#so they recanted but it was too late and I was more dedicated to other franchises

[stuffedeggplants]

I never got into Pokémon as a child because my parents at the time misunderstood what it was and thought it was a gambling game. Now I'll incidentally receive information about the creatures, and a lot of that's benign, stuff like "friendly and delightful seed Pokémon 🌟 🌱" or "small fire chicken with joy in its heart," but occasionally I'll look one up and be hit with something like "this Pokémon was banished beyond The Walls of Night for the weight of its unspeakable crimes" and it will just really make me really wonder about what's going on in that series if you dig just below the surface.

[tj-wrote-things]

𝐀 𝐆𝗼𝗼𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝗼𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤

𝐧𝐢𝐤𝗼𝐥𝐚𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬𝗼𝐯 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝗺!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝗼 @itisroe 𝐟𝗼𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝗺𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢��𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

𝐀.𝐍: 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 2𝐤 𝐰𝗼𝐫𝐝𝐬. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐟. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞. 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝗼𝐲:)

-quick little psa, Nikolai and Reader are both kinda ducks cause they’re hurt and stressed. I DONT THINK it’s okay to invalidate a significant other, however I do believe people say things they don’t mean-

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“Yes, Genya, I’ve checked the place cards, and I told Alina to make sure no one was allergic to anything.” You sighed heavily from your place on the lavish fainting chair, reclining to avoid wrinkling your dress. Tamar widened her eyes, and shook her head subtly at you, warning you of the danger that comes with poking the bear.

Genya turned sharply and raised a fiery eyebrow at you, almost daring you to get smart again. “Listen, wiseass, this is my wedding day, and if anything goes wrong, as my Maid of Honor you’re responsible.” She reached into the smooth mahogany surface of the vanity and brandished a particularly sharp looking razor blade. “Got it?” You widened your eyes and rose from the chair, no longer feeling safe.

“I’m gonna go check in with the band,” you mumbled, speed walking straight to the door. Genya nodded curtly. As you wrenched the door open, you came face to face with Alina, holding the thin, cream colored shawl Genya had requested.

“Be careful,” you whispered. “She’s in a mood.” Alina rolled her eyes.

“And it's probably all your fault.” she smiled, letting the door shut behind you. You chuckled to yourself at the thought of getting a rise out of Genya, a woman who had quickly become a sister to you from the moment you arrived at the Little Palace, no matter how many times you pissed her off.

You made it a few paces from the door before you heard a startling shout from the room you just left.

“Make sure they don’t play a polka song!”

“Alright,” you hollered back hoarsely. “Just save that braying voice for your vows!”

Making your way to the parlour room was simple enough, considering you had done it a thousand times before. The hard part was making it past the boys room.

You were all the way at the end of the hall, and yet you could hear the commotion from within David’s room. As you stepped closer and closer, heels clacking on the pristine tiled floor, the garbled noise of grown men arguing became clearer and clearer.

“For saints’ sake David! You look fine!”

“Genya would say my necktie clashes with my haircut!” Another round of groans erupted, and you smiled.

Of every couple in all Os Alta, Genya and David would take the cake when it came to “opposites attract”. You’d always thought they were perfectly paired, with David’s demure nature and Genya’s strongly worded opinions. They balanced one another, and brought out the best in them both.

You thought that you’d get lucky, and be able to walk past the room swiftly without being noticed, but of course, fate was being a real bitch.

Just as your left foot set down in front of their door, it was pulled open abruptly. One moment, you were striding swiftly through an abandoned corridor, and in the next you were being stared down by arguably the one man you could’ve gone all day without seeing.

Nikolai blinked and cleared his throat, and did the one thing you least expected. He grabbed you, not unkindly, by the arm, and hauled you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Have a look,” he said, pointing to David, who was standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room, rolling his eyes everytime Mal tried to convince him he looked fine. “Doesn’t David’s tie match perfectly with his hair?” He didn’t even wait for you to respond. “I picked it out myself, so of course he’d look impeccable.”

Your hunger for chaos just couldn't resist. You frowned mockingly, and rested your chin on your fist. “Well, the knot is a little big…” you moved for the mass of garments piling up on David’s bed, and swiftly pulled out another tie. This one was a dark violet color, and perfect for the occasion, for you happened to know that Genya’s wedding bouquet had flowers of the same shade. You looped the fabric around David’s neck after removing the old one, and tied it, not unlike a sister would. “There.” You patted him on the shoulders. “You look great, David.”

You picked up the skirt of your dress as you went to exit, stopping to pat Nikolai on the arm. “Don’t feel bad about the tie, Nikolai. We both know you have trouble seeing a good thing even when it’s right in front of you.” You left without another word, neck bobbing, but head held high.

He knew what you’d been talking about, of course; your failed relationship. You and Nikolai had been together for all of 7 months, before the cares of both of your positions began to take their toll. As king of Ravka, Nikolai was resolute in his decision to be a great ruler above all else, and he honored that decision in full.

He made regular visits to every corner of his country, doing what he could to alleviate the stresses that formed in the aftermath of the war, and oftentimes took you with him, if you could spare the time. He took special care to attend every meeting and listen intently to any conversation that had anything to do with his beloved Ravka, to avoid making the same decisions that cost his father the throne, and his people their security.

You loved it. You loved him, too. His dedication to a land that had been so neglected by his forefathers was something that you revered in your lover, and respected. And he respected your work, too, and all that you did in the name of the Second Army and the throne. The time you spent together was always treasured.

However, he as King and you as General, there was only so much time to be spent together. It had become routine for both parties, night after night to come home to the bedroom, and find the other fast asleep, unyieldingly busy, or just not there. You slept in the same bed, and yet, you both had felt the cold arms of distance more than the arms of the other. It was only a matter of time until either of you reached your breaking point, after all, it was no easy thing to fall asleep and wake up in an empty room, not when you knew the one who shared it was long gone.

He had walked into your room, late at night after a day of meetings and diplomacies. You were sitting, hunched over, bathed in the light of the oil lamp hanging over you, slowly sorting through and filing away the documents detailing the expenses of the Second Army. He had strode over to you, and placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly.

You hummed in acknowledgement, unwilling to turn away from the paper before you. “What,” he said. “No hello?” You shrugged off his hand as you reached for your pen.

Signing the line at the edge of the page, you responded halfheartedly. “Nik, I’m really busy right now.” You had hoped that your displeasure at the work laid out before you would be conveyed through your words, but it seemed that was not the case. Nikolai, in all his stressed out glory, believed the displeasure was directed at him.

Retracting his hand and moving towards the bed, he muttered, “Saints forbid I be shown a little affection.” You did not intend to hear him, but you couldn’t help  but respond. Not when, just days ago, sitting at the same desk, Nikolai had done the same thing.

“Affection,” you repeated, setting your pen down and leaning back in the chair. “Pray tell, Nikolai, when was the last time you paid me any affection. Or indeed, any attention at all?�� Nikolai shook his head, and tugged off his shirt as he readied himself for the night, sighing when he saw your challenging expression. He prattled off his response without a second though.

“I'm the King. You're just a soldier.” You scoffed, and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he would recant, and apologize for all he just insinuated.

He did not. Nikolai crawled onto his side of the bed, his back facing you, and remained silent.

For him to invalidate you, and your work—

“Right,” you said, standing to collect your things. “In that case, I think I’ll stay in the Little Palace tonight. With the other soldiers.” That had been the end of it.

Nikolai’s pride prevented him from approaching you, and your resolve to remain unbroken kept you from approaching him. You knew if you tried to talk about it, it would kill you from the inside out. So that was how it went. You put up with Nikolai, for the sake of your friends, and country, and spoke shortly and when spoken to. Nikolai did likewise.

Until the wedding reception, that is. You’d done your best, really. You really tried to goad Genya and get him assigned to a different table, but of course it wouldn't happen. She’d given you a resolute no, claiming that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man had to sit at the same table and they had to share at least one dance.

You weren't so sure how legit that last claim was, but you didn't have it in you to argue. The lamps dimmed, and the band stopped, making way for the newlyweds to impress the attendees. David was smiling brightly, with one arm wrapped around Genya’s waist as he waltzed them around the floor, only dropping his grin when he gestured to Nikolai to take your hand. Nikolai huffed, and looked at you straight on.

“Genya said we have to dance.” He knocked back his brandy, and stood up, regal as ever, and extended a hand to you. 

You looked up from your own unfinished glass humorlessly. “Well don’t sound so excited.” You caught a narrow glare from Genya as she whirled around the floor. You stood and took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the floor.

You were getting too close.

The intoxicating smell of Nikolai’s cologne was shoving you closer and closer to the edge, let alone the warm feeling of his hand on the small of your back. Deep down you knew that if he moved his hand to your hip, it would be over, and you would drown in shared memories of nights spent in tangled sheets and abandoned alcoves.

You cleared your throat, and allowed your own hands to take their place, one in his hand, and one on his shoulder. With a swell of the music, you were off, onto the dancefloor in a flourish of fake smiles and internal screaming. 

