar-Taj.

On the other, you were his dearest friend and companion, and the obvious hurt you were suffering made his other duties nearly impossible to focus on. It was no wonder Kamar-Taj frowned on intimate attachments, they did provide a distraction from the ambivalent roles sorcerers and sorceresses were bound to play. 

He wanted to serve as an unbiased judge in this troubling time, but his heart wanted him to seek justice and bring peace to your troubled mind. 

His eyes drifted to the telescope at the edge of the room and an idea hit him.

Perhaps a distraction was best for the time being? A small respite to pull away from the doom and gloom of the immediate future.

“Do you remember that star cluster I showed you last week?” he asked, hooking and arm over your shoulder and guiding you toward the window. “There’s a fascinating change that’s been occurring.”

It was still relatively bright out, though with the sun was just starting to dip over the horizon, there was enough darkness to point out the phenomena he’d discovered the night before. 

“Let me adjust-,” he tinkered with the measurements before signaling for you to lean in. “Do you see it?” 

“They’re changing color,” you noted with a small gasp of excitement. “That’s a promising omen, isn’t it?” 

Your expression had brightened considerably when you looked up at him. 

“It is,” he nodded. “The specific colors suggest a period of tranquility and prosperity after a short struggle.”

“Then maybe it isn’t all terrible,” you tried voicing optimistically. It sounded strange, like you still weren’t entirely convinced, but the evidence was clear before you. 

Stephen knew the stars never lied and had taught you as much over the time you’d spent together. 

You sighed sadly, giving the stars another peek and shaking your head when you pulled away. 

“I miss him,” you murmured, looking up at Stephen miserably. 

The sorcerer frowned sympathetically, before he moved toward you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

You pressed your cheek against his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. 

“I know,” he replied softly, resting his chin on your head. “Just know he loved you very much, and wouldn’t want to see you so hurt on his behalf."

That seemed to break something in you, and you buried your forehead into his chest, shaking with suppressed sobs and held back tears until finally you choked out a wave of emotions all at once.

He spent an hour sitting with you while you cried into his tunic, yelling about how angry you were to how miserable all of this made you feel. He listened, offering a handkerchief and when you started to calm down, summoned a fresh pot of herbal tea.

“We will find answers,” he stated, blowing gently over the steaming cup in his hand. 

“You sound so sure,” you noted with a bitter chuckle, eyes swollen and red from your tears.

“I’ve tampered with seeing the future from time to time,” he replied cheekily. “Perhaps I’ve had a vision?”

“And what did that vision show you?” you pressed, playing along with a ghost of a smile behind your own cup. 

“We win,” Stephen replied firmly, his expression falling serious.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you confessed quietly. 

“Victory seldom does,” he watched you take a sip of your tea. You closed your eyes and relaxed your shoulders with the calming scent.

You opened your mouth to ask him a question when a knock at the observatory door broke the small spell of peace that’d fallen over the space.

“I’ve got it,” he gestured for you to stay seated, moving toward the door and slowly peeling it open. 

It wasn’t that he was overtly concerned for your safety, but given recent events, Stephen didn’t want to be lax in covering all possibilities. The world had gone mad and he wouldn’t put an assassin with a dagger outside the realm of potential visitors.

“Is the princess here?” Loki, Prince of Asgard, asked with a tone laced with annoyance upon Stephen’s appearance. 

“Loki?” you must have heard his voice and stood, setting your cup aside. “Stephen, let him in. It’s okay.”

With a glare at the prince, Stephen stepped aside and allowed the emerald clad royal through. 

He didn’t like outsiders in the observatory. Especially when you were around. 

It made him especially uneasy inviting another magic user inside, where they could potentially measure its wards and security for later aggression. 

“Peter mentioned you might be here,” Loki glanced around the room, arms folded behind his back. “I apologize if I’m intruding.”

That last part was directed toward Stephen with the smallest smirk. 

“No, it’s okay, we were just having tea,” you replied quickly, gesturing to the steaming pot on the table. “Could I make you a cup-?”

“No-,” he cut her off and cleared his throat apologetically. “I’ve come to say farewell. My father is ordering the borders to Asgard closed until Rumlow’s nation offers an explanation to this… tragedy.”

“I see,” your expression fell at the news. 

Certainly Asgard closing its borders was a worrisome sign. They were the kingdom’s greatest allies and largest trading partners. The effects of such a move would be felt for quite some time, both in security and in the local economy. 

“I’ll write,” he promised with a curt bow. “Don’t fall behind in your studies. I’ll be testing you the next time we meet.”

You smiled before he took your hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away and threw your arms around his shoulder in a hug. 

“What a sad parting,” you laughed at his bewildered reaction. “And you’re going to kiss my knuckles like we haven’t known one another for years? On the day of my father’s funeral? Unacceptable.”

He barked out a small laugh, reciprocating the embrace with an arm before pulling away. 

“Stay safe,” he urged her before looking up at Stephen with a steely gaze. “Do well to keep her protected, Sorcerer.” 

“Always,” Stephen answered tersely, a little offended at the prince’s casual disregard for his abilities. He’d always kept you safe, and had absolutely no intention of letting that guard slip now. 

“Travel safely,” you called after him and he gave a final wave before pausing in the doorway when Stephen moved to close the door.

“Keep her close,” Loki warned quietly, the smirk disappearing completely. “There are whispers in the village of treachery and assassination. Do not let anyone have the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.”

“My associates are building wards around the castle and her quarters as we speak,” Stephen replied in agreement, a quick glance in your direction to ensure you weren’t listening. 

“The tea was a nice touch,” Loki noted with a hum. Stephen nodded curtly. 

The tea had a protection enchantment included in the mixture of herbs. Something small, but effective if you found yourself in danger without him, Wong, or Wanda nearby.

“Be well,” Stephen closed the door once Loki was out of sight, turning and finding you digging through his trunk of cloaks at the back of the room. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see Natalia and James,” you answered, pulling out a large blue cloak and holding it to your shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” he crossed his arms. “Your father was just killed, possibly murdered. You’re not going to the village unprotected.”

“That’s why you’re coming,” you threw a crimson cloak in his direction, fastening the blue one over your shoulders. 

“Did you miss the part where I said murdered?” he asked in disbelief. 

“Then it’s a good think I’m friends with assassins,” you chimed back, pulling the hood of the cloak over your head. “They might be able to tell us something.”

“I’m sure Wanda and Wong have already talked to them,” he shot back, folding the cloak over is arm. “You should stay at the castle, at least for tonight.”

“You already know I’m going to go regardless,” you replied. 

“Because you’re a headstrong idiot,” he sighed, reluctantly pulling the cloak over is shoulders. “Who clearly has a death wish. What if your family comes looking for you?”

“They won’t,” you answered with a confident grin. “Mother is going to be with Morgan and Peter is going to lock himself away in the armory or training fields until the knights give up and make him retire to his chambers.”

“You’re so confident in your knowledge of the castle,” Stephen snorted, tying the cloak around him. 

“It’s what happens when you’re the eldest daughter of a king,” you replied, patting him on the shoulder. “You see everyone, but no one sees you.” 

“Poetic.”

“Also, you owe me an ale for enchanting my tea,” you quirked a brow toward him when he stammered back a response. “Didn’t think I would notice?”

“I’m losing my touch,” he sighed, waving a hand and summoning a bag of coin.

“No, you’re just turning into a fussy mother hen,” you grinned, the smile looking far more relieving than the grief he know you wore on the inside. “It’s endearing.”

Wha danger was a short outing for the evening? It was arguably safer in a crowd than alone in her chambers, especially while Wong was still working on the wards.

Besides, the assassins you’d found friendship in would do well to keep threats away as well.

And while Stephen pondered this thought, you were already part-way out of the room and headed toward one of the hidden passages in the hall. 

(---)

2 - a night at the pub

TAG LIST (MESSAGE ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

@ayamenimthiriel​ @drstrangely-strange @ladynothing​ @im-a-bi-disaster-help​

[flowers-n-felines]

Ok but Sunday's profession in this au is a photographer (reflects me a bit more, I take photography as a hobby/freelance kinda thing) And he often takes photos of landscape or more abstract.. But he also does help with crime scene photography. Which Morioh is in dire need of. Morioh isn't a dangerous place per-say, but it has a lot of petty crimes like vandalism. Which sure, some may think it doesn't need a criminal photographer on scene, but it's for the city's documentation.

Sunday just does his own thing, tries to stay out of public eye due to being a foreigner. Foreigners are a sight in Japan, after all. That being said however, he meets Shinobu Kawajiri the day she reports her husband *Kosaku's disappearance. Sunday becomes enamored by this housewife. Her beauty is nothing short than stunning. Yet this brash and childish woman brought out an insatiable lust for violence in the photographer... But if he were to kill Shinobu, he would never again experience the euphoria that she brings to him. That rage and lust. That hatred he feels deeply..

So begins the murders of Morioh's citizens. And an odd streak of ornately posed scenes and photos of the victims. A poetic yet grim expression of the inner psyche of one killer. Nobody is safe from these unforseen moments of violence that had suddenly sprouted in the idealic little town. No end was in sight. No motive was found. All that was ever left was a traceless set of photos. The killer soon was dubbed the Dollmaker, for how they posed and dressed the victims, to how their skin seemed to be rudimentarily embalmed, and even if you took notice further, each victim was well groomed post-mortem. Nails perfectly done, if female, often painted a complimentary shade. Often in their favorite jewelry. Men were seen in the best work attire, cufflinks taken great measure to be affixed in the right way, and shoes as shiny as the day they were made.

Morioh had a calculated villain afoot. And there was nobody to stop them.

*(In this AU Kira just lived normally. He is not a killer, rather just a mundane citizen. Despite this however, Kosaku Kawajiri ends up missing due to outside forces. It seems Morioh noticed the imbalance of the universe, and supplemented a ruthless killer in the businessman's place.)

[sweetsassymusic]

The Long Kaz Rant I Told Myself I Wouldn’t Write, But Here We Are

This is probably an unpopular opinion. And I hope it doesn't come across as confrontational or anything because I don't mean it that way. But I've always been super confused by the way Kaz is accepted, basically across the entire fandom, as either morally gray or straight up villainous? He doesn’t really seem like either of those things to me. On a surface level, obviously there are things he’s done that are normally considered evil. He’s stolen, he’s killed, he threatened a child, he gouged out someone’s eye. And that’s all pretty bad, right? But it completely ignores the context given in the books. (More after the cut because this got too long...)

There’s a difference between doing something evil and doing something that’s shocking, “dark,” or difficult to watch.

Before I read the books, I heard fans discuss all the horrible things Kaz does. And the way people talk about him, I was expecting him to be… Feral Kaz – someone who delights in doing horrible things because he’s just so twisted and angry. The author herself even referred to him on her blog as being utterly despicable. Wow! This guy must really go out of his way to hurt innocent people, huh? So when I sat down to actually read it, I was so surprised. Most (if not all?) the killings were done on some level of self-defense. His “murder victims” were actual evil people trying to kill him or someone he loved. And the reason he threatened a child was because the only alternative was killing her – something he would never want to do. You know, because he’s not evil.

I don’t know if I just have very different definitions of these terms than most people? But to me, the idea of Kaz being “utterly despicable” should not even be on the table to begin with (Leigh Bardugo, you good?) and even the idea of him being “morally gray” is questionable.

When I think of a morally good character, I don’t think of someone who never does anything questionable or always perfectly makes the correct choices. I think of someone who is on a mission–either to protect the world, a loved one, or simply pursuing a personal goal–who at least tries to conduct his mission in a way that either does no harm to others, or (when that’s not possible) does as little harm as necessary to get the job done. 

Whereas, when I think of a villainous character, I think of someone who has no regard for others at all. Someone who either relishes in harming the innocent, or pays zero consideration to whether he harms innocents while pursuing his goals (which are usually, in themselves, harmful to innocent people). 

And finally, when I think of a morally gray character, I think of someone directly between these two. Someone who is a little bit evil, a little bit sadistic, but not entirely evil. He’s got a few good points too. Maybe he’s someone who keeps switching sides, unsure if he wants to be a hero or villain. Maybe he has hurt a lot of innocent people unnecessarily, but he joins in with the good guys for personal gain, and people don’t mind him there simply because he doesn’t interfere with the protagonist’s goals. Or maybe he’s the “Bad Cop” to someone else’s Good Cop: someone who uses more violence than is necessary, just for fun, but still helps the good side in some capacity, so everyone chooses to look past it.

Under these definitions, Kaz (to me) seems more like a good character. While pursuing his personal goals, he protects people he loves, and yes, he does do “dark” things. But he doesn’t relish in doing them (despite his reputation in-universe of being a chaotic sadist. His reputation is not accurate; he invented it for his own protection). He does them because he has to. If he can get the job done right without hurting anyone, that’s the route he’ll take. But that option isn’t always available. And he’s not the type to lie down and die just to avoid getting his hands dirty (nor should he, imo). 

Again, maybe I just have a different idea of what constitutes being morally gray. But I always thought it was meant to be a judgment on the choices you make when you actually HAVE a choice? A morally gray character has the choice to be good or evil, and they choose to do both (which one depending on how they feel that day). 

