#stealing children for profit

[iridescentalchemyst]

My Email to TEDPartnerships

I am not even sure how I ended up on the TED Partnerships website a few hours ago, but “I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence!” (NAME THAT MOVIE!) And since I blessed the lucky recipient of my inquiry email with a book of hard slapping realities… I thought I might share it with YOU too! I am so very excited right now as I type this message I have major chills and…

[sixosix]

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.” 

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space? 

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of. 

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up. 

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

[balkanradfem]

So I've found Alyssa Grenfell on youtube. She shares her experience of leaving mormonism, and the inner workings of the religion. I had very little ideas about what mormonism is, only that it's a high-control religion, very difficult to leave, and has people knocking on doors trying to get converts. I've been interested to find out more, and I ended up watching almost all of her content, and some of the information I've got from it opened my eyes on other feminist topics, and I believe is relevant to the current discourse!

So if you, like me, don't know how mormonism works, it started when a guy decided that he too could be a part of the bible; he wrote a bible part two: mormon, and proclaimed himself a prophet. Then he started a religion based on his writings, decided it was more important than the bible itself because he 'translated it from gold tablets god gave him', and started gaining followers by convincing people he's the prophet. Once he had managed to get a following, he soon started to sexually exploit the wives and daughters of these followers, to the point where he had 20-40 wives and had married 14yo children. Families allowed it to happen because he would promise them to be royalty in the afterlife. He eventually got into a lot of trouble for stealing and raping children so he was killed by an angry mob, but the religion continued.

The religion is same as christianity except more rules (no coffee, no alcohol, no smoking), eternal worship of the predator who wrote it, followers are pressured to follow the rules exactly, and, the vital part, the followers have to give 10% of their income to the church. They developed a culture where once every young mormon kid comes of age, they have to go on a 'mission', which means they're removed from their home, and have to spend 2 years (1,5 for women) living in a foreign area, knocking on doors, sharing the gospel, trying to convert people. The conversion rate is extremely low, but at that point kids have invested so much time, effort, energy and passion for the religion, they become devoted to it and start to feel alienated in the world that rejects their religion. And even with the low conversion rate, every new convert means another continuous source of income for the church. So it's very profitable to send out young adults to make these sales. The kids are told that if they don't complete their missions, they will not be able to marry, and marriage is presented as their only life purpose.

So how rich is the church at this point? 230 billion dollars. I've been shocked to hear this because I had no idea. Alyssa explained that the mormon church is as rich as Pepsi, they have more money than Disney and McDonalds. So you might be wondering, like I did, well what are they doing with all that money? I've been left to wonder this for a while, until I watched the video called 'Why are so many influencers mormon?', which explained it. I didn't even realize a lot of influencers were mormon. But, this video showed me something both disturbing, and eye opening.

Before I go into that, I have to point out how patriarchal and misogynistic this religion is. Women are not given any options except marriage, and it's presented as the only righteous way to live. They're groomed for marriage from a very young age, encouraged to start writing letters to their future husbands at the age of 9. They're taught cooking, sewing and childcare, and to coddle any males in the family. It's taken for granted that m*n won't respect women, to the point where male children are allowed to harass grown women and their families will not intervene or consider it a problem. Chastity and purity are promoted to the level where members of the religion are expected to wear special underwear at all times, which hides their entire torso, shoulders, and legs down to their knees, and their clothing is expected to cover this up completely. They're rejected by the religion if they dare to have sex before marriage, or drink alcohol or coffee, or in some cases, tea. The church has a history of allowing and promoting polygamy, in the sense that a male was allowed to have as many wives as he wanted; they've since stopped this, but refused to break up the existing marriages. They're also promoting anti gay and racist propaganda, which Alyssa observed in school where she'd been teaching; a gay kid almost ended his life due to extreme homophobia.

I know all of this is somewhat common in all areas of society, all religions, and all cultures, but in mormonism it seems to be written into the core of it.