Nikolai glanced down at you, noticing the way you looked at anything but him. “So,” he said. “I have trouble seeing a good thing even when it’s right in front of me.” You didn't say anything, clenching your jaw. “No, no,” he continued. “You’re right, of course. You stood by my side through… everything. The war, my stint as Sturmhond. It was selfish of me. To not have been by your side when you needed me.”

Oh yeah, you thought. Now we’re definitely too close.

You cleared your throat, and patted his bicep twice, signaling him to let you go. “Goodnight,” you muttered, unwilling to let yourself have this conversation. You pulled away, just slightly, before Nikolai tightened his grip on your waist and pulled you in. “Hey-!”

“Just know,” he murmured, looking at you intently, hazel eyes carving through the thick resolve you had fashioned in the weeks you’d been apart. “I always saw you. I never stopped seeing you. Probably never will.” He let go of your waist, and brought one of your hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckle. “And you were the greatest. Know that I’m not ready to give up on us yet.”

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[zutaradreams]

Day 29: Crown

(A whole month late, but I finally wrote it. This whole collection was so much fun to write)

Zuko and Katara finally marry. 

@zutaramonth

The colors are her idea. She may be marrying the Fire Lord in the Fire Nation at the height of summer, but she is adamant that their wedding will not be a garish affair of red. 

“Wait, how many robes did you say I’d have?”

“Three.” 

“Three?” he exclaims. 

“I’ll have three, too,” she protests in an attempt to make him feel better. “You’ll have one yellow, one blue, and one white.” 

“And you?”

“One green, one red, one white. But my white one will have a full skirt with all the colors underneath, so you’ll see them when we dance.”

“How many noblemen are lying unconscious in my halls?”

She laughs and places the designs in front of him. “I know it’s not traditional, but I think it’s really important for our wedding to commemorate the peace we helped to build.”

“It is important,” he affirms, padding through the designs. “I think they’re perfect.” 

They keep many of the traditional practices of a Fire Nation wedding, as well as the informal pre-wedding ceremonies of the Water Tribes. One tradition they keep is the separate transport of the bride and groom. They each take an open carriage from opposite sides of the city for the people to see them in the streets. He wears his yellow robes as he waves to the people gathered to see him.

The power of the summer solstice swells in his veins as Katara’s carriage approaches their altar in the Royal Plaza. She greets these future citizens of hers in green, wearing a crown yellow flowers woven through her hair. 

She looks absolutely beautiful. 

She is escorted to him, standing high on the altar with three Fire Sages, by the members of her family. Hakoda, Sokka, and Kanna wear the traditional blue dress of their tribe; Katara’s green dress stands out even more against them. 

It is a Water Tribe tradition for the father of the bride to place the bride’s hand in the groom’s. Hakoda kisses her cheek, places her hand in his, and her family leaves them alone on the altar. 

“Please kneel,” the head Fire Sage says. 

She smiles as they kneel facing each other. The other two sages dress them in their second layer. For the formal wedding ceremony and Katara’s coronation, he will wear her colors, and she will wear his to signify their dedication to each other.

He hopes the ceremony will be short because it’s hot enough outside wearing one layer. She looks like she’s thinking similarly. He wonders if she can read his mind when he discreetly bends the sweat from his face. He’ll tease her later for this. These extra clothes had been her idea after all. 

“Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, Fire Lord Zuko has offered you marriage. Do you accept?”

“Yes, I accept.”

“Do you understand that your marriage will appoint you as the First Lady of the Fire Nation?” 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“Do you solemnly promise to govern the people of the Fire Nation lawfully, justly, and mercifully?”

“Yes, I solemnly promise.” 

“Do you promise to love this man to the end of your days?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

The head Fire Sage dips his thumb in warmed oil and brushes it across Katara’s forehead. 

“Fire Lord Zuko, do you wish to recant your offer of marriage?”

“No.”

“Do you promise to love this woman to the end of your days?”

“Yes, I promise.”

His eyes close as the warm oil seeps into the skin of his forehead. 

“As Agni’s servant, I bind this man and this woman as husband and wife. You may seal your union with a kiss.” 

All Zuko can muster through the glorious ringing in his ears is a gentle peck against Katara’s lips before the Head Sage asks Katara to kneel once again. He holds the crown of the Fire Lady high above Katara’s head for everyone in the Royal Plaza to see. He lowers it gingerly to the topknot in her hair. 

A green dress beneath red robes. A blue necklace at her throat. Yellow flowers in her hair. And a golden crown shining beneath the sun. 

The three sages exclaim:  “All hail Fire Lord Zuko! All hail Fire Lady Katara!”

The crowd cheers below them. Later tonight fireworks will shoot off from the palace. Festivities will continue for another week. They’ll be shut up at the Ember Island house by then, finally alone. One more outfit change, one more party, and then they’ll be free from it all.  

“All hail Fire Lord Zuko! All hail Fire Lady Katara!” 

King and Queen of Peace.

[unohanadaydreams]

How do you think the captains would react if you got hopelessly lost like on the way home or something? Also I love you and your blog makes me smile. 💖

Ahhhh, thank you so much, you are so kind!

Captains Reacting To You Getting Lost:

Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto: He would be very disappointed that you couldn’t find your way home and will be arranging a formal training time where he’s literally just walking you through the Soul Society, pointing out landmarks and dropping off paper work to the other captains.

Shunsui Kyoraku: He would sort of delighted, chuckle, ruffle your hair, and call you hopeless in a lighthearted, teasing manner. He genuinely finds it adorable. He’d start asking if you were just so busy thinking of him that you got distracted and make you forget any ill feelings you had toward getting lost, if you had them! He would likely offer to pick you up and walk you home next time, but it’s up to you!

Yoruichi Shihoin: She would find it hysterical and ask you to recant the details because she honestly wants to know just how you managed that. She’s used to scatterbrained geniuses, so she takes it in stride and finds it a bit endearing. She’ll bring it up casually in conversation until the end of time, though. She’d probably jokingly give you a golden star sticker the next time you made it home without getting lost.

SoiFon: She would make it a bigger deal than it likely was, partly because she would be flustered from you coming home late, and partly because she can’t belive someone SHE decided to be involved with can’t navigate the Gotei 13. She would take you on her next circuit of soul society, which would be useless to you in a practical sense, because she would be using hiding places and underground networks mostly.

Rose Otoribashi: He would ask you if you’re alright and tell you that if you were truly lost, you never would’ve made it home, so really you just went on a nice little scenic walk! He’d like to try that with you sometime soon, actually. Maybe you could make a picnic of it? He could even bring his guitar while you two simply floated through the Gotei 13.

Gin Ichimaru: He finds it’s pretty funny that you can’t navigate the Gotei 13 and would start offering to walk you home, only to conveniently get a soul butterfly summons half through. Even more conveniently, he would walk you home using drastically different routes when he does this. If there was ever a time you couldn’t find your way home, he would eventually appear back by your side, his smile a little too wide, apologizing for being gone so long.

Retsu Unohana: Although she’s concerned you turned up late, she understands how overwhelming the random dead ends can be throughout the Gotei 13. She prefers using the janitorial routes, herself, and would be very willing to show you around if she had time. If not, she would ask Isane to show you, before kissing your cheek and softly reminding you to send her a butterfly if you think you’re lost again.

Isane Kotetsu: When you’re late getting home, she starts thinking of increasingly bizarre situations as to what could have possibly happened to you. By the time you get to your door, she’s already gathered a search party of squad 4 members, ready to sweep the entire Gotei 13, because what if you got held hostage by the 12th division in some unspeakable experiment involving the time space continuum? What if an elite band of hollows even worse than arrancar are leading you to some dark forest for some horrid suprise? She cries a little bit when she sees you from relief and from feeling silly, but she forgives you easily and is glad to walk you home or have a squad 4 member walk you home from now on.

Shinji Hirako: He’s amused and unbelieving that you could get lost on your way home. He almost wonders if you’re lying. Were you walking blindfolded? Are you five years old again and need a chaperone? Really, if he has to come lead you home by the arm to get you there on time, then so be it. Of course, he’s going to tell anyone around he’s there to make sure you don’t get lost and playfully pinch your cheeks while he’s at it. And, no you’re not allowed to pout like that, because he’s doing you a favor.

Aizen Sousuke: He doesn’t outwardly seem to care or react much, aside from a smattering of false platitudes. If anything, he enjoys that you get lost. He takes it as a sign that you’re less intelligent and more pliable to his whims. If you can’t find your way through the Gotei 13, then you surely can’t manage any of his scheming. He’ll kiss your forehead and silently wonder how you even managed to pass your school exams.

Byakuya Kuchiki: He’ll be displeased you were late making it home and insist that you at least memorize your route home, whether it be with him or otherwise. He has a schedule he must stick to and if you can’t abide it, then you won’t have time to see each other that day, which is what he’s most upset about. Of course, he’s not going to say that in any way shape or form before criticizing your lack of spacial awareness and memory.