Whereas, if you do something “bad” because circumstances force you to do it–because you or someone you love will die otherwise–that’s pretty much the same as having a gun to your head. You’re not morally gray. You’re doing it under duress. It’s survival, not a reflection of where you stand on moral topics. Like, if you trap a vegan in a room with only a piece of meat, and you leave them there for days, weeks, that person doesn’t suddenly become a “fake vegan” if they eat that meat to avoid literally starving to death. You forced them to do it. When it comes to their moral beliefs, they would still be a vegan if they had the freedom to make that choice. You just put them in a situation where those choices aren’t available to them. Your lack of freedom in a situation shouldn’t define you.

The same can be said for placing a starving, homeless orphan boy alone in the dog-eat-dog world of Ketterdam. The option of being a sweet little law-abiding citizen is not available to him. So is it really fair to define him by something in which he had no choice?

I’ve come across so many GrishaVerse fans who, while sipping on their Starbucks in the comfort of their own home, go “Ugh, Kaz. He’s so DARK, so EVIL!” (Fun fact: while my mom was watching the show, she said Kaz is evil because “he seems to always have a plan.” Oh no! Not PLANS!)  “He must be some kind of monster to be able to do the things he does and still live with himself! I could NEVER do those things!” Well…you’ve never actually had to do those things? Your life has never depended on it? Idk, to me, it’s just a very privileged take. And I’m not trying to make this into a big social issue. It’s not like criticism against a fictional character is anywhere near the same level of importance as the issues marginalized people are facing in real life. I’m just saying, it’s very easy to condemn activity you’ve never been forced to engage in for your own survival.

One of the biggest reasons people have given me for why they think Kaz is evil is that he is “for himself.” Even the author said she thinks Kaz is worse than the Darkling (who, I’ve gotten the impression, she believes to be irredeemable) because the Darkling has communal goals (he wants to bring positive change for other people/the world at large) while Kaz’s goals are just personal (he wants to bring positive change for himself and only himself). And for one? It just isn’t true: many (if not most) of the things Kaz does is either for his Crows or for his late brother; he just disguises it with supposed self-interest for the sake of his reputation. And second? It’s…not actually wrong to have personal goals or to act in self-interest. Bettering your own life is a valid desire. It’s not the same as being selfish. Not everything you do has to be for other people.

(And, tbh, this is something Leigh Bardugo seems to have a problem with in general, not just in this scenario. I could write a whole separate rant about other characters that were demonized in-narrative for engaging in “too much” self-care, and how her unforgivingly black and white morality ruined the Shadow and Bone trilogy for me. Worst of all, she even seemed to imply recently that the only reason real-life antisemitism is wrong is because “the Jews didn’t fight back”? [Like, if they had met her criteria of “fighting back”, would that make antisemitism somewhat justified to her? What? Idek, but she should really clarify.] Basically, she seems to take “non-selfishness” to an extreme. I don’t know her personally, I don’t want to make assumptions, I don’t have anything personal against her, and I’m not trying to get her cancelled or anything, I promise. But please, when you read her books, please don’t accept all her ideas at face value, because there’s some Weird Shit™ in there sometimes.)

Anyway, another reason people say Kaz is bad or morally gray is that he wants revenge. “Revenge is a bad coping mechanism! You should want JUSTICE! Not REVENGE!” And again, this argument is wild to me. I mean, yes, there are situations–especially in real life, modern, western contexts–where revenge is a bad coping mechanism someone has developed, and transforming their anger into a desire for justice is a way for them to overcome that and express their anger in a healthier way. But that’s a very specific scenario. When we’re talking generally, the line between revenge and justice is a lot thinner than people think (and in some scenarios, there is no line at all). 

For example, real life victims and their families often say they can’t wait to see the perpetrator rot in prison, even wishing (sometimes even fantasizing) that the guy gets abused in prison by fellow inmates. For them, justice and revenge are wrapped up together in one big court-issued sentence. And while some people find that disturbing or take issue with it, it’s…generally considered valid outrage? This guy is evil and hurt them, so it’s okay for these people to want him to suffer. And most importantly, these people called the cops instead of taking matters into their own hands, therefore they’re Good, right? They’re good citizens who obey and rely on the established authority, therefore they are handling their anger in an Acceptable™ way?

But in the world of Ketterdam, if someone has victimized you, or is trying to kill you or someone you love, you can’t just call the fucking cops (and let’s be honest, looking at irl cops, it’s a questionable idea here too sometimes). If we’re analyzing Kaz’s outrage and how he handles it, we have to analyze it in the context of where he lives, not where we live. We have options in our lives that Kaz doesn’t have. So we have to ask, what are the most productive steps he could realistically take in his world?

I see activists and bloggers on websites like this, publicly fantasizing about gouging the eyes out of certain politicians and right-wing figureheads. And they would probably do it for real if they could. On Tumblr and Twitter, this is generally considered righteous anger. The politicians are evil, so it’s okay to hurt them, right? That’s how the logic goes, anyway (I know some will disagree, but it’s a common take here). Well, imagine if, instead of just being a bigot, one of these evil people personally stabbed–possibly killed–your girlfriend. And there were no cops to call, no news stations or social media to turn to, to show people what this guy did. No authority or community on your side. No way to ensure this guy faced consequences for his actions. There’s just you, your dying girlfriend, your helplessness, your anger. What would be the appropriate way to handle this situation, so you were acting out of justice instead of revenge? What does “justice” even mean in a world like that? It’s a world where either you hurt others or you lie down and just let others keep hurting those you love (which, in itself, would be evil). I can’t think of any “appropriate” response Kaz could take. Which, for better or worse, is probably why he just went for the eye. You probably would too in that context. Are you morally gray? I doubt it.

It’s really weird to me how people seem to hold Kaz to this high standard of absolute Moral Purity, but they don’t hold other characters to it. Like, was the dad on Taken being “feral” or “morally gray” when he told his daughter’s kidnapper that “I will find you and I will kill you” and then pursued him with fury? His motivations were personal and not communal. He was coming from a place of revenge, just as much as justice. But most people consider him a hero. He’s not controversial or “dark.” There are plenty of other heroes who do terrible things (sometimes to innocent people! Even when it’s not even necessary!) for the “greater good” or just because it’s convenient. People call them a “badass” and then turn around and say Kaz is just “bad.” Idk, it just seems really arbitrary the way people draw these lines.

If we’re expanding the definition of “morally gray” to include anyone who’s ever done anything questionable, made a mistake, been forced to do something they wouldn’t normally do, done something for personal reasons instead of for the world at large, or wanted revenge for something, then there literally are no heroes in fiction (except maybe a few cardboard cutouts) or in real life.

(Ironically, the most morally gray thing Kaz does, imo, is something most people don’t even have a problem with: the fact he runs a gambling house to “take money from pigeons.” And even that is really mild [no one is forcing the “pigeons” to gamble their money away]. But yeah, that’s one of the few instances I could think of where he actually hurt innocent people unnecessarily. That and the time, as a kid, where he stole candy from that other kid...and even that might be mostly-but-not-entirely excused by the fact he was starving to death. But yeah.)

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 7: Resignation

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4200

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Thirty hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: What day of the week is it even? Oh well, here’s a chapter, hahaha. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

“My fellow Cordonians, it is with a heavy heart that I speak to you today.”

His words echoed in his mind, over and over again, his speech something that was likely to stay burned into his mind for the rest of his life. After all, he couldn’t predict anything quite as memorable as having to announce his loss of title to his citizens and the world at large happening to him at any point in the future.

“I never anticipated having to bring this news to you, but even though I am no longer King of Cordonia, I have no intention of yielding the power of the crown to anyone who I feel is a threat to the safety and prosperity of this country.”

Stefan was following the media coverage of his speech that he gave this evening that provided an overview of the day’s events, including his removal from the throne, Bridget’s ascension to queen-regent until the Conclave, and his intention to name a regent for her tomorrow. Liam knew he personally should be watching to see how people were responding, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. His emotions were frayed, raw, and strung out. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control. He hadn’t felt like this in a very long time. Not since Father died, in all honesty.

The weeks surrounding his father’s death were sort of covered in a surreal blur whenever he reflected back on them. Not only had his relationship with Father been more complicated and fraught than it had ever been before at the time of his passing, making his loss a thorny storm of emotions, but he’d barely even had time to mourn in any capacity. His country had been in the midst of an active terrorist threat, plus he’d been processing true heartbreak for the first time in his life. He had somehow gotten through those days, those emotions, those struggles though. He knew he would get through everything happening now as well, but at the moment, that seemed like an impossible task.

“I know that this is an unprecedented combination of events, comparable to nothing that has occurred in hundreds of years of Cordonian history. But I have seen the strength and resilience of our citizens first-hand, and I am confident that we will emerge from this Social Season stronger than ever.”

As far as next steps went, naming Rashad as Bridget’s regent was really his only option. Thankfully, in spite of the man’s ambivalence when it came to his noble title, he’d agreed to fill the role and was coming to the hearing in the morning to allow for a rapid transfer of power. He was one of the only truly neutral parties available who was appropriately titled and qualified. Liam had brought Hana with him to broach the topic with Rashad, but her gentle powers of persuasion proved unnecessary. The only point at which the conversation was anything but pleasant and agreeable was when Rashad wanted to schedule a meeting with Riley and Drake to discuss how best to handle legal and physical custody of Bridget in ways that would be in accordance with the results of the no-confidence vote, but Liam had been easily able to convince him to table that topic until he was sworn in as regent.

“No matter my title or role, know that I will always serve the citizens of Cordonia in whatever way they require.”

He half-heartedly pulled more documents from his desk drawers, trying to focus on the task at hand. He needed to determine which pieces of information were private, and should come with him to Lythikos, versus those that he needed to leave behind as essential information to allow Cordonia’s next leader to govern. In all honesty, he probably should be creating a sort of quick-guide, a makeshift introductory pamphlet with the most important pieces of information required to lead the country to ease the transition of power. However, another part of him felt like that would be a mistake. Maybe he should allow things to be rough initially, giving the people a chance to miss his leadership. It’s not like Rashad was completely incompetent, so it shouldn’t cause a dangerous power vacuum if he just left Rashad without any formal instructions. And, after all, didn’t a no-confidence vote indicate he shouldn’t be attempting to wield any power at the moment? If this was the wish of the majority of the major houses, maybe he should just let their little scheme play out and backfire on them in spectacular fashion. But was it fair to subject the common citizens to engage in such a game of political chicken?

A wave of loneliness and isolation washed over him as he weighed his options. This dilemma was just one of many he was facing at the moment that he wished he could discuss with Drake. Over the years, Drake had, more often than not, served as his sounding board, devil’s advocate, and unofficial advisor. The countless instances they’d sat in this office at the end of the day, sipping whiskey while Liam solidified his stances and bounced ideas off of Drake had helped him prepare to face political opponents, foreign negotiators, and skeptical members of the press time and time over. Now, he had to make decisions on his own, without his most trusted friend and ally.

For perhaps the tenth time that evening, he pulled the slip of paper Hana had given him out of his pocket and stared at Drake and Riley’s phone numbers. He could call Drake to talk, he supposed. But he was struggling to work up the courage to do so. He couldn’t just pretend nothing had changed and ask Drake to listen as he worked through his thought process. Drake had different priorities now. That much was wildly apparent.

There was also the small matter of the fact that Liam knew he would need to hide some of his thoughts and feelings from Drake at the moment. He’d done it before, back during Drake and Riley’s engagement, but part of doing so involved keeping his distance from Drake at that time. Drake just knew him better than anyone and could more easily read through his diplomatic mask. It was really only in the past six months or so that it seemed things had fully returned to normal, Drake’s marriage to Riley no longer a point of awkwardness between them. Now, for Drake to flee in the middle of a coup, it felt like the foundation of their friendship was being torn apart yet again.

A few sharp taps on the door interrupted his thoughts. A second later, the door swung open, revealing Olivia with a bottle of wine in her hand.

“I thought you might want some company,” she said as she strode across the room, grabbing two wine glasses off the bar cart before flouncing into the seat across from him. “I won’t even make you switch seats with me, even though the monarch’s desk should technically be mine tonight.”

Liam forced a smile as she sat down and moved to uncork the wine, noticing the vintage of the bottle for the first time.

“Olivia, that bottle is worth over ten thousand Euros.”

She grinned at him as she poured them both a glass. “Exactly. This fine wine was procured by a member of the Rys family, and therefore if anyone deserves to drink it, it’s you.” With that she handed Liam a glass and picked up her own. Liam could only shake his head lightly before tapping his glass against hers gently.

“To the end of Rys rule in Cordonia,” he said with a little shrug before taking a sip. He saw Olivia raise her eyebrows over her own glass.

“Liam…” she started as she set down her glass on the desk.

“It’s nothing, just a bad joke,” Liam lied, waving his hand through the air. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you which documents you think are the most important ones to leave for Rashad?” he asked as he placed a stack of paperwork on the desk between them, trying to divert the conversation.