So now, why are so many influencers mormon? I didn't even know they were. The influencers themselves are not promoting the fact that they're mormon, nor does it come up in viral discussions. Ballerina farm is mormon. Tradwives are mormon. Whataboutaub, Rachel Parcel, brooklynandbailey, tanner_mann, thebucketlistfamily, Taylor Frankie Paul, Sarah Beeston, Ruby Franke, these are all mormon. Most of the Utah-based influencers are mormon, and there's a bigger amount of successful and popular influencers from Utah, than from LA or NY.

For me it immediately explained why this viral content is like that. Why we're having such influx of highly patriarchal, anti-feminist, very dangerous and sexist content, put in front of the eyes of young women. Why it's being promoted as an ideal way of life. How are these women able to share this life as if they truly believed it was good and ideal. How could they think it's harmless? If they're using the internet to the extent that they're creating content, how would they not be exposed to any feminism at all? And they wouldn't because it's against their religion to engage with content like that, or with people talking about it. Because being raised in a high-control religion, they would truly believe their lives are the ideal. They would be presented with it as their only option, the only way of life possible for a woman.

It's heartbreaking because I can now understand why it was so easy to push Ballerina Farm to give up her entire life ambition to get married and carry children for a male she didn't even want to go out with, the pressure from the religion to do so would be immense, she would have been raised to see this as the only option, everything else in her life would be considered pointless. She wouldn't have an actual choice, she'd be groomed for this from the moment she was born. Mormons don't advertise 'looking for your soulmate', they only instruct women to marry a mormon male who completed his mission and make it work.

So how does the immensely rich mormon church play into this? I couldn't see it until Alyssa explained in a very detailed way how youtube content advertising works. I didn't know about this either, but here's the overview:

How much you get paid on youtube, instagram, tik-tok, or other online content platform, depends on what type of content it is, based on how much advertisers are willing to pay to put adverts on it. For instance, you get paid much more for finance content, because banks will pay premium prices to be advertised in a finance-related video. If you're making content on cooking, you get paid way less, because it's not such a lucrative field. If you're making content on christianity, you get similarly low price as for cooking, christian church is not that rich. But, if you're making content as a mormon, that's showcasing some aspect of a mormon life, even if you don't specifically say you're mormon, the price goes way up, to the point where it's as lucrative as finance. The mormon church is making sure that the mormon influencers are being paid premium prices for their content, because people who get massively interested in the influencers, eventually find out that it's the mormon life being advertised, and some of them consider taking on mormonism. Which gives church more converts, which means the church will earn more money. The content we're watching is one huge advert sponspored by mormon church, and we don't even know it.

Alyssa figured this out because her content falls under the keyword 'mormon', and her comments warned her that the church is advertising on her videos, even when she's making mormon-critical content. She then realized that she too was being paid a premium price for her views, just because they're mormon themed. She went on to discover that even just being an influencer in Utah will fetch a premium price, because most of mormons are based in Utah. For more detailed and comprehensive explanation on this, watch her video!

Advertising is not the only way the mormon church is spending their money, they've also built a shopping mall, and are basically spending their money by investing and gambling and everything any corporation does with their profits. It's making me mad, and also makes the members of the church mad when they discover where 10% of their income goes, because they're told it's being used for charity and community service, and not advertisments and building malls.

For me this solves a mystery of how is it possible, in this day and age to have such influx of tradwives and influencers of 'traditional life', they're being sponsored by an organization making a profit off of it, making sure that anyone making this content is so well paid, they're able to live off of it, and keep creating more of it, and in the process of doing that, groom young women into their lifestyle.

Learning more about religions, specifically high-control religions, makes me realize just how much of it is happening all around us, but invisible, not naming what it is. It's similar to MLM's, the people inside are constantly trying to lure more people in, to make profit for those on the top, while the organization keeps changing names and hides their business structure in order to save their reputation. People can get influenced by it, and sucked in, without even knowing about it. Somehow most MLM's are also in Utah.

Mormon church also asked to no longer be called that, in order to stop being associated with the words like 'cult', which people have identified it as. Now they're working under more secretive names, and hidden business practices, so we wouldn't even know what we're being influenced by, and why is the content in front of us what it is.    

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

"Wow Silco's not on that mural!" " Zaun really hated him!"

It's literally a firelight mural... of course they are going to paint Jinx with her "real" father because the firelights hated Silco and loved Vander.