Sajin Komamura: He doesn’t quite understand how you could get lost, mostly because his sense of smell guides him extraordinarily well, but he’s sympathetic and tells you what truly matters is that you didn’t give up the moment you didn’t know where you were; it’s important to keep moving forward. Dogs are excellent guides, so why don’t you take one of Sajin’s stray friends with you next time? Even if you say no, you’ll notice a very happy, welcoming dog whenever you get lost again.

Tetsuzaemon Iba: He walks you to and from your division almost everyday, so he apologizes when you get lost on one of the days he couldn’t be there to guide you. It’s his job as your very manly partner to support you, after all. He hugs you tightly and gets scolded by Lieutenant Ise when he misses a captain’s meeting to walk you home a few weeks later.

Lisa Yadomaru: She finds it relatable and suggests you make the most if it. Maybe next time you both can get lost together and find some lonely corner(s) to have fun it. Besides, how do you think she gets the best candids of all the captains and lieutenants? Life is an adventure and she’s stumbling through it right there with you.

Kensei Muguruma: He’s worse than you when it comes to finding his way home. He tells Mashiro to make you one of the maps she made him (it’s a very poorly made map with a total of 4 routes and lots of cute characters drawn on it that mostly cover over the routes, making it effectively useless). He would absolutely shrug it off as no big deal, unless it started to cut into his time with you. Then he’d pull out his (horrible) map and start looking for you so he can give you an earful about how your his s/o because he wants to see you not wait for you.

Kaname Tosen: He was wary about getting lost in the Gotei 13 when he first started, so knows the layout very well. He smiles a bit patronizingly when you tell him what happened and lightly jokes at your expense before offering a comforting embrace and peaceful night in. He wouldn’t offer to walk you home, because he enjoys scolding you a bit and wouldn’t mind you getting lost again in the future. (Spends a bit too much time with Aizen, doesn’t he?)

Toshiro Hitsugaya: He would be pretty smug about it. Wow, you got lost on your way home? He remembers when he had a heard time finding his way home, when he was three. What does it feel like having less sense of direction than a three year old? Of course, he can’t just let you wander aimlessly, since he’s your s/o and obviously he needs to look out from you now on. He supposes he can walk you home next time, since you need him so badly. He will dutifully pick you up, with grace befitting a Gotei 13 captain, and wait till you’re not in public anymore to tease you for even needing him.

Kenpachi Zaraki: He is the reigning king of not knowing where the hell he is, at any given moment. The 11th division literally has a task force dedicated to tracking his lost ass down. He’s actually impressed you found your way home, when he gets there 5 hours after you, with a posse of his squad that guided him. Maybe you should just come to his barracks from now on, since it only takes him an average of 3 hours to find his way there, yeah? (Yes, your name is put on assignment for the task squad, even if this is your first time getting lost.)

Kisuke Urahara: He wonders if you really got lost or were distracted by something? He walks you home a few times before he realizes that, no, you don’t pretend to be lost in order to break the rules as he’s prone to do. His time in squad 2 makes him a rather good source for directions, so he kisses your face a bazillion times and promises to show you around on his next day off. Maybe you can help him test out a few gps systems he’s got in the works in the mean time?

Mayuri Kurotsuchi: It’s like you just told him that you don’t know what the Gotei 13 even is. He creates a detailed map for you to carry with you everywhere, has Akon make an even more detailed 3D map for you to wander around in virtual reality, makes you take computerized tests to ensure you studied properly, and sets you loose with a collar that zaps you if you stray from your designated route. He also sets up a scan for your brain, to ensure that you have not been turned into a mindless sleeper agent for one of the Gotei 13′s enemies. He would beyond a doubt lecture you and insult you over this.

Jushiro Ukitake: He’s glad to see you safe at home. His imagination isn’t anything compared to his lieutenants, but he was worried all the same and welcomes you back warmly, while telling you stories about when he’d gotten lost around the Gotei 13 as well as some old stories about Shunsui, Nanao, and others, to make you feel less embarrassed. He mentions it in passing as a cute story to his lieutenants when they ask how his night was and suddenly you have two very eager chaperones bickering about what’s the best way to walk you home, and getting you lost in the process.

Rukia Kuchiki: She’s a bit haughty about announcing that her brother taught her very well in regards to navigating the Gotei 13, but laughs with you instead of at you about your getting lost. She informs you that the Gotei 13 isn’t even that confusing compared to the rukongai districts, so it’s a good thing you got lost somewhere safe. What is she going to do with you? Other than tease you about it, of course. She pulls you down to kiss her, calls you ridiculous, and presents a mascot riddled guide to the Gotei 13 with helpful tips and interesting information that she hands out to her new recruits.

[brwnskin-bunnyteeth]

Golden

A/N: Here it is!! About 2K of gibberish and longing. Hope y’all like this!! I did this as part of @hsogolden ‘s #FineLineFicChallenge. Sorry for the late entry! :-)

summary: heartbreak, Shakespeare, and bars

When she first met Harry, Y/N didn’t know what to make of him. The bar was dark, starlight shining down on a local performing spoken word, the population focused most on the performers and in booths, her friend waving her toward her barstool. Taking in her surroundings, admiring the various vintage posters and shirts that decorated the walls, the exposed brick and homely booths, and the brown-haired bartender that was currently chatting up her friend. 

His hair, curly, a golden brown mess on top of his head, hands decorated with green and yellow nail polish and a spattering of rings, a gaudy dress shirt thrown on them. 

She’d been friends with Dahlia long enough to know that Harry was an ex, someone that she didn’t connect with romantically but claimed he was her “shag soulmate”. But there wasn’t much that she knew about him, just that they were merely friends with benefits at the moment, an arrangement that was largely on hold as long as Dahlia stuck with her current fling. 

His hand reached out to her as she sat down, a dimple appearing on his face, “ ‘m Harry.” 

“ Y/N,” she said, as her hand dwarfed under his large grasp, his fingers calloused, his eyes boring down into her as he nodded and repeated her name as if he were reciting ancient text and couldn’t mess up the pronunciation. Dahlia simply rolling her eyes, ordering a cocktail and shots, and jumping into a work story. 

Harry would join in here and there, chuckling at them. 

 And at times, he’d center his attention to her, head in hand as he intensely listened to her talk, his attention unwavering as cupid’s bow smites at her weary heart. Other moments, he’d be zoned out, listening to the slam poetry and serenades being played by locals and his hands would break the bubble they’d place around themselves whenever he was particularly enraptured. 

 Dahlia would later recant his behavior as normal, that he’d always been so impassioned and affected. Describing him as sensitive and dreamy-eyed.

 The night ended uneventfully after the last of the patrons mulled out at 1 am. Harry calling a cab as he and a coworker closed up. 

Her head full of dizzying thoughts when she was given his number, “I can tell we’re gonna be good friends, better to get this away with”, wide-eyed and just drunk enough to only be able to reply in a stuttering thanks as she drove away. His hand wriggling at her yellow cab, a faint dimple dotting the left side of his face, the sky clear and starry-eyed.

 ��Waking up, Y/N was greeted with, “ ‘til next time, good night xx. ” to her “ got home safely “ text. They’d only known each other for a night and he already had a hold on her. 

A nice cold shower brings her back to reality, as she scrubs his green eyes and cologne out of her system. His curly brown hair and easy smile invading her senses, butterflies flying about in her chest. It’d been so long, desire and infatuation feeling new and unnatural in her body. But she couldn’t let herself have a girly crush on a man like him, someone as enchanting as him—especially not one who regularly shags her friend. 

Anything romantic was just a figment of her mind, obviously starving for affection and latching onto anyone remotely nice and endearing. He was just a nice guy, one who kept an agonizing gaze on her face whenever she spoke, one who smelled really nice despite working a whole shift at the bar. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing worth getting attached to.

And yet, it was like her body was punishing her for being away from him, dealing with withdrawals after only meeting him once. Chest hurting as she thought about him.

Two weeks would go by and she’s still thinking of him. She passes by his pub on bus rides and a second always comes where her fingers swipe to his number, yearning to feast her eyes on him again. 

Aphrodite herself would soon take pity on her state this night, Y/N unaware as she walks up the theater steps. Her mood, however, is morose when the night begins. Anxiety eats at her from the inside out, hands wringing as she avoids familiar faces in the theater hall. 

Large posters don the walls, the face of her ex spread out in colossal laminated fashion and staring down at the floor. 

It has been three months since Y/N’d seen him, her heart just as heavy as the day he left. It felt silly, still affected by his frame, still as love-sick, still as devastated. 

He looked good, he was doing well. Memories of auditions and line readings, of all the frustration and dedication and late nights, flood her and she can’t help but be delighted for him. He’d been working hard for so long, and securing a lead role in this play was a dream of his. 