His question was met with silence, so Liam glanced up from the documents. Olivia was staring at him intently, and she took another sip of her wine before she responded.

“I can certainly help with that, but Liam… are you… shit, I don’t know what to say. This fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

He let out a little snort at that. “Indeed, it does.”

“I can’t believe those assholes are trying to pull this bullshit. Like fucking Barthelemy would make a better king than you. You’ve given up everything for this country.”

“It feels that way sometimes. I was happy to do so for so long, too. I always knew that leading Cordonia was an honor, and after my brother’s abdication, I never resented needing to prove to my people that I would be a worthy king. But now…” he trailed off, unable to vocalize the rest of that thought. After everything he’d done to be a good king, a better king than his paranoid, ruthless father ever was, and this was how the universe chose to repay him.

The tense silence hung in the office for a few moments before Olivia spoke again. “Speaking of your brother, I hope you don’t mind, but I gave Leo a call and told him what was happening. I figured this isn’t the sort of thing he should hear about on the news. I think he’s flying back. He seemed pretty upset over the whole thing.”

Liam just hummed at that. He loved his brother, but he wasn’t sure if the man who willingly chose to shed his title of Crown Prince would be able to sympathize with his personal pain of having his title stripped from him. Maybe he could help provide some nice distractions, though. Leo was always good for that.

“Thank you,” Liam finally said with a nod, “I planned to call him tomorrow.”

“No problem. I just figured you and Drake might have… a lot to discuss.”

Liam gave a weak smile and shook his head. “I actually haven’t spoken to him yet.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly at his comment. “Well, that needs to be addressed.”

He frowned, taking another sip of the admittedly very excellent wine before he responded. “Quite frankly, Liv, I don’t know that I want to discuss my reasons for not calling him with you. At least not tonight.”

“Tough shit. You have no reason not to call him anymore. And seeing as he’s been your… confidante,” she said, clearly taking a moment to decide how to describe their relationship, “for decades, it strikes me as pretty concerning that you didn’t rush to call him at the first chance you got.”

Liam sighed heavily. He didn’t really want to get into this all, but she was clearly not going to let him brush this off. “I don’t know what to say to him. He left, and I just…” Liam trailed off, unable to fully vocalize the pain he felt in regards to Drake’s actions.

Olivia pursed her lips for just a moment, her bright red nails tapping rapidly against the stem of her wine glass. “I can’t figure out if you are attempting to punish him or protect him here.”

Her response caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you clearly are all sorts of angry and frustrated with him at the moment. I just can’t tell if you think that’s justified, and this is some sort of passive aggressive punishment, or if you realize you aren’t being fair, and you don’t want to make him feel any guiltier.”

“Are you saying that my irritation with him isn’t justified?”

“Irritation would be fine. But I don’t believe for one second that you would avoid talking to Drake if you were merely irritated with him.”

Liam was expecting some sort of sly comment about how surely talking to Drake was always irritating, but it didn’t come. Instead, Olivia continued on, serious and solemn.

“You must be insanely upset with him if you haven’t given him a call, and I’m going to be honest, that scares me. I’m backing you at the Conclave, Liam, and I intend to throw the Nevrakis name behind a winner. So that means you need to be emotionally ready for this fight over the next couple of months. I can’t have you caught up in some petty bullshit with Drake fucking Walker.”

Her statement was a surprising one. “I would have thought you would have been the one person who might understand my rather complicated point of view on this subject.”

She shook her head. “Drake and I may not see eye to eye on… a lot of things, actually, but I still think you are being absurd here.”

“This critique strikes me as slightly hypocritical, as I am having a hard time picturing you not being at least fairly angry with the mess they have created here. A mess that could have been avoided if they’d stuck to your plan, I might add.”

“Of course I’m angry with them! They put almost zero thought into this, and I’ve been scrambling for more than a day straight to try and prevent this all from spiraling into total disaster. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand why they did it. This was all in service of keeping their family together, Liam. You have to know that.”

He did understand that intellectually, but somehow her assessment just didn’t sit right with him. “Yes, Olivia. I can comprehend that their motivations are the safety and security of their daughter, but what I cannot bring myself to do is approve of their decision to commit treason and abandon the citizens of Valtoria they took an oath to serve.”

Olivia took a long sip of her wine before she replied, “Do you want me to pretend that I believe your last statement there, or do you want someone besides Drake to call you on your bullshit? I can do either, you just need to tell me what you want.”

“Of course I want you to be honest with me, Olivia,” he said, completely baffled by her assertion.

She just raised her eyebrows and stared at him, giving him one last chance to ask her to lie, apparently. All he could do was raise his eyebrows right back and take a drink from his own glass, almost daring her to do her worst.

“You aren’t pissed that they are shitty nobles who just abandoned their posts without a second thought. You are pissed that Drake isn’t here to serve as your emotional support.”

Liam opened his mouth to retort, but Olivia shook her head and just kept going.

“It’s understandable, really. He’s been the one you could always turn to, and now it feels like you can’t rely on him at a time when you really fucking need that kind of support. But you need to at least recognize that personal pain as the source of your anger here and not hide behind indignation over the way Drake and Riley fulfill their roles as duke and duchess.

“Those two have always been shitty members of the nobility, and you have never had an issue with it up until this point. In fact, you seemed to tacitly approve of their antics as you granted them power that other dukes and duchesses could only dream of.”

Liam frowned, the blood pounding in his ears as he tried not to let Olivia’s words anger him. “What do you mean?” he breathed out, focusing on not letting this situation escalate. A defensive Olivia was the last thing he was mentally and emotionally equipped to handle tonight.

“Liam, you essentially handed them the reins when it came to the Auvernal negotiations.”

“Those negotiations all centered around their child. It felt wrong to not grant them a certain amount of control given the circumstances.”

She tilted her head back and forth for just a moment. “Sure, I get that. And I’m really not trying to make you defend your decisions here regarding that whole mess. But you have to admit that Drake and Riley have kind of always just done whatever the hell they wanted, and until today, you never had anything to say about it.”

Her assessment echoed through the room as Liam leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of wine. He didn’t want to think he was being solely motivated by his emotions here. He’d worked for years and years, since he was a young boy, to ensure that he kept any feelings in check, guarded and secured for private moments. But Olivia did have a point - Drake and Riley bucking tradition and proper conduct for members of the nobility had never really bothered him before. 

“Liam, I’m not trying to kick you while you’re already hurting. It’s probably natural to feel hurt by Drake’s decision here. I just think you will be able to move past this a little easier if you are honest about why his actions bother you.”

Liam glanced across the desk, meeting Olivia’s gaze. “I sometimes just…” but he couldn’t complete his thought. To vocalize that he just wanted the most important person in his life to care about him on a personal level above all others would be immature and selfish. Drake had a wife and child to think about. Of course they warranted more of his consideration than Liam did. But it was just one more thing he lost in the past day or so, that one person around whom he didn’t need to censor himself, the only individual who gave him honesty without question of motive.

Olivia reached across the desk and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Like I said, being upset is pretty natural here. If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to reach through my phone and stab them both in the gut when Drake told me they had no intention of returning, even if it meant treason charges.”

Liam let out a little chuckle. “How are you so… calm about this now?” Using that word to describe Olivia in any situation felt out of character, but there was literally no other way to describe her at the moment. She looked at ease, sipping thousands of Euros of wine like it was nothing.

“I’m not sure if ‘calm’ is the right word; it’s more like I’m… resigned, I guess. They are both stubborn as hell, and they made this choice because they thought it was best for their kid. Even I can’t fight that.”

“I just wish they would have gone to Lythikos. Then we could be fighting this from all angles together.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? That was your whole plan, and it still seems better thought out than their fugitive act.”

“From our perspective, sure. But we are worried about Cordonia as a whole. They are just worried about keeping their daughter. And given that Rashad already brought up wanting to meet with them to discuss custody, it seems like they were at least a little bit justified in their concerns.”

Liam frowned. Hana must have filled in Olivia of the details of their conversation with Rashad. Liam had gotten the impression that Rashad wanted to find a way to keep Drake and Riley as active participants in Bridget’s life based on the way he requested that meeting, not tear them apart from their child. “Do you really think Rashad has any interest in keeping them from their daughter?”

“No, not exactly. But I also think that coming to live at the palace as Bridget’s nannies or guardians or whatever Rashad plans to throw out there as a way to obey the letter of the law when it comes to the no-confidence vote is a far cry from being recognized as her parents fully. At the end of the day, I just think they aren’t willing to compromise on any aspect when it comes to being a family.” Olivia pursed her lips and glanced into her lap before she continued, “It kind of makes me wish my own parents would have felt that way.”

Her confession was so vulnerable, so honest, it nearly took his breath away. When they were younger, Olivia had sometimes talked about her fears, her pain, her neglect, and Liam had always been willing to lend an ear and supportive shoulder for her to lean on. But as the years marched on, those conversations had dwindled and eventually ceased. Olivia became more defensive, not allowing herself to be perceived as weak by anyone. And in some regards, she thrived. But clearly, that pain from her childhood was still a part of her.

Liam could identify with her in some respects. Father had always devoted more time and energy to Leo. After all, not only had he been the Crown Prince, but he acted out more, drawing more attention nearly every step of the way. But that had largely left Liam to spend time with Mother, who always tried to balance his formal lessons with genuine warmth and affection. And even though she’d been killed and taken from him when he was still quite young, he at least had her guidance and devotion for a while. That was more than Olivia could say about her parents.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Mother might have made the same choice as Drake and Riley, had she been placed in that position. He didn’t recognize it as a child, but looking back on her words now, he saw her concerns, her worries, and her desire to keep him safe. Did she regret her station? Regret raising her son in such an environment? Or did the fact that he’d never known her as an adult mean that he just saw her actions through the rose-tinted glasses of a child?

“Bridget is lucky in that respect,” Liam eventually said, reaching across the desk and refilling both of their wine glasses. “I suppose that’s why royal lineage tends to be emphasized and protected for generation after generation. It’s the only way to battle that instinctual urge to protect one’s children and instead force them to carry massive responsibilities.”

Olivia shook her head. “Or generations of people who strike up primarily political marriages just eliminates all love and empathy from the gene pool.”

“What would you have done, if you were in their position?” Liam asked before taking another sip of wine. The more he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he would have done if it was his own child. All the options that worked their way into his mind seemed terrible.

Olivia paused to take a drink as well, her free hand tapping a rapid pattern against the surface of the desk. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would be able to plot things out rationally, but I might have violently lashed out. I don’t think I would have run, but that’s just never been my style. But I don’t know exactly how it would unfold.”

“It’s hard to imagine, acting on that gut emotional response, isn’t it? All our lives, we’ve been taught to negotiate, to employ diplomatic tactics, to foster alliances to protect our titles.”

“You might have been taught that,” interjected Olivia, “but I was taught to fight to protect the family name to the death,”

“Touché,” said Liam, a real smile forming for the first time that day, “but I think my point remains. I don’t think I could let my child be taken by another, but at the same time, it’s as if I cannot imagine myself being guided by my emotions, even if it would make sense to do so.”

“You would protect your kid, Liam. You would figure it out if you were put in that spot.”

“I hope so. I think you would as well, and with minimal bloodshed, I believe.”

She laughed at that, dropping her head back, causing a few strands of red hair to fall loose around her face. “Well, let’s just be grateful we don’t have to find out the truth of that assessment, but it’s getting late, and we still have a lot to do before we need to vacate the palace in the morning. Do you want some privacy to talk to Drake? I can sort through those-” she said, gesturing to the stack of papers left between them on the desk “-while you give him a call.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but…”

“You’ll figure it out,” she said with a shrug, gathering the papers in one arm. “Just meet me in my quarters when you guys are done.”

Liam gave her a little smile as she left his office, pulling out the paper from Hana and staring at it for a few seconds before pulling out his new, prepaid cell phone and calling the number on the top of the page. It was time to talk to Drake.

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[crazyclownthanos]

The 12 original dragons

Explaination on their heritage, their involvement in the XII bellum, breaking down each character and there purpose.

The Dragons origin

Dragons have been living since the beginning of time. Bringing good luck, offering protection, creating landscapes of eternal beauty. The home of the dragons was in another realm referred to as Nidhogg. A beautiful and enchanting land where the grass dances in the sun and the lake glows like pearls, tall and mighty wooden houses spread across the land, where everyone calls each other family ruled by the royal family.

Forms of Dragons

The citizens of Nidhogg were to have at least 2 forms max.

Jormungandr form. This form allows to have an apperance of a human but have dragon like features for example a tail sticking out or wings pointing

Dragon form. In full dragon, ordinary dragons with magic abilities based on their type of dragon

Who are the 12 original Dragons

The 12 Dragons of Nidhogg represted 12 elements that were told to create life. These dragons were immortal compared to a normal dragon lifespan being 6000 years. The royal family held authority over the 12 dragons, reasoning of how these dragons got given these titles is a ritual is called the dragon blood ritual, where a baby bathes in each blood of the five dragon kings, allegedly if the baby Grows it wings, develop its horns and flourish their tails the five dragon kings have successfully blessed the baby with their treasures.