But you know who the zaunites didn't like? Vander. Vander did absolutely nothing for them, he was enabling oppression, turning a blind eye to the enforcers and the suffering of Zaun, and they were absolutely sick of it. That's why Zaun turned its back on him and embraced Silco.

Silco was by no means a perfect leader either, he brought horrible suffering to the Zaunites himself, especially those who were most impoverished. But Silco also did a lot of good for the undercity. If it weren't for him, Zaun would not have shimmer to treat all sorts of ailments, to keep people alive long enough to recieve care and prosthetics. If it weren't for him, they would not have the shimmer they need to fuel devices like Sevika and Smeech's prosthetics. It is because of Silco that little Zaun has an army of shimmer beasts and weapons to fight for freedom and defend itself from the cat. Shimmer gave Zaun a new product that wasn't under Piltover's control with which it could strengthen its economy, and we see the industries of Zaun florish under Silco. As we see illustrated in the ending of episode one, it is only through shimmer and the sacrifice that comes with it that Zaun can turn the tables on its oppressor, and I don't think the Zaunites, especially Jinx, Sevika, an the others leading this fight, will forget so soon.

In the game Convergence, which takes place after Zaun's independence, we still see Silco's symbol plastered in the undercity. His symbol remains on the assembly building in the season two trailer. Silco even seems to have a cult-like following; the eye has a strange significance in Zaun, we see Zaunites making offerings of eyeballs to a turtle-like diety that is covered in jars of eyes and has Silco's symbol inscribed on its praying hands. The Zaunites know Sevika and Jinx were loyal to Silco. It would be in their best interest to paint Silco as a hero and his death a tragedy executed by Piltover.

Bonus: I don't understand why people make such a big deal over Silco employing children in the shimmer factory like he invented child labor or something. Child labor has been a thing in Zaun at least since Piltover has been oppressing it. Silco and Vander worked in dangerous conditions in the mines as children. Ekko worked for Benzo as a child. Vander's kids steal from people to make a living, they aren't doing much better. Silco didn't get rid of child labor but he did ensure the profit from it went towards the Undercity rather than the greedy hands of Piltover.

[writingwithcolor]

Thanksgiving/Day of Mourning

Last year, I made a very quick, basic post about thanksgiving: Indigenous Day of Mourning aka Thanksgiving. if you want the sources for what I’m about to say, check there.

This post will be about why you cannot just go “fuck the pilgrims, we deserve a harvest festival no matter the origin” or anything else that tries to sanitize the holiday.

You Are Still On Stolen Land

As a result, you are still actively profiting off the genocide the pilgrims committed.

I don’t care how educated about racial issues you profess you are. I don’t care how you behave the other 364 days of the year. If you try to distance yourself from the origins of Thanksgiving simply because it makes you uncomfortable to see the blood under the tablecloth, you’re not practised in sitting with actually being anti-racist. You know what to say, but you don’t practice what you preach.

You Are Eating Our Food

Pumpkins/squash, beans, turkey, cranberries, potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes, pecans, maple syrup?

Those are all Native American foods that we taught you how to grow and harvest.

You wouldn’t have any of your traditional Thanksgiving foods without us. The ideal meal of Thanksgiving is ripped right from Indigenous practices and cannot be separated from it.

The fact that these foods have been taken out of Indigenous hands and appropriated by colonizers as the bounties they somehow deserve for landing here is a tragedy, and people need to remember where their food comes from and who had been growing it for thousands of years.

You Had So Much Because Of Massacre

Thanksgiving became an annual tradition after 700 Pequot men, women, children, and elders were killed, freeing up acres of land that colonizers promptly took over. The sheer amount of extra acreage that colonizers had because of their genocide contributed to the excess of food experienced during Thanksgiving. That land had been structured to support more people originally.

Colonizers had never, ever, deserved that much food. They were taking more than they needed, not leaving much behind for the animals that depended on a balance to be held with humans. They took far more than was needed, throwing the balance off in nature.

Maybe I’m reaching. But I think that if you suddenly had 700 less people in the area, after all of the growing and planting for the total population had been done, you’d have excess food? Or even before the growing, you’d have land set up to support 700, that I’d assume you’d still use, when you were a much smaller population?