Her ticket arrived after the fight, from when her presence was expected and assumed. And at first, she just ignored it; still too heartbroken to acknowledge his presence without tearing up. But she’d been preparing for this event for so long, too much of her energy wasted on him and this play, that it felt absurd to not at least go and see the damn thing. Even if she wasn’t attached to him anymore, even if she wasn’t even keen on theater. 

Y/N can feel eyes boring into her, a chill moving down her figure as she enters. At this moment, she can tell she’s not going to get through the night without at least one drink if she planned on staying placid. Too many of his friends, his family, and his coworkers occupy the space, people she hasn't spoken to for far too long. She wondered if any of them knew about what happened or if they missed her or if she was even welcomed anymore. 

The bar offers some relief; ordering a chill mojito, she admires the marble counter and intricate chandeliers on the ceiling, her eyes nervously looking around. And when her drink is placed in front of her, she reaches into her wallet, but her actions are interrupted when a familiar voice and ringed hand put some money down.

“Let me take care of that for you, bunty.” 

Y/N can feel her heart jump all the way up her throat, gasping up at his frame and meeting his sparkling emerald eyes for the first time in weeks. She can feel her face warm up, heart beating as he peers down and wraps an arm around the back of her barstool. All she can do for a second is gape and gasp out a small objection, “Harry I-”

But his hand comes up, shaking his head, “No, nope”, dimples protruding as he continues to smile at her. “I’ve got this” he simpers, ordering his own drink and leaning in as other patrons squeeze by to grab a drink before the show. His voice turns sincere, low, when he takes a full hard look at her, “You look nice, really like that color on you”

And she wants to admonish him, wants to push his money away, wants to question his behavior, but his scent envelopes her—feeling fixed under his gaze. Tension fills the air and she’s drawing her eyes over him as well. 

He’s wearing a red patterned vest with an embroidered oxford shirt collar peeking out at the top with the sleeves folded; his pants wide-legged and grayish-blue, loafers brown and heeled. His hair is parted in the middle, and his facial hair has grown, nails painted watermelon red and bright green. Several rings occupy his hands, and a pearl necklace winks at her from his neck and she breathes out a light, “So do you” before chasing her drink. 

He’s laughing now, music to her ears, and she wants to bottle it up and save it for later. The two of them take another glance at each other, grins on their faces, silence falling as they take sips of their drinks. 

The play begins after they make their way to their seats, the objection of her despair taking the stage. Seeing him for the first time in weeks affects her more than she realized it would. 

Y/N knew heartbreak. At age 13, she experienced her first. As a cruel joke, the second hottest boy in her grade level pulled her to the side and kissed her, called her sexy, all for a dare, to win $40 for kissing a pig. He’d stolen her first kiss, playing with her emotions for forty fucking dollars. Her first reaction was to kick him in the nuts. And it gave her some relief, but tears still stung her cheeks, his pain doing nothing to soothe the heartache he inflicted on her.

She spent the rest of the night hiding in the bathroom, too ashamed to tell her parents, too broken to even speak of the incident. Weeks later, a new boy from New York tells her that he fancies her, well all she could do was laugh. How could someone as cool and cute as him like her?  Her heart hardened then, the first of many betrayals. 

So when she met Benji, she let herself settle, let herself be taken in by the conceited prick who didn’t deserve her love. They’d been together for almost two years but had known each other longer, Benji’s mom running a daycare next door. And she’d loved Benji, still did. 

But, sitting there next to Harry, a thought occurred to her. Here is Benji, performing and doing an amazing and inspiring performance in front of industry folk. The fruits of his labor were finally blooming. Yet, she had little to show for those two years. It felt like a waste of her time, her youth. All of her focus was on him, not her. 

She felt disgusted, her eyes wetting up and shooting daggers in his direction, his eyesight blinded by the stage lights. She thought she’d gone through the worst of it, that she was done crying, and yet tears threatened to fall down her cheeks—-stomach churning and leg antsy. Why did she drag herself down here? What did she think was going to happen? Was he supposed to realize that he was wrong for cheating on her, for dumping her, and welcome her back in? Was that really what she wanted?

The Shakespearean play continued in the foreground, Y/N slipping into what felt like a panic attack. Her heart dug at her chest, her feet propping her back up and leading her through the double doors. 

The lobby is empty, one patron sitting at the bar, the play muffled but continuing in the background. Y/N feels the cold air and is granted with relief, head still spinning with negativity. Not a minute passes before the orchestra is unmuffled, the doors opening and showcasing Harry. He chases after her, concern on his face. 

She feels embarrassed, embarrassed for him to see her like this, embarrassed to have made a scene. She turns to tell him to leave her alone when she’s engulfed in his arms, head resting on hers. 

“You alright?”, his voice whispers as his arms rub her back, earnestly trying to calm her down. He’s looking at her, his eyes looking her up and down, trying to identify anything concerning. She’s humiliated, clutching onto his body like a toddler, internally deciding if she wanted to tell him everything. When she looks into his eyes, her lips detach from her teeth, and she tells him as much as he needs to know. 

While she explains everything, he’s nodding, his face serious as his hands continue to rub her shoulders and back. He squeezes her tighter, his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in everything. He’s so quiet that Y/N can’t help but feel as though she shared too much. That he was only pretending to care, being a friend of a friend. But then he’s grabbing her shoulders, voice tight, as he speaks up, “Y/N, he’s a dick. He’s an absolute prick, and he doesn’t deserve to be cried over. I’m so sorry he hurt you like that.” He’s letting out a breath, anguish appearing on his face, as he continues, “you are not hard to love. the right people will love you because of who you are, not despite you. you're worthy of that love, and I don’t know if I should be the one to give that to you, but I like you. And I’d like to try and be the one to give that to you.”

Harry’s gripping her hands now, the weight of his words affecting her as she searches his face for any deceit. She tries to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish, pursing her lips as she gathers her bearings. “Harry, that’s...I don’t know what to say.” 

Mind racing as her mind begins to warp and twist his words. She’s rejecting his statement, mind unfurling and rejecting him.

He can feel her pull away, can see her do the mental gymnastics to reject his words, wracking his brain for some way to convince her otherwise. “I get that you’re scared. Rightly should be. But, you deserve happiness. I want to help you get over this talentless jerk. Wanna mend your broken heart.” 

His hands move to her jaw, bringing her closer and boring into her eyes, “I know I’m acting pathetic, bunty, you’re just so striking that I haven’t been able to go a day without thinking of you. You’ve got me under control, have since you walked into my bar. I can’t imagine the thought of anyone else when I’ve got you right here.”

The air is charged, their bodies close to one another, eyes faced squarely on each other. Y/N can feel her heartbeat out of her chest, hands trembling on his biceps. His face is backlit by the golden chandeliers of the lobby, the only other sounds either muffled or clinking glass bottles. 

He’s right, she’s scared. Scared of getting her heartbroken all over again, of being used by yet another man in her life. And yet, she wants to give in. His green eyes are tracing her features and she’s never before felt as snug and protected like this. 

The space between them closes and his nose slides against her, her eyes fluttering closed before softly responding, “I don’t know what to think. You’re so bare, so frank, that it’s scary. How do I know that you won’t do the same as him?”

Harry kisses her. He presses his lips against hers, their bodies pressed closer than ever, eyes shut, as they both enjoy the moment. Harry kisses her like his life depends on it, her jaw in his hands. He kisses her like no one else has ever done. She’s breathless as she chases after him, want increasing by the second. Arms reach his neck and pull at his hair, his grip on her back as the kiss deepens. 

Every fiber of her being is telling her to stop, that she shouldn’t trust him, that he’s just another smooth talker. But she can’t stop. His intoxifying taste has pulled her in, too drunk on his words and actions to even care anymore. 

Pulling away, his lips follow, until Y/N is pushing him back. Her hands rest on his shoulders as the two share moony-eyed looks. Catching her breath, thumb reaching to rub off a bit of her lipstick from his lips, Y/N drops her hands to his. She pulls his arm, his body following after her as she heads for the door, eyes hooded, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

Harry smiles, dimples jutting out, as he nods and pulls her in for one last knee-wobbling kiss, as they head out the door and into the golden sunset. 