Faffnir’s circle

Right outside the royal palace laid a circle of most importance, the circle had 5 layers decreasing on size. On the 5th/outer level had Latin words speaking peace. The 4th/2nd largest circle projecting Coptic language of generosity. The 3rd/middle layer showed the language of Sumerian projecting words of governance. The 2nd/second smallest circle displayed words from the Akkadian language of conquest. The smallest circle demonstrate words of the Sanskrit language of balance. The circle did not just carry fancy writing of ruined empires but held something that no mage could offer that was universal seeking. Faffnir’s circle was used to see other universes from their view from places of stone cold planets or worlds of shining emeralds.

History

The royal family proposed an idea of utilising Faffnir’s circle to its full extent of opening the circle big enough for the 12 original dragons to fly through and bless a planet as an experiment to their kind. This experiment came at a cost to open the circle they will need a sacrifice. The citizens of Nidhogg were wary of the experiments success refusing to volunteer. One dragon raised their hand, the kings daughter understanding what this experiment could bring to their land she took it upon herself to be that sacrifice. The princess walked along ripping her dress in a graceful manner throwing her crown into the deepest water the kingdom of Nidhogg witnessed history. As much as the king didn’t want to approve of this he did eventually gave in and had never felt more proud as a father. All the 12 original dragons stood on the fifth circle having a space for one of each meanwhile the princess stood in the middle on the smallest circle. The circle started to move like a ticking clock any form of symbols in Nidhogg started to illuminate, the five dragon kings blood poured faster than before. The experiment resulted as a success, the 12 original dragons made it to a bleak world where the circle of Nidhogg lies, sadly the princess had died fulfilling her purpose to the kingdom the dragons do not grieve but promise themselves and each other that the princess death would not go in vein and a bless a planet. Using there elemental gifts the 12 dragons shaped a world of misty meadows, blue skies, snowy mountains, animals to wander, deep waters of reflection, grassy hills and many others. The dragons would stay loyal and protect this world forever however the XII bellum provoked the dragons into becoming an opponent to the devils who wanted the worlds existence to be removed. the XII bellum came to an ending point when the spirits and the Midgard nomads get involved, their power was that overwhelming it sent the devils back to the underworld and the dragons forced to leave their physical dragon bodies in their elemental field though their souls had to wander searching for souls to entwine with for the day they return to Nidhogg.

Dragon Vessels

A dragon vessel is when a human soul and a dragon soul are entwine with each other. This process happens when a dragon soul finds a human who haven’t manifested an attribute yet meaning the dragon grants the human power to use their magic attribute, turn into a dragon and sometimes appear with dragon like features however these do come at a cost to maintain powers like these you will be reacquired to have a stable magic control, endless amount of training and connect with the dragon producer. Soul separation happens at the age of 6 this will be the year dragon vessels will eventually learn of the power and most importantly the person dwelling within them gaining this new ability the producer or vessel can soul separate however they like but they have limit on how long it goes for, the affects of soul separation are the vessel cannot do magic however the producer can use magic but cannot transform into a dragon. Due to their physical bodies being hidden away dragon producers do not appear having dragon like features appearing to look human. Dragons do use grimoire’s but instead of having a clover or spade at the front instead its a dragon symbolising the strong connection and a color scheme matching the dragons elemental purpose.

Each original Dragon

Ondaerrass

Burden dragon

Dragon vessel: Dove Holmes

Satus: alive (soul entwine)

Species: dragon

Gender: male

Affinity: burden magic

Age: 41 (human years)

Birthday: March 9th

Constellation: Pisces

Height: 197cm (human form), 23ft or 701cm (dragon form)

Eyes: purple

Hair: red

Likes: Jumping off buildings, baths

Appearance

Dragon form: Ondaerrass color scheme’s are black and dark purple. He possess illuminating narrow purple eyes whenever he opens his mouth illuminating purple smoke comes out. Two long horns sprouting out either side of his head. Ondaerrass has black scales all over his dragon body, some scales tend to be bigger and stick out. Protruding wings on the outer side it’s black and on the inner side it’s dark purple side the shape of the wings appear to have the look of ripped curtains very unsymmetrical. A long black tail with spikes pointing out at the end. Details to be pointed out are the smaller horns standing out, above his eye, on his nose, mouth and jaw.

Human form: Ondaerrass has a masculine body, dark skin, a tattoo of a serpent on the left side of his face, a griffin on the middle of his neck, tattoo of a wendigo on his right upper limb, mermaid on his nape, unicorn the left side of his lower back, centaur on the ride of side of his waist, a dragon showing on his abs,sphinx on the right thigh, werewolf on the back of the left knee, chimera on his left ankle, all purple. Narrow lilac eyes, long yet spiky red hair half up in a man bun with a few twigs sticking out. Ondaerrass hates wearing clothing pefers to let it all out though he gets force to wear a purple toned star pattern shoulder cape with a golden piece on the shoulder on the buttom he wears white stained dhoti pants and no shoes.

Personality

Ondaerrass has a chilled personality dosen’t take everything too seriously he tends to cracks up a joke or two in a meeting or tease one of the other dragons, being a big fellow he likes using his height to intimate others before showing off his signature laugh “Bojobojobojobojobojo” . In times of seriousness Ondaerrass does get more quiet and listens more, “shut up and listen to your gut” he would say to anyone making a hard decision.

Battle powers

Burden Magic: This magic attribute allows the user to use his magic as a way of misfortune taking the life out of any environment or creature

Dragon magic: Ondaerrass can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Rhaegal

Lava Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Rekka Marron

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Lava magic

Age: 15 but appears to be 40 (human years)

Birthday: April 1st

Constellation: Aries

Height: 203cm (human form), 40ft or 1219cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Ember

Hair: Navy Blue

Likes: Chicken, Booze, nap time

Apperance

Dragon Form: The color scheme for Rhaegal protrays illuminating lava oozing through the brown surface. Wide eyes of hot orange and red illuminating no pupil called for as well as a tongue of steaming hot lava. Horns three sets of horn from smallest the biggest sticking out. Similar to the body of the dragon the wings also share the same flowing lava oozing out of the cracked brown skin. The tail is short and stumpy a brown tail. The snout has rocky features chipped sometimes when falling small specks of rock could fall down. Out of all the 12 dragons Rhaegal is the biggest meaning the more tired you will become after transforming into a dragon

Human form: Rhaegal shares the same body type as Ondaerrass of both being super masculine. He has fare skin usually can be seen wearing one earring pierced and have light pink scares from battle his most recognizable is the scar going vertically down his left eye and another scar horizontally across his face with a few navy blue beard hairs to add. Rhaegal possess ember eyes. His hair navy blue hair is uasually styled slick back with one piece sticking at the front. Clothes wise Rhaegal wears a medieval base open jacket with the collars standing straight, on the collar dark blue designs could been seen then a soft light blue covering the rest of the jacket (usually the sleeves are rolled up) on the bottom are light olive green baggy pants rolled up, for shoes it’s black boots.

Personality

Rhaegal values are drinking and sleeping he is quickly to get into other peoples face if he thinks of them as an opponent pulling a so called “scary face”. Rhaegal does have a heart of goal looking out for everyone in the Nidhogg kingdom and soon his own devil vessel often taking the time of babysitting him while the parents are off performing magic knight duties. Rhaegal isn’t short tempered and has shown be very paitent. In battle Rhaegal can break anything that stands in his way and once he has made up his mind on something he stays on that.

Battle powers

Lava magic: This attribute allows Rhaegal to create and manipulate lava. Rhaegal has shown impressive skills of manipulation even manipulating the mantle of the earth.

Dragon Magic: Rhaegal can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Ju-Long

Bliss Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Bliss Magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: September 23rd

Constellation: Libra

Height: 167cm (human form), 15ft or 457cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: White

Likes: Being on time, Strong cappuccino

Apperance

Dragon form: Ju-Long has the dragon form of any common dragon. His color scheme is shiny white with tints of grey. The color of his eyes are glowing blue that shines of diamonds along with blue mouthsmoke having the scent of pureness. One set of curved horns pointing upward moreover sets of horns in perfect form in sets of two scaling down the dragons spine. The scales have a look of a shiny white and at the end you can notice tints of grey. Ju-Long has a common dragon wings but not only one he carry’s 3 sets of wings on either side though from an angel you can see his wings be a little too big for his body. The white dragon posses multiple tails of atleast 6 tails all of them have horns sprouting out average size. Details can includes the goats beard dripping down his chin.

Human form: Ju-Long has a thin body type, light skin and has piercing blue eyes together with white hair that covers his forehead and sides of the hair shorter then the rest resting on his shoulder the rest of his hair is quite long and keeps a loose tie at the bottom. For the types of clothing he wears Ju-Long likes wearing ancient traditional clothing his favorite appears to be a traditional ancient Chinese kawaler robe colors consisting of bright red and gold yellow.

Personality

Ju-Long is a cautious individual who’s quick to scream in every situation leading to have little self control and always aiming to be a perfectionist. His main propriety are schedules and following the rules if he dosen’t achieve this he is quick to panic and end up in a emotional state. Whenever crowds ask him for battle strategies he dosen’t give a battle strategy instead an emotional talk of never giving up only making the other original dragons to sigh. Ju-Longs signature move the “tail whip” dosen’t necessarily work but it’s enough for Ju-Long to give himself a pat on the back.

Battle powers

Bliss Magic: This magic affinity grants the user to confuse their opponent into thinking their walking into a dream of eternal bliss but in reality it’s form of hypnotizing paralyzing the opponent

Dragon Magic: Ju-Long can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Alizeh

Sky Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: June 3rd

Constellation: Gemini

Height: 175cm (human form), 20ft or 607cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Grey

Hair: light Pink with black chunky highlights

Likes: Winning, Yogurt

Apperance

Dragon form: Alizeh’s color schemes are are a mix of blue, green and white. For its eyes it carry’s green and mouthsmoke of white clouds. The sky dragon dosen’t have any legs for it has been told that dragon forever remains soaring in the sky. Unlike the other dragons who have rough snouts the sky dragon has a smooth snout along with thick single horns starting from the top of the head to the start of the tail. The scales aren’t normal dragon scales actually they are feathers of toned blue into green. The sky dragon possess angle wings to contribute of flying at a faster speed. The tail is pretty standard having fluff starting at the tail and ending at the point of the tail on both sides so not covering the entire tail.

Human form: Alizeh has an hour glass body type, tanned skin. Eye color wise she possess grey eyes however she covers her eyes with Golden silk cloth. Alizeh’s carry’s light pink hair with black chunky hair lights usually let out with no hair clip or hair ties. Clothing choices she wears a female warrior gladdiator outfit, Pieces of gold wrappped around her chest, elbows, wrist and a belt of gold dripping down not too low aside from all the gold she rocks a sleeve less top brown leather with some lace included for the skirt it’s upper thigh length brown leather skirt separated, shoes she wears female gladdiator sandlas length ending at her knees. A noticeable feature on Alizeh is that she’s always wearing a animal skull large enough to fit her head as a helmet

Personality

Alizeh assumes everything is a race to her, examples like who can clean the fastest or who can get to the door first. Quick to get competive and hates wasting time resulting her to be unimpaitent and unprepared not often caring about small details. Nobody knows why she wears the silk cloth over her eyes however Alizeh has stated that her eyes have magic of its own.

Battle powers

Sky Magic: This sky attribute allows the user to partly manipulate the sky and air creating natural disasters like typhoons and not to forget control clouds

Cloud Creation: This ability does not require any form of water simply creating clouds

Dragon Magic: Alizeh can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Nereus

Water Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Nereida Silva

Status: Alive (Soul Entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Water

Age: 15 but appears to look 30 (human years)

Birthday: August 15th

Constellation: Leo

Height: 180cm (human form), 24ft or 731cm (Dragon Form)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Purple

Likes: Songs, Creating tools and landscapes or eternal beauty

Apperance:

Dragon form: The color scheme for the sea dragon are solid colors of blue, all types of blue. The head of the dragon is rather sharp a pointy nose and two small horns sprouting from the chin and two horns at the top, his eyes are a piercing pastel green olive shape as well as a mouth of sharp teeth the shines white also water sprayed out whenever it pleases. Fish like scales on both sides of the head and the top, smooth scales all over the body and right on the spines are enchanting water that flows on the top. Similar to the sky dragon the water dragon dose not possess legs. As for the wings they are a normal pair of wings good for thrusting in water quicker, they have a unique design to a turquoise color toned down to a dark blue of bubble designs and water whirls. Small details include dribbles of water popping out every now and then

Human form: Nereus is considered to be a decently masculine, long legs and pretty big biceps. Light skin and on his right arm you can see a patch of fish scales, Nereus has blue eyes nothing new and long purple hair usually tied up on a high ponytail with two strands as bangs. Clothing of choice Nereus wears a iron chest plate tightly fitted around his abs and chest attached to his chest plate right below his right hips and held onto by his leg is a sachel filled with tools and on the left side hanging is his hammer on the bottom he wears high waisted black pants with a few side pockets shoe wise he’ll be wearing brown boots.