Sit With Your Own Grief

If this makes you feel bad and that you shouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Sit with that.

I’m not telling you that you have to give up Thanksgiving traditions. I’m telling you that you cannot divorce them from Indigenous people.

You are giving thanks for our massacre. You are giving thanks for stealing so much from us that you had this excess.

Yes, you can need a break; yes, you can need time with family and friends. None of this is inherently bad.

It’s not even bad to eat local food from Turtle Island! Part of having a sustainable diet is eating locally, in time with the seasons.

But remember, it is Indigenous people who first gave this to you—and then you stole far more than you ever needed from us, killing us to get what you felt you deserved.

Do not divorce Thanksgiving from Indigenous people for your own comfort.

We are still here. We must live with the aftermath of colonizers stealing from us every single day.

If you feel this way hearing about our history, imagine what we feel like living it.

Donate to a local org/Indigenous person this Thanksgiving

I (again) don’t have the spoons to compile a list of vetted charities, but look for local tribe language revival programs, COVID relief funds, and activism around the Indian Child Welfare Act currently in front of the Supreme Court.

Pay reparations for what you have taken, and remember. It is also Indigenous Day of Mourning.

Indigenous people, drop your links below.

~Lesya

[ckret2]

This is the first time I see someone saying that Filbrick kicked out Stan as primarily a protective measure. To me, honestly, he sees his children as investing to make money and found the perfect excuse to throw away the son he never wanted on the streets when a convenient excuse appeared. After all, he already had a bag full of clothes when he throwed Stan in the streets.

It's a cartoon episode that had 22 minute to pack in the entirety of Ford & Stan's backstory. He flung a duffel bag at Stan as a way to tell the viewers "he's serious about kicking Stan out" and we didn't see him pack it because that would've cost 30 seconds to animate a boring scene that's unnecessary to the flow of the story, and where else in the episode would that 30 seconds have come from?

The show takes tons of visual & narrative shortcuts to tell its story. We don't question how a digital clock appears on Stan's desk between one shot and the next in Boss Mabel. We don't question where Soos's Burrito Bites went before and after traveling into Stan's mind in Dreamscaperers. We don't question where the remains of Quentin Trembley's ripped pants vanish to in the crate after he tosses them aside. The only reason we question the duffel bag is because there's a way to weave it into the narrative to make a bad character look even worse; but I think it ignores the spirit and intent of the scene to treat that, and that alone, like it's indicative of Filbrick's character rather than indicative of the restraints of the cartoon medium.

I don't think he saw his kids as investments. I think, prior to discovering Ford could be worth a fortune, he saw his kids as his responsibility. It was his duty to get them to adulthood and make them into proper men. What we know about their upbringing is:

When he thought they were wusses, he sent them to boxing to toughen them up.

When he thinks Stan stole a gold chain from the pawn shop, he also berates him for stealing from other people, starting a crab-fighting ring, and "pickpocketing and monkeyshining." He's opposed to Stan committing illegal or dishonest acts even if they're profitable.

And when he kicks Stan out, yeah, he says Ford "was gonna be our ticket out of this dump," but he also says "All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails."

Before Ford is revealed to be a genius, we have no evidence that Filbrick saw them as future moneymakers. And in fact, given how the show emphasizes how hard he is to impress and how newly impressed he is at Ford's genius, it seems like he DIDN'T previously see any such potential in his kids. This was a new development. Before that, we only know of two things he wanted out of his kids:

For them to be tough enough to protect themselves

For them to be honest, law-abiding, and hard-working

His dreams of making money off one of his kids lasted a few days tops—high school science fairs don't exactly last long. If he was hotheaded enough to kick out one of his kids for dashing some pie-in-the-sky dream that was only a few days old, then either they woulda been kicked out long before then, or they woulda almost been kicked out enough times that that would be their dominant impression of their dad that they'd report 40 years later, not "hard to impress." Yeah, he was mad he could've made a fortune and then didn't, but that alone wasn't the main motivation behind disowning Stan. He was taking out years of frustration with Stan all in one moment.

"All you ever do is lie and cheat" "This time you cost our family potential millions!"