[singtheskyandfightlikehell]

i feel like with this whole “that’s problematic!” thing we’ve got going on, media creators have started to forget that you can do more with villains than have them either win (defeat the hero) or lose (die)

and like, yeah, sometimes they imprison a villain instead of killing them, or have them lose their power, or have them go into hiding... but they’re always just biding their time to rise again as the exact same villain.

character development is not just for the good guys and those around them. you can have villains whose motives change. whose morals change. a villain who was just in it for the money but ended up losing someone he cared about - does he repent? does he change to fighting for vengeance? what about villains who became villainous for specific, alterable reasons? the sympathetic villains - what if, instead of being taken down, someone alters the situation that caused their villainy? do they stop? are they too deep in? is it a worldview that needs changing like Javert, or a personal need/fear that drives them, like the Riddler?

what about villains who get caught up in the moment and do something they can’t forgive themselves for? the ones who took a risk they were confident would never actually happen? what about villains who were jailed and instead of plotting their escape, they actually stewed over the pain they’d caused? what about villains who realize too little too late and try to help but know it will never be enough to make up for what they’ve done? villains whose family would forgive them if only they’d stop being so scared to show their face? villains who beg for forgiveness and are not granted it, so they dedicate the rest of their lives to doing what they can where they can, trying to get a head start on the eternal penance they expect for themselves?

in the current political climate, it’s important to have unforgivable villains who are crushed by the just hero. it’s important to be told that sometimes people deserve the hatred. they deserve to be taken down by any means necessary.

but it’s also important to remember that not every instance of evil is the same. a world leader advocating for genocide is not the same as the man who enforces rules he’s only mostly sure make sense, and that man is not the same as the one who takes money to kill because it’s the only way he can afford to give his child a good life, and that man is not the same as the woman who lures creepy men out of bars and slits their throats, and that woman is not the same as the woman who mails a bomb to the congressman who supported the war that killed her kid.

all of those people would be considered characters who do bad things. they put innocent people in danger. but they are not some homogeneous “villain”. they shouldn’t be written as such, and they shouldn’t end up in the same places as each other. the leader should be crushed mercilessly, the officer of the law could be forced to recant his beliefs or choose between doing the right thing and protecting his family, the hit man could be asked to kill someone close to him or have to face the betrayal when his kid learns he’s no hero. perhaps the woman who kills creepy men never wavers, convinced that her course of action is the only truly effective one, while the mother baffles the world at her trial as she promises she would - given the chance - try to kill every other person who voted for the war and in the same breath breaks down in apologies over every innocent person she put in the path of danger by her choice of retaliation

villains are one of the most fascinating parts of fiction. they can be a reminder that the struggles in your life can be overcome, or a call to action, or even a reassurance that redemption is possible. and i hope that fear of writing “problematic” things never detracts from the full potential of how villains can be used

[azerothian-histories]

Interview #041

Interviewee: War Dancer Zul’Jawa, High Emissary of the Darkspear Tribe

Subject: The Darkspear Rebellion

Interview conducted by Apprentice Tanseril Sunsinger at the Shrine of Two Moons, Pandaria.

[Tanseril]: Interview with War Dancer Zul'jawa, High Emissary of the Darkspear Tribe.  Conducted by Apprentice Tanseril Sunsinger.

Can you begin by telling me a little bit about your personal background?

[Zul'Jawa]: Of course. I was born on the Darkspear Isles, as most the tribe was, on a tiny spit o' sand assailed by storms an' swallowed now by the tides.

My greatfather, a War Dancer before me, instructed me in his martial art, which became my callin', of sorts. As well, growin' up, I served my tribe through service as a scribe. Sort of... what got me started on the diplomatic pat' I be walkin' now.

I was inspired to serve the Horde, as well, by none otha' than Vol'jin. The Horde had saved our people, I couldn't do anythin' less than dedicate myself to their cause. Wit' my skillset, I lended my skills to an elite wing o' de Horde's military.

That elite wing... bein' de Kor'kron.

[Tanseril]: So you worked directly with the Kor'kron legion?  In what role?

[Zul'Jawa]: Yes. For almost five years. Believe it or not, I lied about my age jus' to enlist. Worked my way up de ranks, firs' as a grunt, eventually into a specialty role. By de end o' my career in de Kor'kron, I was a Sergeant, an' a few otha' titles that only really mean much to otha' fellow an' former service members.

Got some dogtags 'ere... don't wear 'em anymore. Ya might be able to piece togetha' why already.

[Tanseril]: Can you explain the Kor'kron legion from your point of view?  What where they like when you were serving with them?

[Zul'Jawa]: Good question. Truly.

I was... fortunate enough to serve alongside some o' de best o' the best that the Horde had to offer. Not jus' orcs, mind ya. Souls from all reaches an' spots on Azerot'.

Many of them were truly good. Honourable, valourous. Fought for the cause we perceived to be right, an' in defense o' our homelands an' the collective good.

But there was certainly an... undesirable element. Insidious. Supremacist. Who craved domination an' subjugation. I didn't take notice... maybe I jus' didn't want to notice... until it was too late.

Some, who joined me in rebellion, remain my friends to this day. Some... I pray to neva' see again. In this world, in the one below, or in my nightmares.

[Tanseril]: And what was your opinion of Warchief Garrosh Hellscream during this time?

[Zul'Jawa]: I hadn't decided. I tried to be optimistic. Maybe... maybe he was a source o' strength, one the Horde undeniably needed in tryin' times.

His... mak'gora... wit' Cairne Bloodhoof... certainly changed my perspective. Found myself questionin' the Horde's every action. The Kor'kron's every movement.

[Tanseril]: You mentioned you didn't take notice of the insidious element until it was too late.  What marked 'too late' for you?

[Zul'Jawa]: That revelation came when I awoke to find out the Kor'kron were occupyin' the Echo Isles. My home.

I was in Pandaria, at the time. Possibly even in the Vale, right 'ere. When I returned to Kalimdor... everythin' was different.

Few o' my brothers an' sisters knew it was wrong. They submitted their resignations.

My... resignation... came in the form of obsidian arrows fired their way.

From that day on... I wasn't a War Dancer. Not a scribe, not much of anythin' other than a revolutionary.

[Tanseril]: Do you know of any retaliation taken against the other Kor'kron who had resigned more uh...traditionally?

[Zul'Jawa]: Mmn... yeah. A few were jailed. Insubordination. Violation o' military protocols, goin' A.W.O.L. But I don't know all too much about that. I didn't step foot in Orgrimmar again until the day the Siege finally broke through an' the gates came down.

But... hah... I suppose we'll get to that.

[Tanseril]: Indeed.  So after your personal confrontation, what did you do next?  Where did you go?

[Zul'Jawa]: The only place I could go. Home. No military occupation could stop me from gettin' back. If not for nothin' else, for my motha'.

Once there, I was able to link up wit' otha' Darkspear loyalists. We started to set the foundations in place for the revolution, which got into full swing once Vol'jin arrived to run the whole show. Brave mon. Miss him endlessly.

But, personally... myself an' otha's got to work on evacuatin' civilians, engagin' in sabotage an' subterfuge. Skirmishes, when pressed to. It was difficult to fight against the Kor'kron. At least, until we got the support o' everyone else.

More difficult for myself than most, I suppose. But we all had our difficulties. We all managed.

[Tanseril]: So you were with the rebellion from its very inception?  What was morale like in those early days?  Did it change when Vol'jin returned?

[Zul'Jawa]: One o' de first.

Morale was... about as poor as you could expect. We Darkspear barely eva' even had a home, an' it was taken away. By our brothers, by those we trusted most. We had nothin'.

When Vol'jin returned, spirits be praised, it was as if de skies parted, an' de tides of war changed. He ain't jus' an inspirin' figure, he's a strategic genius. He whooped our sorry hides into shape an' guided us.

Still. Even wit' him, an' even wit' the entire Horde behind us... was tough, girl. Darkest time in our history. An' that history is filled wit' a lot of dark times.

[Tanseril]: Did you ever speak to Vol'jin about the assassination attempt?

[Zul'Jawa]: Not personally. But I was wit' a number of otha's when he recanted his experience there.

But... 'Darkspear neva' die'... it be more than jus' a mantra. It became a bit of a rallyin' cry.

[Tanseril]: I'd like to ask you about the siege of Orgrimmar, but is there anything else of note that you'd like to speak about before we move on?  A particular conflict or event?

[Zul'Jawa]: It's... difficult to describe, exactly. Before the Siege, there weren't many... pivotal, particular moments that stood out. It was sustained guerrilla warfare against an enemy that had, for so long, been an ally. That... that be diff'rent.

Everythin' was jus' a blur. Across Durotar, across the Barrens. Disruptin' caravan movements, blowin' up oil rigs, fightin'... fightin'... fightin'.

I've fought quite a bit. More than my fair share, more than most my age. But it was horrible. An' it seemed wit'out end. But we whittled down their forces. Cut off their supplies. Interred them in Orgrimmar.

In my time in de Kor'kron, they took to callin' me the Black Arrow. Wasn't for nothin'.

Came to use these arrows against 'em. Knew their armour. Knew its weak points.

[Tanseril]: To your recollection, when did the Alliance get involved in the revolutionary efforts?

[Zul'Jawa]: Nnh... believe it or not, this, too, helped put me on my diplomatic pat'. Let Vol'jin see that I could be an accomplished emissary.

To their credit... they didn't leave us to die. They arrived when we'd established a base o' operations at Razor Hill. Mostly adventurers. Then they started pourin' in.

Maybe it was opportunistic... to take down the Horde from within. But I tell ya, I ain't neva' been as happy, as relieved, to see blue an' gold as I was then.