Personality

Referred to as the sea god Nereus is one of the most popular original dragons having good social skills and is quite skilled on tool making and architecture known for his love of songs people made tales about him singing to restore the oceans calm. Nereus is very friendly and unless you offend you won’t be expecting an hammer to the face anytime soon.

Battle powers

Water magic: This attribute allow the user to manipulate and create vast amount of water

Sea domain: Reponsible for creating the oceans Nereus has taken upon himself of creating worlds of sea temples and unique people.

Dragon Magic: Nereus can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Srebrenka

Metal Dragon

Dragon vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Metal magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: November 5th

Constellation: Scorpio

Height: 179cm (human form), 26ft or 792cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Yellow

Hair: Black

Likes: Foreplay, Artifacts

Apperance

Dragon form: The Metal dragon have color schemes of shiny bright iron mostly because of the armor the Metal dragon wears because of how harmful the magic can be. The eyes are bright and large red eyes with grey mouthsmoke whenever the mouth opens specs of metal fall out. The Metal armour covers the head, chest and stomach to tell the difference between the scales and the armor is the touch, the arm stores heat and it’s used as a weapon to melt metals and use it as a weapon. Srebrenka’s horns on the top of her head are extremely pointy, the scales have a sharp texture even continuing onto the tail less then average size and has scales pointing upward. The wings are normal size though some area of the wings are so sharp they can pierce through the toughest of surfaces. Small details include the black teeth

Human form: Srebrenka has an hour glass body type, fare skin and an hour glass tattoo on the middle of her stomach along with pink glossy lips. Beautiful yellow eyes you can see mountains away to go with it big eye lashes. Long black hair tied up on low pig tails connecting the two pig tails by a hair tie at the end. Srebrenka usually wears a black coverage only sealing her nipples and a little of the side of the boob hanged on the buttom is a fluff belt attached to a belt hanging on the right side, for shoes she’s seen in black velvet upper thigh heels.

Personality

Srebrenka lives on attention, consentantly needing the pleasure of all men leading to the infamous nickname of the “alkali playboy”. Not afraid to show off her body and usually using it has her biggest weapon no one really knows how she got blessed with the blood of the five dragon kings. On the battlefield she’s known to have her strengths of studying her opponents and finding there weak spots from experience.

Battle powers

Metal magic: This magic attribute grants the holder to manipulate and create metal of every type and choose the boiling point

Compound magic: Using compound magic Srebrenka can use it to mix two metals resulting into creating a stronger met

Dragon magic: Srebrenka can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Bryony

Nature Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Nature

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: February 10th

Constellation: Aquarius

Height: 170cm (human form), 30ft or 914cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Green

Hair: Pink

Apperance

Dragon form: The Nature dragons color scheme are mostly green but there other colors including brown, pink and blue. It contains illuminating pink eyes like sakura’s and coming out of the mouth are birds flying out. The dragon has brown antler horns representing branches poking out. It dosen’t not wield scales instead the nature dragon significantly has a image of a forest imprinted on her body, on the body the inferior color is green representing the grass you can also see a somewhat a river curving her body, pink flowers on the ground. The dragon wings are curved having the same foresty look imprinted on. The tail is long and thin there is a noticeable green toned brown near the end of the tail. Small details include sharp wooden looking scales on the each of the 4 legs.

Human form: Bryony occupied a triangle body type with noticeable freckles all over her entire body. She owns wide green eyes that look like green apples and a hair color of a light shade of pink knee length always down parted in the middle topped with a flower of flowers from all over the world. Her clothing of choice is inspired by victorian fashion of a white long sleeve ruffle blouse and a high waisted skirt with two sets of buttons at the top to knee length a pattern consisting of flowers and twigs or she could be wandering the place in corset.

Personality

Bryony is said to be a kind sweetheart who offers help to anyone In need however she has days of when she’s off in her own world often spotted crawling around or getting afraid of her own shadow, she has shown high survival skills making last minute decisions on the spot, fighting against someone she uses her magic to trap their competitor before moving onto the next. Off the battlefield Bryony has shown an interest of doing new thing that won’t cost her life one of them are definitely baking and gardening often doing it while crawling.

Battle powers

Nature Magic: Allowing the user to manipulate and create new environment such as vines, trees, plants and flowers and use it as her main weapon to destroy her enemies being the mother of all environment related attribute being known be as the “Mother Nature”

Dragon Magic: Bryony can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Dagda

Earth Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Earth

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: July 22nd

Constellation: Cancer

Height: 173cm (human form), 28ft or 853cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Red

Hair: dirty Blonde

Likes: Gambaling, blackmailing and shiny objects

Apperance

Dragon Form: Earth dragon has a color scheme of well the color of brown. The earth dragon is one of the many few dragons who share the same eye color as them both containing narrow intimidating red eyes but the left eye remains shut , mouthsmoke can be dust. There are horns scatted all over the earth dragon sharp and tall all different sizes making them one of the thickest dragons of the 12, some of the taller horns have white tips looking like mountains. Earth dragon dose not have scales but a rough surface like rocks people mention. The wings and tail share the same idea as the spine, rough and hard altogether with stubby legend of toe nails of grey stone. When flying the dragon can fly out dust to blind fly enemies from behind or taking a dump.

Human form: Dagda has a rhomboid figure, fare skin. Dagda wears a traditional Japanese clothing called the kataginu-hakama clothes for warriors, the solid color are the front is red though the white sleeves have been appeared to be ripped off, wearing straw sandals and carrying a fan ticking on the top of his belt

Personality

Dagda is a devious character has been appeared to get ahead of thinking and making silly mistakes like dropping plates on the floor. Dagda has known to be a master of blackmailing and for sure in gambling of blackmailing his rival some people call him a cheater but has his ways of good acting and getting away with those type of situations. On the battlefield Dagda likes underestimating his opponents leading into making them believe they gained victorious before getting brutally crushed, well known for his good team strategies.

Battle powers

Earth magic: This type of magic affinity allows the creator to create molds of earth and manipulate it to their advangtage with any mineral of earth or dosen’t matter. It can be manipulated

Dragon Magic: Dagda can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Lumina

Light Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Light

Age: uncomfirmed

Birthday: January 20th

Constellation: Capricorn

Height: 150cm (human form), 18ft or 548cm (dragon Form)

Eyes: Light Grey

Hair: Blonde

Likes: Red velvet cake, tearing peoples ego

Apperance

Dragon form: Color schemes consist of illuminating yellow and white, the light dragon is the only dragon to be glowing. The head of the dragon has husks coming both ways out of the mouth, eye color is a glowing black and whenever opening it mouth a ray of shine is seen. Back to the husks out of the mouth there is a candle with even wax on the tip to complete it the look, horns are in a strange pattern some small some bigwith the same troop of candle waxing, scales on the other hand are pretty confusing having some point the flip side and some on the normal side. The wings have a bat form nothing special. The tail is pretty standard keeping the same line of weirdly shaped horns. A detail on the light dragon is red scar located on the stomach.

Human form: Lumina has a small stature and very little muscle despite training for so long. Skin details includes a red scar located on his stomach. His light grey eyes are sorta confusing making other think he only have small black eyes. Lumina’s blonde hair is in a style of a bowl cut topped with a golden black stripped hat with a Lilly spider flower as a decoration. Matching the top hat is a shimmering golden suit and black stripes underneath his coat appears to be white collar and a black tie, spotless black shoes despite having short legs he sits on a cloud controlling the cloud wherever he goes.

Personality

With his short height many believe Lumina as a harmless and innocent child when in reality he’s an aggressive boy. As the saying goes don’t judge a book by its cover. Lumina is known for picking fights with anyone and having a somewhat sociopath personality. Quick of making death threats giving the impression of a devil floating in this child. Inside Lumina cannot stand on his own and thinks of the other dragons as brothers and sisters often seeking comfort and warmth from them. On the battlefield he is maniac roaring in your face and going for brutual physical attacks over magic attacks.

Battle powers

Light Magic: Lumina can manipulate and create light in whatever area. Sometimes he can create spheres of light in unconscious hours the more spheres of light he’s having a dream less more likely he’s having a nightmare

Dragon Magic: Lumina can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Hestia

Fire Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Fire magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: May 18th

Constellation: Taurus

Height: 187cm (human form), 26ft or 792cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Green

Hair: Orange

Like: Plumerias, hearing other people laugh or smile because of her cooking

Apperance

Dragon form: The fire dragon possess colors of red, orange and black. The head was big and looked standarded, eyes glow emerald green and whenever it opens it mouth fire comes prevailing paired with a tongue of ash. The red bumpy yet curved horns grew all over the dragons spine, tail and stomach, scales of different shades of red are view signifying the reflection of flames. The shape of the tail is long and at the very tip it was on fire. The wings are the most recognizable feature looking like they’ve been on fire the flames glowed of reds and oranges lighting up the dim sky. Small details include the red bushy eyebrows

Human Form: Hestia is a masculine woman and is tall compared to an average height of a woman, a dark women how wears her orange hair in cornrows. Skin details include the red multiple swirls covering both of her arms as well as a on her chest and on her back. Her emerald green eyes are quite big. Hestia has shown been seen in a Fijian tapa dress length below her knees and above her ankles with a straw sandals and she likes wearing a white plumeria flower behind her right ear.

Personality

Hestia is an awkard girl who finds social interaction as a pain and dosen’t understand the system of getting to know them and understand leading to her first meetings get awkard. The first time she met the original dragons Hestia would find it embarrassing to talk about anything with them soon she realized these dargon folk didn’t care how you acted as long as you have pure intentions. Some situations she would try and do something nice but would end up in flame literal flames. On the battle of war Hestia knows her surroundings well and picks up very fast, she isn’t scared of getting dirty or bloodied looks we’re not important it matters that you contributed.

Battle powers

Fire Magic: This attribute allows the user to create and manipulate fire whenever it blue or Orange it still has an affect. In dragon form Hestia’s wings would shine of blue flame

Dragon Magic: Hestia can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

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Media Theory Analysis - Steven Universe

Steven Universe is an animated children’s TV show from Cartoon Network.  The show had 5 seasons from 2013 to 2019, and was followed up by a 2019 movie and 2019 epilogue series entitled “Steven Universe Future” that ran until 2020.  The series was created by Rebecca Sugar, notable for being the network’s first bisexual non-binary women to run a show.  Steven Universe follows the titular Steven, who lives with his human father and Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl, who are gems, humanoid aliens with a variety of fantastical powers, including the ability for two gems to fuse into one gem, essentially two people becoming one for an amount of time.  Steven is half-gem, and his Mom, the gem Rose Quartz, gave up her physical form to become Steven, essentially dying in the process.  Much of the show centers around Steven coming into his own: dealing with his identity as half-gem, figuring his relationship to his dead mother, and fighting with the responsibilities and assumptions placed on him by Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl, who simultaneously view him as just a little kid, and the next Rose Quartz.  As the show progresses, we learn that the Gems have a caste system based on function, which is run by the tyrannical Diamond Authority.

Power distance

As mentioned above, the show has a caste system based on function, which reflects our current system in many ways.  In the episode “Too Far”, the character Peridot shed some light on how the caste system works (shown at 3:12 in the video below)

As Peridot says “Pearl is a pearl, Garnet is a fusion,  [and Amethyst is] the only Crystal Gem, that's actually a Gem!”  There’s very clearly a power structure implied here, with Pearls and Fusions being seen as second-class citizens.  With this in mind, let’s start to look at the parallels to our real life caste system.

First, let’s talk about Pearls.  Pearls are essentially a slave race of personal servants, owned by nobility and forced to do work similar to secretary work, all while expected to look nice and fancy.  Throughout the show we see Pearl, the character (characters have the same name as their type of gem), being passed off as “just a pearl”, or “a feisty pearl”, and it’s a huge deal that she’s “a pearl that belongs to no one”.

“A Pearl who belonged to no one”

As you may be able to tell, the way Pearls are treated is allegorical for how women are treated in society.  Though views of women as second-class citizens aren’t exactly common in today’s world, backwards views like this still exist in many parts of the world.  There are still places where women are essentially bound to their husbands, in the same way that Pearls are bound to their masters.  And though it isn’t common now, the time when women mainly did secretary work was not that long ago in the grand scheme of things.

Next, there’s fusions.  In the show, fusions between the same types of gem are normal and common, though they are only used for military purposes and unfuse immediately after battle.

Three rubies fusing 

But fusions between different gem types are relatively unheard of, and are heavily shunned by gem society.  The first time two different gems fused, onlookers were horrified, and both particular gems were ordered to be shattered (killed).

Now it’s important to note that fusions, being the physical embodiment to two character’s feelings towards each other, are often used to represent romantic relationships.  And since all Gems are female (or at least, female-coded, I’ll get into that later), all relationships are necessarily queer.  And by viewing fusions through a queer framework, the hatred and contempt felt towards fusions becomes an obvious allegory for homophobia.  And though it may seem like most people are accepting of the queer community, especially seeing how gay marriage is legal in the united states, that’s simply not the case, especially seeing as a major political party in the U.S. is explicitly against gay marriage.