You've been a bad kid and a troublemaker for a long time; this time, your behavior has impacted someone other than yourself—it's harmed your brother and your family—and I won't let you do it again.

(And this is pure headcanon/conjecture, so I'm keeping it as an aside—but I think there's something to his relationship with Caryn in all this. We know from how he treats Stan's lying that Filbrick highly values honesty. We know that Caryn is a pathological liar—it's one of the only things we know about her. We know from out-of-show interviews that Stan's "—the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart—" is him repeating something his father said. We know Filbrick sees their current living situation as a "dump," but lacks the financial means to get out of it. We know now the baby WAS intended to be Shermie, which makes a nearly 18 year gap before the Pines decided to have another kid. I think the twins were an accident, that Filbrick married Caryn out of a sense of duty to his sons and their mother, that he does love his family but still feels trapped; I think he hates that Caryn is such a liar, that it would have been a dealbreaker if there weren't kids involved, and that now he doesn't feel like there's much he can do about it because that's his wife; and I think that's a major motivating factor in his demanding honesty out of his sons—because he doesn't want them to turn out like their mother.)

To be clear—I don't think Filbrick is a good father. But in interpreting him as a bad father, I want to interpret him as the bad father he ACTUALLY IS, not make up some new, different bad father and paste it on top of his characterization. Sometimes fandom has a tendency to take a bad parent and stick entirely new bad parent traits on top of them, in a way that makes it seem like some fans think "well, if they're a bad parent, they MUST do THESE THINGS too, because ALL bad parents do that (and therefore, if they're not doing these things, they must not really be a bad parent)."

And at times I think it's important to hold the line. Based on what we know of him, Filbrick is bad enough to be a Bad Father even if he doesn't do XYZ that fandom assumes all bad fathers must do. Filbrick is bad enough to be a Bad Father even if he didn't see his kids as a way to make money.

I think he raised his boys the way he did because he thought that was the best thing for their future happiness—and he was wrong, and his ideas about manhood are outdated and toxic, and he was a bad father.

I think he saw them as his responsibility rather than as profit machines, and that he cared about their well-being—and his decision to express his caring through emotionally distant tough love was harmful and neglectful, and when he got angry he was verbally abusive, and he was a bad father.

I think he was devastated at the loss of potential millions not because his primary motive as a person is greed, but because his primary motive is being a good caretaker for his family, and his family was in a tough financial spot and that kind of money would turn all their lives around—and even though pinning his financial hopes on his son was a recent development, it was still an awful position to put his kid in, and he never should have done it, and he was a bad father.

I think he cared about his family MORE THAN their finances—but he still prioritized their finances too much, and in a moment of anger prioritized their finances more than one of his own sons, and he was a bad father.

I think kicking Stan out wasn't a consequence of thwarted greed, but of years of anger at Stan's delinquency, and that the issue wasn't the lost money but rather the fact that he thinks Stan deliberately harmed his brother for selfish reasons—and it was still a cruel thing to do and the man seriously needed some anger management classes, and he was a bad father.

He's a bad father even if his intentions are good. He's a bad father even if he cared about his sons. And that's why I'm insistent on maintaining his characterization that way—because it's worth remembering that a parent with good, caring intentions can still be bad, and their intentions don't excuse their actions.

[genericpuff]

Webtoons Is Making Moves - So Should You.

We all saw it coming ages ago and now it's finally here. There's no more beating around the bush or doubting if anyone is "reading into it too much", Webtoons' use of AI in its more recent webtoons is not an accident, not an oversight, but by design, it always has been. And I guaran-fucking-tee you that the work that already exists on the platform won't be safe from Webtoons' upcoming AI integration through scraping and data mining. Sure, they can say they're not gonna replace human creators, but that doesn't change the fact that AI tools, in their current form, can't feasibly exist without stealing from pre-existing content.

Plus, as someone who's tested their AI coloring tools specifically... they're a long, LONG way away from actually being useful. Like, good luck using them for any comic style that isn't Korean manwha featuring predominantly white characters with small heads and comically long legs. And if they do manage to get their AI tools to incorporate more art styles and wider ranges of character identities... again, what do you think it's been trained on?