Their actions, that day, made me desire peace between our peoples. A peace... a peace I ain't neva' stopped fightin' for since. An' I haven't raised a blade against the Alliance since that day, as well.

I'd rather be a peacemaker than a warbringer any day.

[Tanseril]: Can you walk me through the beginning of the siege?  Preparations, skirmishes, meetings with the alliance army - really anything that sticks out to you.

[Zul'Jawa]: More logistics than I eva' thought I'd need to concern myself wit'. Blockades made resupplies from the seas difficult, an' the Echo Isles had no such port to accommodate anythin', even when we'd liberated them. For the second time in its history, mind you.

Kodos. Spirits be praised... those beasts are unsung heroes.

The tauren brought them from Mulgore, an' they carried the brunt of all our supplies an' pulled our siege weapons right up towards the Dranosh'ar Blockade.

There was... a real sense of unity, o' camaraderie, between all us. Made friendships wit' tauren, elves, goblins, humans, draenei, all walks o' life were well-represented in de Rebellion, I swear to ya.

But it did reflect a weakness on our part. On the Darkspear's part. We were hopelessly... hilariously... unprepared for somethin' like this. We had little in the means o' siege weaponry, o' war machines.

Glad to say we've righted our course since then. Darkspear shipwrights an' engineers be as respected now as shadow hunters an' witch doctors. But we could've used more of all o' them back then.

[Tanseril]: How did the siege begin?

[Zul'Jawa]: When we were certain we were as prepared as we could be... we began a two-pronged assault. To disrupt forces at the gates, an' to seize the docks at Bladefist Bay, so that the forsaken, sin'dorei, an' Alliance navies could lend aid.

I... I was at the gates.

The Iron Juggernaut... what a wretched, wicked machine. An instrument o' death shaped to resemble a scorpid. Took down far too many of us.

We held it off, at least long enough for the docks to be liberated. Then, reinforcements from the east. Zaela an' her Dragonmaw taken down, we all focused on that hunk o' metal.

Then, the gates fell.

I sustained a few too many injuries against the Juggernaut; I didn't see much action beyond that day. My regeneration had me up on my feet an' tendin' to the rest o' the wounded soon.

Fewer came back than we expected. But more an' more reinforcements funneled into Orgrimmar. Into the depths o' Garrosh's lair. Only then would we enter the rest o' the city. Discover what else he'd been up to.

...too many bodies. Too many atrocities. I wish he'd been put to the sword, then an' there. None o' de fiasco wit' the trial. But... alas.

[Tanseril]: Where were you when Garrosh was apprehended?

[Zul'Jawa]: At the back o' the frontlines. Like I said, tendin' to the wounded. I wasn't a medic. By any stretch. My medical trainin', wouldn't ya believe, actually came from my time wit' the Kor'kron.

Dumb bastards taught me everything I'd use against 'em.

Most everything. My greatfatha' was watchin' over me, I like to think. War Dance still had its uses.

When did you hear of what happened after the battle?  That Vol'jin had been appointed warchief, and the confrontation between him and King Wrynn.

It took some time for the word to reach us. There was much rejoicin'. Ya ain't neva' heard drums bein' played that loud before.

O' course, most of us wanted him dead. But the pandaren had suffered more at his hands than even we had... they had the right. I've spoken wit' Taran Zhu since that day. I unda'stand why.

Wit' Vol'jin as Warchief... now that's anotha' story. We were... overjoyed. Humbled. Grateful. Determined.

Most of us. I was... shaken, to my core. More than most. For the longest time after, even when most my people were celebratin', rebuildin', I... was alone. Numb. I'd lost my purpose. Didn't see much point in livin' after.

[Tanseril]: What changed that for you?

[Zul'Jawa]: It be a bit of a departure from the rebellion, but... heh... if you'll oblige me...

I was not in a good place. Any medic wort' a damn would've diagnosed me wit' post-traumatic stress disorder. I left everythin' an' everyone. I'd been betrayed, I'd spent months on end fightin' war after war wit' no end in sight. I'd lost purpose.

An' I remember standin' over the ashen cliffs o' Durotar, lookin' over the waters. Sacrificial blade in my hands. Ready to put an end to it all.

By the grace o' de loa, a passin' pandaren took notice o' me. A War-Philosopher, a monk employed by the Shado-Pan.

He took notice. He tried to talk me out of it. I tried to take him on.

He whooped my ass. Took my blade. An' told me... if I had no purpose to live... to offer my life, in service to his, for a hundred days. No more, no less. An' he would give me purpose, for those hundred days.

If, at the end o' those days, I still had nothin'... he'd give me back the blade an' wouldn't stand in my way.

He became my mentor, an' what's more, my friend. Over the span of a hundred days, he taught me a hundred lessons. By the end... I'd found purpose again. An' returned to my tribe.

Vol'jin welcomed me back, bless his soul. An' he appointed me as the High Emissary o' the Darkspear Tribe.

[Tanseril]: Did Vol'jin ever speak to you again, publicly or privately, about the rebellion or the siege?

[Zul'Jawa]: Oh, yes. Definitely. Lessons learned, difficulties experienced. It was damn near a reformation o' the entire tribe, wit' our efforts, wit' our restructurin'.

Neva' again would somethin' like that divide us. Neva' again would somethin' break us.

He focused tremendous efforts on buildin' our strength back up. Reconstruction projects, as well as restitution. Makin' amends. Makin' peace.

I pushed for peace wit' the Alliance in the aftermath. The esteemed High Warlord Volrath saw t'ings differently. But what transpired in Ashran is... worlds away, an'... a diff'rent story altogetha', I suppose.

[Tanseril]: And what happened to the Kor'kron after Hellscream's defeat?

[Zul'Jawa]: As its own entity, as the oft-hailed 'Right Arm o' de Warchief'... not anymore. The Siame-Quashi largely took that role. Spears o' Vol'jin, too.

The Kor'kron Legion survived through the actions o' those who revolted against Garrosh. Still a few around.

[Tanseril]: Is there anything else you'd like to say on the record?  Any other experiences or events you'd like to discuss?

[Zul'Jawa]: It was a watershed moment for the Darkspear. Our entire tribe was forced into a crucible, into a war we didn't ask for.

I should hope that my testimony reflects how... a revolution, a guerrilla movement... it be more taxin' an' tollin' than any other sort of conflict. It scars the body, the mind, the spirit.

On the record... as High Emissary o' the Darkspear Tribe, still... it has proven difficult to rationalize a true connection to the Horde as a distinct entity since those days.

There are questions raised. Should one Warchief hold dominion ova' all? Should their actions conflict wit' de desires o' our tribe, or the tauren, or the sin'dorei, who is to say what is the correct course of action?

I... I wish Vol'jin were still here. To help us formulate an answer to those questions.

The Darkspear Tribe is stronger than ever. I don't doubt for a single second he would be proud of us, of what we have done, of what we are doin'.

But I cannot say what he would think o' the Horde, in its present state o' affairs.

An' I hope nothin' like that eva' transpires again.

[Tanseril]: If that is all, war dancer, I think we can conclude our interview.

[Zul'Jawa]: I thank you, tremendously, for this opportunity.

((OOC Note:  All text attributed to Zul’Jawa was written by @thewardancer for the purposes of this interview.  I would like to thank him for being among the first to volunteer for this little project of mine!))

[ladystylestores]

Take a virtual tour of the Museo Galileo in Florence, Italy

Entrance to the Museo Galileo in Florence, Italy.

Jennifer Ouellette

“And yet it moves”: Galileo’s index and middle fingers, lovingly preserved.

Sean Carroll

A closer look at Galileo’s middle finger.

Sean Carroll

Collection of early telescopes.

Sean Carroll

A large armillary sphere (1588-1593) built for Ferdinand I de’ Medici.

Jennifer Ouellette

A close-up of the armillary sphere.

Sean Carroll

A 16th century astrolabe used by Galileo for astronomical calculations.

Jennifer Ouellette

A circle-dividing engine (1762) used to mark scale divisions on arcs of circles while making astronomy or nautical instruments.

Sean Carroll

An apparatus for experiments with elastic and inelastic collisions from the mid to late 18th century.

Sean Carroll

A 20th century replica of the 14th century bas relief from Giotto’s bell tower.

Sean Carroll

The Writing Hand (1764), a clockwork mechanism that moves a hand, dipping a pen in the inkstand to write phrases.

Sean Carroll

An 18th century chemistry cabinet that belonged to Grand Duke Peter Leopold, who did chemistry experiments as a hobby.

Sean Carroll

Tabula Affinitatum (circa 1766), a table of the chemical affinities between substances.

Sean Carroll

Wise words from 19th century physicist James Clerk Maxwell.