“Garnet? Does that call herself a Garnet? Haha! What would you have her do? Enter with the Demantoids? The Hessonites, the Pyropes?”

This degradation is embodied in the show.  When two gems become one, the gem that they become is one that would be higher rank than the two composing gems.  However, the rulers of gem society do not recognize the status of fusions, and find the very idea laughable, as shown above.  This only further shows how much of a second class citizen fusions are in this society.

 Let’s return to that Peridot quote from earlier: Amethyst is higher status than both Pearl and Garnet.  The thing is, Amethysts are lowly soldiers, so the fact that she could be the leader of the group, despite being the youngest, and despite the fact that Garnet should be a high-ranking military commander is frankly astonishing, and really speaks to the backwards nature of their society, which can, in turn make us reflect on the many absurd contradictions of our society.

Uncertainty avoidance

Newness and uncertainty are heavy themes in Steven Universe, even being built into the show’s very premise.  You see, Steven is a half human, haf gem hybrid, and that’s something that’s completely new in this universe.  

“There's never been anything or anyone like Steven.”

This is at the heart of one of the show’s central conflicts: how Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl view Steven.  Steven is something new, and that’s confusing and scary to the gems, because they frankly have no idea what to do with him.  But, over time, they learn that they have to accept Steven as a member of their team.  And this message of accepting the new and uncomfortable comes through with one of the show’s main mechanics: fusion.

“Something entirely new”

As shown in the video above, when the first fusion between two gems occurs, it’s portrayed as “Something entirely new”, and the show makes sure to emphasize. how special and unique that is.

“I still can't believe it. Only on Earth, don't you think? Only on Earth where anything can happen. A fusion of two completely different Gems! Can all Gems do that? How have I never heard of this?! I've only ever heard that it's unheard of.”

Furthermore, in the episode “Alone Together”, Steven fuses with his best friend Connie, creating Stevonnie, the first human/gem hybrid fusion.  At first, Pearl is perplexed and uncomfortable, calling it “inappropriate”, but Garnet, who’s portrayed as the wisest of the group, don’t ask questions or make assumptions, instead only telling them to “Go have fun!”

Finally, it's important to note that trying new things is at the crux of the plot, at least in season one.  You see, the show starts with Steven and the Crystal Gems going around and capturing corrupted gems, who are animalistic in nature.  For most interactions with these creatures, the Crystal Gems just fight them.  But Steven is irked by this, and proposes nonviolent solutions.  Ultimately, it’s only through these new solutions that progress is made.  Just as in real life, progress can only be made by accepting new and uncertain solutions.

Finally, it's important to note that trying new things is at the crux of the plot, at least in season one.  You see, the show starts with Steven and the Crystal Gems going around and capturing corrupted gems, who are animalistic in nature.  For most interactions with these creatures, the Crystal Gems just fight them.  But Steven is irked by this, and proposes nonviolent solutions.  Ultimately, it’s only through these new solutions that progress is made.  Just as in real life, progress can only be made by accepting new and uncertain solutions.

First of all, the entire Gem race is female (or female presenting rather, I’ll get to that in a minute), except for Steven, who’s half-gem and identifies as male (he/him).  This is notable, because many mainstream franchises have casts that are almost entirely male, usually save for one token female (see: the smurfette principle).  Steven universe is unique for having an entire race designed specifically to subvert this.

But what’s interesting that none of the Gems are actually female, they’re all nonbinary.  According to the show’s creator (who herself is a nonbinary women), all the gems are sexless and agendered, an alien species that don’t have a gender binary.  However, they all present female and use she/her pronouns (with a couple exceptions I’ll get to in a moment).  This is unique as nearly every character in every piece of media falls within the gender binary, and though the gems may lean to one side of it, they still fall strictly outside the gender binary.

 Masculinity vs femininity

Steven Universe is notable for defying gender expectations in several unique and groundbreaking ways.

First of all, the entire Gem race is female (or female presenting rather, I’ll get to that in a minute), except for Steven, who’s half-gem and identifies as male (he/him).  This is notable, because many mainstream franchises have casts that are almost entirely male, usually save for one token female (see: the Smurfette principle).  Steven Universe is unique for having an entire race designed specifically to subvert this.

But what’s interesting that none of the Gems are actually female, they’re all nonbinary.  According to the show’s creator (who herself is a nonbinary women), all the gems are sexless and agendered, an alien species that don’t have a gender binary.  However, they all present female and use she/her pronouns (with a couple exceptions I’ll get to in a moment).  This is unique as nearly every character in every piece of media falls within the gender binary, and though the gems may lean to one side of it, they still fall strictly outside the gender binary.

Some characters go even further in being non-binary, not leaning to either side and using they/them pronouns.  Specifically, we have Stevonnie, who is the fusion of Steven (male) and Connie (female).  Stevonnie is romanticized by the show as a true human experience, which also serves as a validation and confirmation of nonbinary identities.

Stevonnie being awesome.

All of the other fusions that include steven use they/them pronouns, including: Smoky Quartz (they/them), Rainbow Quartz 2.0 (They/Them & He/Him), Sunstone (They/Them & She/Her) and Obsidian (They/Them & She/Her).

It’s also worth noting that in Steven Universe Future, we get to briefly meet a nonbinary character named Shep, proving once and for all, that you don’t have to be a half-alien gem fusion to be nonbinary.

They 

Another gender standard that Steven Universe rebukes is that of traditional female beauty.  Though most Gems are female-presenting, they all present their femininity in different ways.  

Taken from a Contrapoints video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bbINLWtMKI)  

As you can clearly see, even though all of these characters use she/her pronouns, they all present their femininity in radically different ways, not being afraid to stray into nontraditional femininity.

Then there’s the subversive masculinity of Steven Universe.

The video above basically says everything I wanted to say on this topic in a manner infinitely better than I could ever do, and I don’t want to just limply restate its arguments, so just go watch the video for yourself.  All I have to add is that Steven is not at all afraid to wear traditionally feminine clothing, or act in a traditionally feminine manner, as shown below:

Individualism vs. collectivism

Throughout the show, the Crystal Gems are constantly fighting as a team.  They’re always working together, and there’s an assumed promotion of the value of teamwork throughout the show.  All major problems are only ever solved through cooperation.

What’s more interesting is how fusion plays into this topic.  Fusion is an allegory for relationships, of all different shapes, sizes and kinds.  So naturally, some fusions represent teamwork, specifically Alexandrite and Obsidian, the fusion of Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl and the fusion of Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl and Steven respectively.  These fusions only exist as long as the contributing members are willing to cooperate, and have trouble staying together when the members aren’t working well together.

Alexandrite coming apart after her components start bickering

We also see the smaller, two-gem type fusions being used to represent teamwork and collective power.  The philosophy behind fusions is that they are greater than the sum of their parts, and as such are extremely useful for completing tasks.  Throughout the show we see characters fusing to do things like lift up a drill, destroy a tall structure, babysit, or even just to fight.  Recurring is known for lamenting the fact that she’s always beaten by fusion, even resorting to fusing with an uneasy ally to win a battle, twice (it works neither time).  The message is clear: teamwork creates synergy.

Pearl and Amethyst fuse to lift a drill

But what makes this truly interesting is how Steven Universe also champions individuality.  The show features plenty of characters who have arcs of self discovery, eventually coming into their own as a unique person, most notably Steven Universe himself.  Though you may think that these themes of individuality and collectivism may contradict each other, Steven Universe finds a way to escape that binary and champion both.

In episode “The Question”, the idea of differentiation is explored.  Differentiation is the idea that members of a couple need solid individual identities to work together as a couple.  And this idea can be applied to many other fusions throughout the show.  For example, in the episode “Mindful Education”, Stevonnie starts hallucinating when one of their components, Connie, is having trouble at school.  In said episode, Garnet explains that for fusions to stay fused, there has to be balance, and all participants have to be stable.  

“For a fusion to work, there needs to be balance. An imbalance can cause your fusion to...fall apart. That is to say, if one of you is falling apart, your fusion will as well. To find balance, you must understand your feelings.”

Ultimately, Steven Universe conveys a complex but important message: “Teamwork and cooperation are vital in making societal progress, but individual identity is crucial and cannot be ignored”

Indulgence vs restraint

While Some critics of the show have posited that in the first season, Steven has everything he wants.  And while that may be true from a physical statement (he eats what he wants, he gets to play video games all the time, he lives extremely close to both an arcade and an amusement park), his emotional needs, his need to be accepted by his family, his need to feel like he’s a valued member of the team, his need to be not be seen in the shadow of his mother, taken entire seasons to be meet, and some of those needs are frankly never met.

In the end, Steven Universe proves to be a subversive masterpiece, defying traditional expectations of gender and power structure, while providing new ways forward through uncertainty and the combination of individuality and collectivism.  To matter what framework you view the show through, it will always have something to learn from. 

[theteej]

“You need to take serious time for yourself, do self-care, or something,” my best friend Mark said to me, uncomfortably earnestly. 

“I’m serious.  You haven’t been letting anything in, and you just have to sit and stop running.  Go process, or feel, or just let it sink in that you did things and you surprisingly don’t suck.”

Fuck, he’s right.

And so that’s what I’m doing.  Last week I booked an Airbnb in La Jolla, a tony coastal enclave of San Diego near where I went to undergrad.  I pretended I was on vacation, but in a pandemic.  I booked a small studio near the water, and planned to spend these next few days reading, reflecting, walking along the ocean, and staying otherwise indoors and trying to wrestle with this whole semester.  I pulled up to the studio last night, unpacked my bags, and cried.  Like cried a lot.  I felt lonely and scared, but also so numb.  I felt a sea of blankness all around me, and a sense of trepidation.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do about all of my stupid feelings.

 

Where to start?

 

I feel like I’ve been anxious nearly my whole life.  It’s absolutely something that developed as a kid with a violent, drunken father.  You learn to live in between heartbeats like that, always testing what’s about to happen, trying to think of the next thing to plan in order to stay safe.  Sure, your brain says tauntingly.  Things are OK right now, but what if they’re not in a few minutes?  Or even worse: Things ARE terrible—what are you going to do if they stay that way forever?  These are the gifts Tyrone Tallie Sr left me, along with an unoriginal legal name and a stubborn widows peak visible whenever I grow my hair out for a few weeks.

Couple that with a natural tendency to think quickly, and you have the birth of a personality that masked my calculating self-security by turning those constant permutations into clever moments for interaction or comment.  Like many people, my wit is born of trauma; the ability to process things in quick time is born out of needing to feel safe, and frequently gets deployed to put others at ease.  That’s one of the weirder contradictory things about being me.  I am simultaneously witty and clever and in control, and I am also always quietly freaking out, or at the very least, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Which is why this has been….a damn semester.  Teaching two classes fully remotely with panicked, overwhelmed students in the shadow of an ever-worsening pandemic that stretches on and on without end and feeling daily gaslighted by the endless selfishness of your fellow citizens—what a gift for the anxious.  Ironically, anxiety helped to a certain extent because I didn’t have the shock of falling into a new world of uncertainty or fear that so many non-anxious folk did this year.  But that’s hardly a gift, is it?  Congratulations! You’re already living as if a bomb can go off at any moment, so you’re not struggling to adjust to the new horror show of life!

Teaching this semester has been…just without any context.  I’ve taught online, but not in this same planned way and with everyone panicking, and the looming threat of pandemic and election.  And yet we did it.  We pulled ourselves together, and my students were honest about their needs and their breakdowns and I tried to model humility and grace and confusion and rage as well as they did.  We didn’t fuck it up.  Or, we all fucked up, and it was okay.  We learned things. Students surprised me, and it was glorious.  I got to be broken and I didn’t die.

It was an intense semester of overworking as well.  I was on a bunch of committees, formal and informal, and we managed to get a new minor—African Studies—passed.  I’ll be heading a new program on campus next year, and that’s exciting and terrifying.  And on top of all of that, I couldn’t stop volunteering for stuff, or talking about things I cared about.  In addition to teaching, I gave fourteen different presentations or talks this semester, an increase in expectations or agreements on my part thanks to the ubiquity of zoom.  It grinds on you: the whole, get up, trudge to the back room, power up a personality for the zoom camera, and pour yourself digitally into a screen, only to feel yourself broken into little packets of light and data and scattered across the universe.

The talks went well.  The student evaluations went well.  Honestly, both were fucking great.  And I haven’t let myself feel a goddamn thing.  I let it slide off me like rain on a waxed deck, the droplets beading on the slick wood before slipping away into the darkness.  I cant let it sink in, because then something good might be happening, and the very skills that have made me capable—the whip-fast reflexes, the self-deprecating humour, the rapid analysis—are also tied to the very deep-seeded anxiety. Everything has to be calculated and understood and prepared for, because at some moment a dark curtain is going to fall over the face of a man with my same name. He will smack me so hard I will go flying out of a chair and hit the wall with a soft, sickly whump, a particularly unpleasant of me at seven that I carry sewn into every cell of my skin and fiber of my being. 