Also, as an added bit that I found very funny:

Um, I'm sorry, what fucking year is it? Because platforms like WT and Tapas have both been saying this for years but we're obviously seeing them backpedal on that now with the implementation of in-house publishing programs like Unscrolled which have reinvented the wheel of taking digital webtoons and going gasp physical! It's almost like the platform has learned that there's no sustainable profit to be had in digital comics alone without the help of supplementary streams of income and is now trying to act like they've invented physical book publishing!

"The future of comic publishing, including manga, will be digital"??? My brother in christ, Shonen Jump has been exclusively digital since 2012! What rock have the WT's staff been living under that they're trying to sell digital comics as the "future" to North Americans as if we haven't already been living in that future for over ten years now?? We've had an entire generation of children raised on that same digital media since then! This isn't the selling point you think it is LMAO If anything, the digital media market here in NA is dying thanks to the enshittification of digital content platorms like Netflix, Disney+, and mainstream social media platforms! That "future" is not only already both the past and present, but is swiftly on its way out! Pack it up and go home, you missed the bus!

Literally so much of WT's IPO pitch is just a deadass grift full of corporate buzzwords and empty promises. They're trying so hard to convince people that their business model is infinitely profitable... but if it were, why do they need the public's money? And where are all those profits for the creators who are being exploited day after day to fill their platform with content? Why are so many creators still struggling to pay their bills if the company has this much potential for profit?

Ultimately even their promised AI tools don't ensure profit, they ensure cutting expenses. The extra money they hope to make isn't gonna come from their content generating income, it's gonna come from normal people forking over their money in the hopes that it'll be turned around, and from Webtoons cheapening the medium even further until it's nothing but conveyer belt gruel. Sure, "making more than you spend" is the base definition of "profit", but can we really call it that when it's through the means of gutting features, retiring support programs, letting go editing staff, and limiting resources for their own hired freelancers who are the only reason they even have content to begin with? That's not sustainable profit or growth, that's fighting the tide which can and will carry them away at any moment.

I'm low key calling it now, a year or two from today we're gonna be seeing massive lawsuits and calls to action from the people who invested their money into WT and subsequently lost it into the black hole that is WT's "business model". This is a company that's been operating in the red for years, what about becoming an IPO is gonna make them "profitable"? Let alone profitable enough to pay back their investors in the spades they're expecting? The platform and its app are already shit and they're about to become even worse, we are literally watching this company circle the drain in the modern day's ever-ongoing race to the bottom, enshittification in motion, but they're trying to convince us all the same that they're "innovating".

Webtoons doesn't want to invest in its creators. We as creators need to stop investing in them.

[softer-ua]

I think Hori did a great job showing that societal changes can happen, the world has gotten better before and it can again, but that change isn’t always linear or noticeable in the moment unless you actively choose to see it and be grateful for it

Because the fight for change takes everyone consciously doing their part as well as creating systemic changes

It will be full of loss, big and small, in the end it may not even feel like much has changed and the accomplishments don’t always measure up to amount of grief accrued

because it’s the next generation and the generations after that really get anything from our efforts

Think of society as the field where we plant ourselves, and think of the oligarchs(rich fucks in charge) of the past who stole the people’s harvests, limited what was allowed to grow, and forced overworking the land to the point of poisoning crops

They do the same now stealing the fruits of our creativity passions and dogged work ethic, they limit where we can direct those efforts so we only grow in ways that benefit them, and they demand we drive ourselves to burnout and all creativity must equal profit

You see the land and your people dying, so you work yourself to the bone to turn the inhospitable over farmed land into something farmable again and you do your best everyday to inspire others to join the cause

In the beginning crop yields are still small and people are barely surviving off the rations, so much work for so little, but you beg they remember that what they grew is heartier than the failed crop last year, the effort wasn’t in vain

You have to work with a lot of shitty people, and they don’t all get less shitty, and those that do can’t undo the harm they caused. But over all less harm is being perpetrated, pieces of the cycle have been broken off giving room for something better to grow.