Sean Carroll

Visitors to Florence, Italy, invariably line up in droves to tour the world-famous Cathedral of St. Mary of the Flower, most notable for its soaring dome designed by Filippo Brunelleschi in the early 15th century. The lines frequently snake around the block, even in sweltering summer heat. For those who find the lines a bit too daunting, Florence is also home to another priceless gem: the Museo Galileo, housed in the 11th century Palazzo Castellani along the River Arno.

As the name implies, the museum is dedicated to Galileo Galilei, but the vast collection features all manner of historical scientific instruments and experimental apparatus from the Medici Collection, as well as later artifacts donated by the Lorraine dynasty. Many of them are so expertly made, they qualify as genuine works of art.

The first floor displays all the Galileo artifacts; most notable are two telescopes and a framed objective lens from the telescope through which he first observed the moons of Jupiter. There are also lots of smaller instruments—thermometers, sextants, astrolabes—and plenty of globes, as well as an enormous armillary sphere, designed and built by the Italian astronomer Antonio Santucci.

Among the more fascinating, albeit morbid, artifacts are two of Galileo’s fingers, removed from his corpse (along with a tooth and vertebra) by Galileo fans sometime in the 18th century. The two fingers were rediscovered when they turned up at an auction in 2009. Legend has it that after Galileo was forced to recant his views regarding the Copernican system, he defiantly muttered, “E pur si muove“ (“And yet it moves”). The story is probably apocryphal, but the phrase pairs nicely with the display of the scientist’s middle finger.

The Lorraine Collection is housed on the second floor, with a wide array of instruments and apparatus showcasing the explosion of research into electricity, electromagnetism, and chemistry. Here, one can find beautifully constructed machines illustrating various fundamental physics principles. For example, there is a model of a device known as an Archimedes screw. The concept dates back to ancient Egypt, where it was used to move low-lying water into irrigation ditches. Today the device is used in chocolate fountains, among other applications.

One of my personal favorite items is a so-called Brachistochronous fall from the mid to late18th century, because it illustrates a knotty mathematical conundrum. Assuming two fixed points, one higher than the other, what shape would a curved path between those points have to be for a rolling ball to reach the lower point the fastest? The solution is a cycloid, which is the curve created by a rolling wheel in a circle. Turn that path upside down and you will get the path of fastest descent. The model on display in the Museo Galileo allows one to test this result by building two tracks: one shaped like a cycloid, the other shaped like the arc of a circle, for comparison. If you roll two balls down each track simultaneously, the one on the cycloid path will reach the bottom first, regardless of where one starts the ball along this curved path.

There is so much to savor in the Museo Galileo collection: a model of a Gravesande column (an intricate pulley system to lift a weight six times greater than the effort applied); a lens-grinding lathe; and several large machines designed for experiments with electricity. There are also several wax models of a baby in the womb in various positions, the better to train doctors to deal with birthing complications, and an elaborate chemistry cabinet that belonged to Grand Duke Peter Leopold. These galleries should give you a taste of what’s on offer, until it’s once again safe to travel to Florence to see the exhibits firsthand.

Collection of larger telescopes.

Sean Carroll

A quadrant (1667) built by Carlo Renaldini, used for astronomical observations and measurements.

Jennifer Ouellette

Collection of vintage microscopes.

Jennifer Ouellette

Boxes of mathematical instruments (calipers, compasses, rulers, quadrants, protractors, astrolabes, etc.) for surveying purposes, from the late 18th to early 19th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A Brachistochronous fall from the mid to late 18th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A model of a weight lifting device known as an Archimedean screw, mid to late 18th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A Gravesande column apparatus, late 18th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A 19th-century globe for experiments with bladders in a vacuum (top), and a small single-barrel air pump (bottom) from the late 18th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A lens-grinding lathe from the mid to late 18th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

A Winter plate electrical machine, the largest of its kind still in existence, mid to late 19th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

An early 19th-century frictional electrical machine with glass disk rubbed by four leather cushions.

Jennifer Ouellette

A modification of a Carre electrical machine combining friction and induction, circa 1890.

Jennifer Ouellette

A portable pharmacy, late 18th to early 19th century.

Jennifer Ouellette

The man himself: a bust of Galileo by Carlo Marcellini, 1674-1677.

Sean Carroll

Listing image by Jennifer Ouellette

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from World Wide News https://ift.tt/2X4Vi7R

[bigyack-com]

Muting Coronavirus Anger, China Empowers Its Internet Police

SHANGHAI — As China tries to reshape the narrative of its fumbled response to the coronavirus outbreak, it is turning to a new breed of police that carry out real-world reprisals for digital misdeeds.The internet police, as they are known here, have gained power as the Communist Party has worked to seize greater control over the thoughts, words, and even memories of China’s 800 million web users. Now, they are emerging as a bulwark against the groundswell of anger over governance breakdowns that exacerbated the epidemic.Officers arrive with an unexpected rap at the door of online critics. They drag off offenders for hours of interrogation. They force their targets to sign loyalty pledges and recant remarks deemed politically unacceptable, even if those words were made in the relative privacy of a group chat.In the central city of Chengdu, a recent law school graduate, Li Yuchen, said he was pulled from his home in early February after writing a sarcastic treatise in classical Chinese about censorship. The police questioned him from late afternoon until midnight, first asking him whether he loved his country, to which he said yes. Mr. Li said he was forced to sign a statement disavowing his views and pledging loyalty to the party.The experience mirrored what happened to the hero of Mr. Li’s essay, a Wuhan doctor named Li Wenliang, who tried to alert colleagues about the spread of a mysterious virus in a chat group, only to be called to a police station and forced to sign a confession for spreading rumors.When Dr. Li died of the coronavirus, waves of mourning and anger swept across China’s internet.“Li Wenliang said that a healthy society shouldn’t have only one voice,” wrote Mr. Li, who is not related to Dr. Li. “I think the best way to mourn him is to continue to be a citizen” and continue writing, he wrote in a later post on WeChat.That has become more difficult. To stanch anger over Dr. Li’s death, and the deaths of the many others his warning might have saved, authorities have doubled down on the very tactics that drove the fury in the first place: using the internet police to muffle the most outspoken.Little is known about the group, formally part of the Cybersecurity Defense Bureau, which has long policed hacking and online fraud. But occasional government releases offer clues. In 2016, the 50-million person region of Guangxi said it had almost 1,200 internet police officers. The goal was to have one internet police officer for every 10,000 people in the region, a sign of the force’s ambitions.In the early years of Chinese social media, punishments doled out to critics were rarely severe. As millions took to clones of Twitter and Facebook, which are banned in China, censorship usually meant disappearing posts and inaccessible foreign websites. Now the police actively pursue the authors of forbidden material, and irritation has been replaced by fear.Friends and families warn each other not to speak too openly in group chats. The changes have come as China’s leader, Xi Jinping, has pushed hard to extend the party’s iron-fisted rule over the internet.Mr. Xi has given new resources to domestic security forces. The internet police’s uncanny speed in finding people, who might believe they are hidden among the internet’s hordes of anonymous grumblers, is the result of billions of dollars in new spending on surveillance technology.China’s Ministry of Public Security, which controls the police, did not respond to requests for comment, including the role of the internet police in silencing Dr. Li. But experts said the statement he signed and later posted online matched the types of letters the internet police force online critics to endorse.“One reason for the online outrage after Li Wenliang’s death was because people know that what he encountered is just a normal Chinese person’s experience,” said Xiao Qiang, a research scientist at the School of Information at the University of California, Berkeley. “It’s not the local police’s fault. It’s Xi’s error that this kind of thing has become a part of daily life.”Mr. Xi moved quickly to coordinate online oversight after he took over in 2012. He created a new organization, the Cyberspace Administration of China, to coordinate censorship online and suppress social-media influencers who didn’t always toe the party line.The 2015 emergence of the internet police signaled Mr. Xi’s ambitions to take online suppression to an even greater level. That year local police stations created social media accounts to highlight internet arrests.Before long, the internet police became the state’s sharpest tool for prodding online rabble rousers into silence. Often hanging back and monitoring, officers would tap local law enforcement to pull offenders in and question them — what they called “touching the ground.” Placed at increasingly local police stations, they have carried out campaigns cracking down on everything from telecom fraud to use of Twitter.Before the coronavirus epidemic, their focus was the protests in Hong Kong.Bole Cheng, a 45-year old financial worker, got called in last autumn. He had lost his cool during a debate about Hong Kong and referred to Mr. Xi with a pun that means “Little Wicked.” Two days later, two officers were at his door.“They said I was talking drivel on WeChat and there was a problem, so I had to go to the station with them,” he said. During five hours of interrogation, they told Mr. Cheng they used an artificial-intelligence powered search engine to find him.In the coming months, they contacted him twice more. Once they bragged that their powers were expanding, and they had been given new national security responsibilities. Another time, Mr. Cheng discussed George Orwell with a young officer, who sought to distance his work from what is described in “1984.”“He was trying to show that he read books, and that the stories weren’t about China. That Orwell wasn’t talking about us,” he said.When the police threatened to make it difficult for his son to attend school, Mr. Cheng gave in and signed a letter promising to refrain from discussing Hong Kong and to stop insulting the country’s leader.Mr. Xiao, of Berkeley, said internet police activity has only intensified during the coronavirus outbreak. Sporadic government reports attest to this. In the first weeks of the year, the police in the region of Guangxi investigated 385 people for spreading rumors. In Qinghai Province, they pulled in 72. In the Ningxia region, another 66.Online censors have been working overtime too. Since Dr. Li’s death, he has become a censored topic. Huge numbers of posts and accounts have disappeared from social media.“Since social media has existed in China, there’s been nothing like the current explosion of speech,” said Hannah Yeung, who runs an online group dedicated to preserving posts, which she calls the cyber graveyard. So tight has the censorship become in recent weeks, she said she feared Chinese people were losing the ability to chronicle the past.“After people scream and shout, their posts get deleted and there’s no more voice of opposition. Nothing gets fixed,” she said.Early signs indicate the campaign has at least partially succeeded. The Chinese internet is filled with apparently sincere praise for the government’s efforts. Records of early missteps are mostly gone.That success poses its own threats. If local or regional officials bury problems, the country’s leaders could miss early warnings of major crises, like the warnings doctors in Wuhan issued in early January.When Miles Zhang went on a business trip in early January to Wuhan, he was one of the few ready for the outbreak. He wore goggles and a mask at the insistence of his wife, who had read online about the crackdown against Dr. Li before the news was censored.“I really stood out,” he recalled. The precautions may have saved him from getting the coronavirus, which was then quietly spreading across the city.Such interest in blocked information had gotten Mr. Zhang in trouble only the year before. In September, the police dragged him in for questioning over his use of a software to thwart the government’s internet filters. After hours of interrogation, they threw him out onto the street. Stunned at the experience, he walked the several kilometers home to his worried family.Just back from a trip to Canada, he began planning to leave China for good.“I used to think the censorship was a technical problem that could be overcome,” Mr. Zhang said. “But this time was like a smack to the head. This is state terrorism.”Lin Qiqing contributed research from Shanghai. Read the full article