I can’t stop and let it sink in because I have internalized the worst calculus of overachiever life—push harder, don’t stop for the good, that’s normal.  Stop only for the bad to learn from it, take in its horror, and let it never happen to you again.  And so I found myself at the end of the semester holding a bag of relative joy like a party favour, looking around anxiously for bullies to come snatch it out of my hands.

And then Jeopardy fucking happened.

I got to be on television. I got to talk to Alex Trebek, the same man who held my grandmother’s hand on Classic Concentration and saw that her for the beautiful, formidable queen that she was. I got to turn silly trivia knowledge into cash—and I got to do it while being me. And to my confusion—people liked me.  It went well, they felt I resonated with something inside of them, and they liked it.

I do not, in my own skill set, have the tools to deal with that.  I am supposed to be clever and fast, and witty, and engaging and lovable—but I do not know how to actually think of receiving goodness.  I know how to process being witty and clever and delightful—I did what I was supposed to do, good job, next—but I don’t know how to actually take that positivity in.

I keep waiting for all of this to fall apart, for everyone to hate me in the reassuring ways that I distrust or marginalize or disbelieve myself.  And yet, I know that’s not helpful.  Hence, overachiever’s therapy: forcing oneself to prematurely trade on prize money and spend a three day love/relaxation retreat, less than fifteen miles from my own apartment.

I woke up and cried a little.  I then tried to mediate or at least focus on the positives of late.  Nope. Nothing came.  I decided it was time for coffee.  I drank some that I made in the Airbnb, but realized I needed to get outside for a walk.  I changed into a bright yellow caftan and an extra-dramatic face mask, and went for a walk on the streets of La Jolla, the bougie and strange bubble by the sea.

La Jolla can double in weird ways like other parts of the world I frequent.  It feels sometimes like I’m in Durban (if you’re more partial to Umhlanga Rocks or Durban North) or Wellington (if you love Mount Vic or Oriental Bay), or even Vancouver (if you feel like West Point Grey or the haughtiest parts of Kitsilano are your thing).  It’s a rich place, one that I don’t belong in, but one that I can feign a few hours of enjoyment and sun.

Today I walked down palm tree lined streets in the perfect weather, the breeze pushing through my still-short hair with a strange urgency.  I picked up a cold brew coffee and a freshly caught and grilled halibut sandwich that my therapist recommended (we decided to briefly be pescatarian for a day and chalked it up to the ‘medical advice.’), then I turned toward the coast.  I sat for a long time looking at the waves—unsurprisingly—with a bit of anxiety. 

What if I relaxed WRONG?  What if I couldn’t let myself feel joy?  What if I just wasted the day by…eating this sandwich and not fully appreciating the beautiful ocean waves, golden sun, or nature all around me.  After a while I realized that sounded ridiculous, and just forced myself to sit.

And as the old Zulu language dance song “Unamanga” by the late Patricia Majalisa started to filter to my headphones, as I stared out at the sea and the sun, something shifted.  I felt something like, I don’t know, a failure in the sealnt around myself, and some drops dripped in, slowly.  Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to do this in a grand gesture.  I could enjoy myself and the small joys I’d found in life so far. 

I could be grateful and quietly glad for the little things that happened.  It wasn’t about deserving it, or about it being worthy of me.  I could imagine for right now, that this was a thing that I could have.  I could sit and marvel that some great shit happened to me, and it was OK.  Let’s not get it twisted—I didn’t have an epiphany, there were no turnbacks on the road to Emmaus.  But I did find a little quietude in my soul for a second and stopped frantically Teflon-ing my heart from joy for a second.

I survived a hell semester, and did well. I got a wonderful opportunity and it went well.  I could just let hat happen and also not ignore that it happened, to focus on negatives in an outsized way.  I could, in this single afternoon moment, be delighted that things had gone okay.  And not worry or strategize about the next disaster, which would happen on its own anyway.  And…that’s all I can do right now.

Also, I’m going to work on this more, this whole letting people love me and letting it sink in.  I usually avoid it because I feel like it keeps me off my game from the inevitable disaster to follow.  But that’s not how I want to live.  I’m going to try to think about what it means that some of you all tell me you love me, and then to show it.  I need to reconcile the nonstop whirligig of my mind also turns menacingly in on itself so often, and that acknowledging the gift of calculated wit and mirth also means I have to cultivate love and joy.

So tomorrow, I’m going to go for a brief run, I’m going to drink some lovely coffee, and I’m going to walk along the ocean again.  (And then I’m going to keep staying in this Airbnb so I don’t catch or spread this plague.)

 

What a fucking semester, y’all.

[writing-is-my-guilty-pleasure]

Stormy Weather || Thor x Reader

Main Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

‘Would you want to do a Thor x Reader where the reader and Thor are spending the day together in Thor’s place and the reader has to leave to do some work for Cap or Tony but Thor causes a thunderstorm so that she doesn’t leave because he knows how much she hates getting wet (she doesn’t mind though!)’ A/N: I didn’t know whether you meant Thor’s place as in his own house or living in the Avengers tower, but I’m going to set it after Civil War, (we saw Thor looking for different roommates and lets say he managed to find a place of his own. Also mentions of siding with Steve in Civil War soz if you didn’t but I feel like Thor would have sided with Steve.) and just ignore the fact it might not totally fit into the timeline of the movies but hEy I did my best I’m still struggling to accept Infinity War even though Endgame is in like two weeks.  Also sorry if this is too short, I’m trying to overcome writer’s block!

 “You know, when you said you had your own place, I never expected it to look this good.” You said absentmindedly, leaning against Thor as you watched the TV together. Thor chuckled, and you felt it rumble through his entire being – his loud, booming voice was not restricted to speaking, it radiated from his entire being.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, considering my taste in decoration seems to have exceeded your expectations.” Thor grinned at you, moving his arm so that it rested on your shoulders, eyes not leaving the screen infront of the two of you. You smiled at him, eyes resting on the world outside one of Thor’s windows. It was a relatively normal day: the sun was shining, and there were only a few clouds in the sky, or so you could see from your limited point of view. You could hear the world moving as normal around you, the occasional car horn standing out amongst the usual bustle that was the citizens of America.  “I appreciate you taking the time out of your week to come and visit me, Y/N.” Thor’s voice broke you out of your train of thought, and you turned your head back to him.

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, Thor.” You grinned at him. “I’d much rather be here spending time with you than out fighting bad guys and putting my life on the line, which by the way,” You paused, shifting around on the sofa, sitting up straighter. “Is a lot more tiring when you aren’t a god or a super-soldier who doesn’t feel like they might collapse after a few hours of fighting.” You pouted as Thor let out a laugh at your rant.

“You make a good point Y/N, it is certainly much more enjoyable to spend time with someone as ruggedly handsome as me, who would obviously never let anything bad happen to a mortal such as yourself, and is much more experienced and trained in combat than our fellow Avengers.” Thor said, puffing out his chest physically, and also somehow expressing the same vibe when speaking. Loki’s energy has really been rubbing off on him, you thought to yourself as you shook your head, smiling. You found yourself doing that a lot more these days, especially when you were around Thor. He just seemed to have that effect on you, often reducing you to a giggling mess.

“It’s certainly nice to know that I’m appreciated for something other than my combat skills and for actually being a decent human being.” You resumed your position of resting against Thor. It was peaceful moments like this where you forgot that Thor was a god, and heir to the throne of Asgard. He felt normal to you, sure he was a little naïve when it came to realising how this world worked, but he was a genuinely kind and gentle person. You’d watched him grow as a person since you first met him when the Avengers initiative was finalised and launched, maturing over the years and realising that the Avengers never saw him as a Prince, but as one of their own and a relatively normal person. You’d also seen him grow as a so called ‘superhero’, growing used to handling his power in different ways and saving the world multiple times. When you heard about how he saved the world against the Dark Elves you couldn’t believe that it was Thor who had done it. Well, you could believe it but a few years ago, the Thor that you knew then wouldn’t have risked so much to save your world.

And hey, if in the time you’d known Thor you’d developed a slight crush on him, who was to judge you? And more importantly, who was to know? You’d never told anyone how you felt towards Thor, although the only person who you thought would know anything about your emotions and what went on inside your head was Wanda, as you’d felt the extent of her powers when you all first encountered her and her brother. The battle of Ultron really gave you some time to reflect on whether you wanted to remain a member of the Avengers, and unsurprisingly, it had been Thor who had reasoned with you and asked you to stay. But then not too soon after you’d made your decision, he’d told you all in one last meeting with some newer recruits that he had to leave to return to Asgard, and to explore parts of the universe to recover things he called ‘infinity stones’. That had almost broken you, losing one of the people you cared most about in the world – well, worlds. So while you’d stayed with the Avengers back on earth, and fought off more bad guys than you could count, there had always been a Thor-shaped hole in your heart, and for a while it had been hard not seeing him every day around the new compound, but you’d made friends with the newer members; Sam, Wanda and Vision.

Then, the Avengers split up. They straight up, boy-band, split up. Like how the Beatles split up, and how One Direction (it still hurts) split up. You’d sided with Steve and met up with Clint again and a new guy called Scott Lang. You’d never felt worse when facing your old team-mates, but you wouldn’t be free if you sided with Tony and signed that damn agreement. It might even have prevented Thor from re-joining the group when he came back. It wasn’t a proper fight – nobody wanted to seriously hurt anyone else, (except maybe T’Challa when it came to fighting Bucky) and when Steve and Bucky made it away from Tony and the reason that the fight had started, the rest of the team had to face the consequences of their actions. That had to have been one of the worst moments of your life, the time you all spent in those cells. It hadn’t helped when Tony came by to visit, and even when he tried to help, you still weren’t sure about him anymore. He’d changed.

Fast forward a few weeks, and you found yourself on the run from the government, accompanied by Steve, Sam and Natasha. You travelled from hotel to hotel, never using the same name when booking rooms, and you and Natasha had had to dye your hair to try and keep your real identities secret. Hey, it had worked so far. You’d run into Thor a couple of weeks ago in a library, and almost had a heart attack upon seeing him. He hadn’t recognised you at first, but as soon as you spoke his face had lit up, and he’d pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. You’d explained your situation to him, and while he seemed to think that the whole event was completely ridiculous and simultaneously offended that you hadn’t thought to invite him along to the fight, he appreciated that you had to lie low for a while, so the two of you couldn’t meet up in public.

So, today was the first day in a long time that you had been able to truly relax, and you immediately got in contact with Thor, because if anyone can make you feel relaxed and safe, Thor can. Bringing yourself out of your memories, you saw that the movie you two had been half-heartedly watching had ended, and the credits were rolling. Without speaking, you reached over Thor, picking up the remote and clicking through the vast selection of movies that Netflix supplied, and once finding a movie the two of you wanted, you pressed play, and set the remote on the coffee table infront of you, and resumed your position against Thor.

“Thanks for letting me stay here today.” You said quietly, only half-focusing on the movie, half-focusing on the literal god sitting next to you. Thor’s hand shifted from resting on your shoulder, and brushed a few shorter strands of hair away from your face, and gently ran his fingers through your hair in a soothing motion. He didn’t reply, simply letting out a long breath, acknowledging your thanks silently. You abandoned trying to focus on the TV, and let your eyes roam over Thor, from his long, blonde hair down to Mjolnir, which was resting on the sofa on the other side of Thor. As you gazed at him, you felt your cheeks flush, as your emotions decided that now would be a great time to express your affections towards Thor.

As if you had spoken aloud, Thor turned his head to look at you, and his gaze softened as his eyes roamed over your face. “You know, my father used to tell me that humans were ugly beings, and were never worth our time.” Thor rumbled, and you sat up abruptly, eyebrows raised, feeling rather offended. I mean sure, you weren’t the prettiest and most good-looking person in the world but now that’s just plain rude. Realising what he said might have come off a bit too harsh and not at all like it had sounded in his head, Thor hurried to correct himself. “And while I did believe him when I was younger, my personal opinions have changed quite drastically.” He shifted, pulling you closer. “You changed my mind, Y/N.” His usual smile graced his features, and for you, it lit up the whole room. “I’ve never met anyone so beautiful, and if I could, I would give you all of my free time, because you are worth all the time in the world.” During his speech, the distance between the two of you had lessened.

“Thor,” You breathed, face even redder than before. “I-I don’t…” You couldn’t find the words to express your reaction to his words, but he seemed to understand what you meant. He rested one of his large hands on your cheek, tilting your head up and simultaneously leaning down towards you. You were so close that if you leant forwards the slightest bit, the two of you would be kissing, and lord knows when you’d stop.

Just as you were about to close the gap between the both of you, your phone decided to say a big ‘fuck you’ and let out the harsh sound of your ringtone. You stayed where you were for a few seconds, and when your phone didn’t stop ringing, you let out a loud groan of annoyance, and heaved yourself off the sofa, grabbing your phone.

“Hello?” You answered, a bit more rudely than you probably should have, considering you didn’t check who had called you.

“Y/N? Is this a bad time?” Steve’s voice rang through the phone and you mentally hit yourself multiple times. “Only something’s come up, and if you aren’t busy we could really use your help.”