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

September 5, 2017

 50 Years Ago, The Winds Changed

By Stephen Jay Morris

©Scientific Morality

During the British invasion (1964/1965), one of my favorite English imports was a band called “The Animals.”  Unlike the Beatles, who were doing kissy-kissy pop, the Animals stuck to their R&B roots with a little Rock n’ Roll thrown in. The lead cracker, Eric Burdon, had a more authentic blues voice than Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones.  What I liked about the Animals was how understated they were; they weren’t really into the publicity thing like other British bands of the time.  With them, it was all about the music.  I liked that.

Then, the band broke up in 1966 and Eric Burdon hired new personnel.  There was Vic Briggs on guitar and keyboards, John Weilder, guitar and violin, Danny McCullock on Bass, and Barry Jenkins on drums.  This new ensemble was comprised of serious musicians and artists.  Their first release was the single, “When I Was Young,” released in late 1966.  Most artists were experimenting with new sounds.  The first note of the song, which came from a distorted fuzz guitar, indicated that the Animals were venturing into new territory.  John Welder’s violin gave the song this unusual flavor.  And the lyrics were actually Eric Burton writing poetry.  I couldn’t wait for their next record!

It was late in August 1967 that the Animals released their ode to the Summer of Love, “San Franciscan Nights.”  This song would influence me with my not-so-successful musical career.  This song was not a psychedelic song; it was more a folk ballet.  That being stated, the arrangement was sound perfect and it had an intro.  Because of my love for this song, all the songs I wrote in 1979 to1982 had intros. The one in this song was kind of humorous.  Their guitar bass line was similar to the theme of TV’s “Dragnet.”  Then Eric Burdon, in his broadcaster-muted voice, gives his dedication to the people of San Francisco.  The melody was played with a 12-string guitar and a nicely done Spanish guitar lead.  I don’t know which band member, in particular, was responsible for that.   You might say this was a minimalist folk song.  On the single’s flip side, however, there were sound effects and a full band along with a string chamber orchestra.  The song, “Good Times,” was about regret of wasting time, partying.  The ragtime piano reminded me of Kinks songs.  I saw the single at Save-on Drug Store.  It had a picture sleeve, which was the same cover as the album, “Best of the Animals, Volume 2.”  I hung it on my wall, where it remained until 1971.  As a teenager, I had a collage of 45 singles’ covers on my wall.  My room was a Rock n’ Roll museum.

When I got my first record player in March of ‘67, I was not going to be abnegated.  Fuck that noise!  If I’d had a million dollars, I would have had bought every record for sale at Norty’s on Fairfax, Los Angeles, California!   I had a sententious passion for Rock music!  It was the next great thing next to masturbation and junk food!  I’d go into my room and lock the door, where I’d have a religious experience like a Guru in meditation, and I didn’t want any disruptions from uncool squares!  It all started with the Beatles’ “Sergeant Pepper’s,” an experience that inspired me to focus completely on every album that followed.  I would lay on my back on the floor of my room, my head on a pillow, with the ceiling as the screen of the theater of my mind.  

Then in September of that year, my second year of junior high school, an album by Eric Burdon & the Animals was released. I saw it at Norty’s Records, on the “new releases” rack.  It was titled, “The Winds of Change.”  It had text about Hindu spirituality on the cover and a depiction of an old book, dilapidated with age.  The words didn’t make sense to me at all, like Bob Dylan’s poetry had, but I wasn’t buying the album for the printed words; it was for the music!  The cover was a bi-fold, like Sergeant Pepper’s. Many bands of that era were designing their album jackets that way.  I was a skinny kid back then and could ride my bike really fast!  Before I knew it, I was on my bedroom floor, listening to the album.

The album begins with sound effects from a windstorm, and the title track opens with a repetitive violin riff by John Weilder. Eric recites a brief history of American music, which he must have had done in one take; he flubs one word during his recital, then corrects himself.  Mistakes are made because of time limitations and expensive studio time. I made one in my very first recording and never fixed it.  Often, mistakes can be very entertaining.

Then the next song segues into a hardcore psychedelic number called, “Poem By the Sea.”  This song featured gongs and backward masking, plus echo-plex.  I think the song was about an Acid trip.  They inserted a Flanger sound effect on Eric’s vocals.  Like Sergeant Pepper, the album tracks bleed into each other.  You’d think the album is going to sound like that, but it doesn’t.  The next song is a cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black.”  John Weilder violin solo is well-worth the listen.  Eric adds a talking part in the middle of the song; he does a lot of that on this album.  

The next track is a spoken word composition called, “The Black Plague.”  It has monks chanting that add a Gregorian ambiance to the sound.  Vic Briggs plays a church organ, which has a very gothic sound to it.   The theme is about the 14th Century pandemic, Yersina Pestis Bacterium, other wise known as “The Black Plague” or “Black Death.”  It recants how the aristocrats remained hidden in their castle as the peasants were dying outside its impenetrable walls and moat. Eric recites it in his compelling British accent and the story’s morality is fierce.

The last track on side one was this Acid Rock jam with fuzz tones, “Yes, I Am Experience.”  It was part of rock tradition to have answer songs.  This answered Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?” I think of it as simply Eric ribbing Jimi, since they were really good friends.  

Side two starts out with “San Franciscan Nights,” and then goes into what could be referenced as the earliest carnation of Rap music, “Man-Woman.”  Eric raps about infidelity with the accompaniment of rhythmic drums and bongos.  You could say this song was influenced more by 1950’s Beat poetry than Afro-Poetry, which, in 1967, was in its infant stage.  Now, we come to a blues ballad called, “Hotel Hell.” It has a trumpet solo in heavy reverb, which is very effective, along with the haunting sound of a distant siren.

Next is a Folk Rock ballad called, “Anything.” This 12-string guitar song is way too corny for its own good.  The lyrics are reminiscent of a Hallmark greeting card. It seemed as if, at this point, they got lazy.  The final song is a Rocker about white singers doing black music, “Its All Meat!”  You could say it’s a protest song.  I think Eric was pushing back on those Rock critics who said that he was misappropriating black music for himself.  It’s just my theory.  Over all, it’s a cool album and I liked it a whole bunch!

This album was recorded just a mile and a half from my childhood home, at a place called TTG Studios; located at 1441 North McCadden Place, in Hollywood, California.  It was the only studio with an 8 Track recording system!  So what did TTG stand for?  “Two Terrible Guys!”  I never learned the reason behind the name, but I know that there were a lot of assholes in the music industry back then.  As it turned out, though, this studio recorded many famous bands there—like Frank Zappa, the Doors, just to name a couple.  This album was recorded in just two weeks, in March 1967.  In those days, projects were on a tight schedule and had to be recorded as cheaply as possible; record company accountants demanded it!  If the Animals would had spent more time on the project, it could of have been a monumental body of work. But alas, it turned out to be “just another Animals’ album.”