“Oh…no, its not a bad time at all,” You answered sheepishly, on full alert now. “I’m…” You looked around at Thor, who was watching you with an affectionate expression plastered across his face. “Hanging out with a friend, what’s up? Let me know where you are and I can probably come and find you guys.” You mouthed ‘It’s Steve, I have to go.” at Thor, hopping around ungracefully on one foot as you struggled to pull your shoe on. Thor frowned slightly, and turned to look outside. You followed his gaze, and no sooner than you did, the bright blue sky began to turn a dark grey, and the rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. You sighed as Thor turned around again, a cheeky twinkle in his eyes as you bit your lip. “Actually, Steve, it’s not looking too great out there and I don’t want to risk getting in an accident trying to get to you guys…and you know I have a thing about getting wet.” Steve sighed on the other end of the phone, but didn’t seem too bothered about you not coming, and you hung up the phone.

“Thor, that could have been an important mission…” You reprimanded half-heartedly, because who could be truly mad at Thor?

“If it was that important, you would have left anyways.” Thor said truthfully, and you knew he was right. Besides, you weren’t complaining that you got to spend an extra few hours with him. You grinned, pulling off the one shoe you’d managed to get on correctly, and resumed your position on the sofa next to him, and you felt your heart flutter as he placed one of his arms around you once more.

[seyesnyl]

Critical analysis of a Comic book

During my search for books and articles to aid my practice-based research, I came across the text “Critical Approaches to Comics: Theories and Methods”. This book offers a look into the critical analysis of books and the theories and methods their authors employ. It focuses on four essential aspects of a graphic novel/comic which are: Form, Content, Production, and Reception. In each of these parts, contributors with comic criticism expertise discuss their methods of analysis and put into practice these methods on selected comics or graphic novels.

It is an insightful book and going through it made me understand different ways a comic could be analyzed and further understood. I had recently purchased a comic book called X-Men Red (Fig. 01) and wanted to try out the procedures that some critics had employed in their analysis.

Peter Coogan in Chapter 15 Genre: Reconstructing the Superhero in All Star Superman, discusses the superhero genre and its characteristics. He offers a guide towards analyzing the superhero comic book and its context. His procedures entail multiple readings to properly critically analyze.

First reading: Familiarize yourself with the events and characters of the story.

Second reading: engage with the text at a deeper level, note the conventions (heroes, villains, love interests, etc.). Note how are they used; seriously or comically or problematically? Observe structural pairs (events, characters, icons, and settings) that reflect and comment on each other.

Third reading: attend to the sequential artistry of the comic book. 

After these three, the analyst should assemble their notes and try to identify patterns in the story, using conventions, and the sequential artistry that leads to discovering the thematic concerns of the authors.

He mentions that superhero comics are usually intertextual in that they reference other texts and those should be watched out for. He also says to consider the general tendencies of comic books produced at the time the text you are analyzing was published.

Lastly, it should be noted how the characters represent oppositional attitudes (both semantically and syntactically) and how these oppositions are mediated. Then determine what you have to say about the story and how the text supports and reveals the points you want to affect.

(Smith and Duncan, 2012)

Fig. 01  Cover of Taylor, T., Alixe, P., Lee, S., Kirby, J. and Asrar, M., 2018. “X-Men Red - The Hate Machine”. New York: Marvel Worldwide.

After three readings and making notes, I assembled this analysis on two chapters of X-Men Red (1 and 2). 

The comic starts with a one-page introduction of Jean Grey back into the comic universe, back from the dead. It’s a sequel to her actual resurrection chapter, but this first page helps bring the reader to speed with synoptic text and imagery (Fig.02). “I was the Phoenix”, “I burned so brightly”, “And then I was dead”, “And everything was dark”, “I’m alive again”. She is pictured in the last panel of the page recollecting this and reflecting on the events straight after her resurrection.

Jean’s death as the Phoenix is a famous story in the X-Men universe, and just last year, a second live-action movie adaptation was released in theaters worldwide. The first was released in 2006 and there have been many adaptations in comics and animated programs over the decades since the story of her death was first introduced in 1980.

Fig. 02- Excerpt from Taylor, T., Alixe, P., Lee, S., Kirby, J. and Asrar, M., 2018. “X-Men Red - The Hate Machine”. New York: Marvel Worldwide.

From the first page to the following pages of this chapter, Jean acts as the narrator of the events that happened just before she died, and after she came back to life. This is done through green text boxes in the chapter. She catches up with the rest of the X-Men team, and we watch her move from here with her blue-skinned teammate Kurt, to another setting where we get the first glimpse of intolerance towards mutants that will be the focus of this story. Kurt is the target of discrimination by a passer-by and through this, we also get to see a glimpse of Jean Grey’s strength as she deals with this situation. It is revealed throughout the book that Jean can use her powers to its extent without fear of the Phoenix entity taking hold. The extent is yet unknown to her, but she knows she was being held back before.

This theme of intolerance towards mutants (people with abnormal abilities and sometimes appearances) is a topic frequently explored by the X-Men franchise more popularly and taken more seriously compared to any other comic in the superhero genre in my opinion. The seriousness is similarly conveyed in this comic book.

There are similarities in the discrimination mutants face with what minorities in our real world go through. In this instance with Kurt and Jean, it is indirectly shown that even though they are both mutants; Kurt is singled out by a normal white-passing man because he outwardly presents to be different with his blue skin and long tail while Jean is overlooked because she appears like a normal human. Likewise, in the real world, the more obvious your difference is, the more bigotry you are likely to face. Darker skin, non-Eurocentric features, gender-queer appearances, disabilities, etc.

Fig. 03-  Excerpt from Taylor, T., Alixe, P., Lee, S., Kirby, J. and Asrar, M., 2018. “X-Men Red - The Hate Machine”. New York: Marvel Worldwide.

It is obvious Kurt faces this all the time, and he seems to brush it off, but Jean is coming back into this world as sort of fresh-eyed and is appalled the hatred has become more emboldened since she had been gone. It is an added effect she is a mind-reader and reveals the hateful man is scared and does not understand half of the things he professes to hate, which is a common belief about bigots. She also alludes he is among the infamous internet trolls that write bile to strangers from the anonymity and safety of his room. It is fair to say that the “internet troll” in recent times is one of the most prominent social bullies. This man is a clear representative of today’s social and digital hate culture

The first chapter concludes by panning back to the image of Jean in the setting of the first page’s panel, narrating the story of her coming back to life and what she has faced so far. It is from here and the following chapters that the story moves into the present. Jean says that with her new life she will ensure to change this hateful world.

The art of this chapter is a bit unusual to me. It tends to be abrasive. I haven’t paid much attention to western comics recently so that might be a factor in my unease. The artist Pascal Alixe uses short dark lines that don’t flow together for shading and this gives the character’s faces and bodies a rough appearance. The art also doesn’t follow the regular pin-up styles for female characters that comics are famous for. They appear stockier and more muscular than the typical comic representation which, realistically, makes sense for the jobs they take on.

In chapter 2, since Jean has been revealed to be a strong mutant, and we are following her quest to save the world, it is curious to witness how she goes about it. A fascinating way she does this is by using her telepathy to link the brilliant minds of others to solve a specific problem. She does this when she invites distinguished thinkers from all over the world for a meeting and links their minds with her powers to develop an idea to make the world better. She pulls a similar feat later in the comic when she uses Black Panther’s neurological knowledge and the powers of Trinary, a new teammate, to remove an item from a person’s brain. Doing this passes across the message that complicated problems can be solved by bringing together the skills and talents of different people. A telepath might not be realistic, but someone with empathy and good interpersonal skills may achieve this.

In a United Nations meeting, Jean pleaded her case to the world ambassadors. Referencing Professor Xavier’s intent for ‘mutantkind’ – who believed mutants could win normal humans over by being heroes when needed and being invisible when not – she says mutants should not need to be heroes for acceptance. This is a fascinating sentiment as she (or rather the author) could be referencing other superheroes in the superhero genre and the terms of being accepted. This calls upon the intertextuality of the superhero genre. Superman, Spiderman, and other heroes with powers have often had complications with public acceptance until they proved they are useful to society by using those superhuman powers to save their citizens. This also translates to real-world issues. For example, how black people often need to be exceptional before they are thought of separately from stereotypes.

In an examination into ‘homo-normativity’ in children’s literature, Lester (2013) posits that in most queer literature for children, there is an emphasis on the queer or gender non-conforming character to earn approval as opposed to being entitled to it. She states in the article that “This motif of having to prove oneself means the main characters are accepted only after those around them learn to appreciate their differences, the implication being that there is ultimately something unacceptable about gender nonconformity for which young male characters must compensate”… “These cases of privileging individual exceptionalism as the only way of gaining acceptance still maintain that gender nonconformity is unacceptable and should be avoided”.

Fig. 04 -  Excerpt from Taylor, T., Alixe, P., Lee, S., Kirby, J. and Asrar, M., 2018. “X-Men Red - The Hate Machine”. New York: Marvel Worldwide.

Unfortunately, this chapter ends with Jean being framed for the murder of an attending ambassador by the villain of the story, Cassandra Nova. Even though Jean had made some progress during the meeting, the situation has now become worse than before as it is publicly witnessed a mutant has murdered someone that appeared to have opposed her. Before the frame job, a message from Nova was passed to Jean informing her that she had upset the status quo with her actions and would face the consequences. Taking this back to the real world, this alludes to what many social activists and minorities discern, which is that systems have been put in place to ensure that the oppressed remain oppressed for the benefit of the oppressors.

In the subsequent chapters, the story develops further; however, it is noticeably told from an intriguing point of view. More common superhero stories find their heroes playing a more passive role. They live their lives until an accident happens nearby or a super-villain wants to take over the world or rob a bank before they act. In X-Men Red, Jean could have waited for the anti-mutant tensions to rise and actual conflict to ensue before she acted, but she takes on an assertive role and is seeking to achieve a goal and is now being thwarted by the villains.

I researched on remarks from the author, Tom Taylor, about the comic, and he states “this book is Jean Grey coming back to life, but not coming back to the life she left behind. She doesn't want to come back to that life either. She's seen that the world has moved on. It's changed and she doesn't like everything she's seen. She's very empathetic and she feels so much of what's going on around her that she wants to make an actual change to the world. Not just for ‘mutantkind’ or humanity, but for everybody”. He doesn’t out-rightly mention the subliminal social commentary and that is likely because it speaks for itself and is not heavily nuanced.

I find this book pertinent to current times and it is thought-provoking without losing too much on the entertainment factor. As a consumer of superhero entertainment, it is usually difficult for me to grasp how a really powerful protagonist can lead an engaging story, but when faced with the seemingly insurmountable problem of bigotry, discrimination, and changing the hearts of people, it is a worthy challenge and I can’t wait to see how it culminates.

This has been an insightful task for me and the text that assisted my analysis has expanded my outlook on comics and the different facets of it that I never paid attention to. This will undoubtedly help me in my practice to be more intentional about the choices I make in the comics I create in the future.

References

Lester, J.Z. 2014, "Homonormativity in Children's Literature: An Intersectional Analysis of Queer-Themed Picture Books", Journal of LGBT youth, vol. 11, no. 3, pp. 244-275.

Smith, M.J. & Duncan, R. 2012;2011;, Critical Approaches to Comics: Theories and Methods, Taylor and Francis, Hoboken.

Taylor, T., Alixe, P., Lee, S., Kirby, J. and Asrar, M., 2018. “X-Men Red - The Hate Machine”. New York: Marvel Worldwide.

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clone presence in WatchPoint Bay Q6 detected.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a hopeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that would just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. ‘Small talk’ wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes of life left... any last words?” Modulok asked shimmying on his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber, below a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which framed a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the outer metal casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to save that world, even if it was without him in it. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fidget with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through countless wars. We hauled-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our Brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” That was true, after the Horde Hordak knew no clone would have an easy time on that planet. Those people hated him, his face. He chose to believe that the common people of the world were as good as the Princesses that protected them. That all his fellow clone brethren could find a safe and fruitful life among the native Etherians.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think they’re all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t theirs to sacrifice.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. They would add some life to the ghost town, so that she wouldn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah well, whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right arm around. No wonder either, it was bent backward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a funny way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses? Totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet our brothers are all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pastel losers yapped about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm very soon. Even though there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he had said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bring the universe to bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speeches, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the known universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe without a second thought. The note said everything it had to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Des was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the war trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of hers, about how she hurt people close to her. About how she was sorry. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak wasn’t there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be. Perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always ‘she’ deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of them. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side, the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the ‘splicing initiative’. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal galactic sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the stolen dropship, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it was cut up with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he was nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. They were truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Yes. All a lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Holy Peak? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there... or down there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Through pure chance the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s defection was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compared to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Des’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the frontlines of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day when Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all that baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response was more of a cryptid puzzle than an actual answer

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

It was clear that Hordak, was on a long journey, one he had to trek himself. Search and find the meaning of it all on his own, in his mind. He needed to find his own meaning and purpose. And what that meant to him.

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just shrugged in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Des combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Des admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, ‘mere shadows of his greatness’. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he in turn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could we have done something, could we have ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could we have been good? Would it have made any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good...

But that would’ve been nice...”

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.