This is the cycle for a few years, only small sections of land have seen change and it’s a delicate balance because it could easily be over farmed and collapse again, it feels hopeless at times but a dedicated few keep inspiring others to keep going

Then a decade goes by, nights of going to bed hungry become a distant memory for the children, even while you go to bed haunted by the memory of those who didn’t survive the winter.

Some ghosts are leave a lighter touch, it’s unfair their bodies gave out but they find rest in knowing the world is changing and you held their hand the whole way.

The worst ghosts are from those whose soul fled long before the wasting took them, the ones who festered in fear/anger/resentment/isolation . Those whose suffering made them cruel and leaked rot on to the lives of others.

They claw at your nerves, demanding the unanswerable, why? Why didn’t change come sooner, why wasn’t this all prevented, why them, why not you?

Could you have given more of yourself to save them? They were hurting others, all your empathy couldn’t change that, so you hurt them and all our empathy doesn’t change that either.

B&W thinking, or nuanced gray. Both have their place, but neither replaces grief, you can’t intellectualize away a hit nerve.

Pain demands to be felt, but the future demands your present and to get through everything you closed that door and put so many locks on it

It feels like it was a life time ago, it was such a different versions of you, the one who closed the door doesn’t seem to be here anymore and what if you can’t recognize what’s left of the you that’s been locked up for so long.

There’s ghosts on both sides, how many are malevolent? All the benevolent ghosts bid adieu, so what if that old you has soured and become the most malevolent of all?

It’s been rotting behind the door with all your unresolved fears, bloated with your insecurities, everything about yourself that you didn’t believe could survive and yet it’s still there, but you have changed so completely so is it really still there?

Pain demands to be felt, the future demands that you are present, you must make space for the past, the past doesn’t exist, you can’t move forward holding on to all this, the future is NOW

You let some of the ghosts go, some don’t let you go. Some we wish we could have kept

Sometimes building the future means you never get to reconcile all of your past, sometimes closer is just time passed

You can never be the same again, some doors stay locked, you take whatever closure you can get, and you stay grateful for whatever the future brings

You serve the children hardier meals, they grow up strong enough to keep tilling the land with the knowledge you gave them about what greed does to the land and how we hope to prevent it.

And sometimes, every so often through your life, you get to greet a day that is so different from the world you were born into that you can feel lives being saved just because they were born in a world you held create

What’s more, sometimes, sometimes you do get everything you ever wanted, and you get to share that future with the people you loved through all of it

[give-grian-rights]

Stranger I am kissing you on the mouth /p

low image meme. it adds flavor. people who believe the average beanie baby is worth tens of thousands of dollars need to repurpose that rock they've been living under. put googly eyes on it or something. that'd probably be worth more

[lime-bucket]

im not sure of all the facts, but Lilith is originally part of the jewish myths, not the christian, and was responsible for stillbirths, traumatic births and stealing children away in the night, mostly leading to their demise, however most media these days just likes to make her a feminist icon, sweeping all the rape and murder under the rug

Those modern depictions of lilith r not feminist in my book,rather they fall in corporate feminism shit cuz they remove any depictions of harsh realities related to women & the myths that explore them,as thats not profitable so they can just put a feel good "girl boss" font on the stories

Wich is rlly a shame becuz before i learned abt the history of lilith,i just found her kind of uninteresting/bland cuz my first exposure of the mother of demons came again from her modern depictions that cut out anth considered "terrible" of her,wich is funny since again lilith is a fucking demon

Like damn couldnt the writers at least keep the chiklren stealing stuff up?

[gyusimp]

modern Gyutaro x reader (fluff) who has like A TON of money and spends it on buying him things he always wanted/surprising him with a little too much presents.

°•Gyutaro x Rich reader Headcanons•°

I wrote this on a break at work and I just realized that you actually requested a Modern AU and I didn't remember 😭 pls forgive me, if you want other headcanons in a Modern AU please let me know and I'll fix my mistake but don't hate me lol

• You were the daughter of a great businessman in Japan, there were not many wealthy people at this time so everyone who knew who your father was treated you with immense respect, worthy of royalty. Your dad is a businessman looking to expand his income in several branches, not just one, so when he had the crazy idea of opening a tea house in the Yoshiwara Entertainment District everything was a success just like his other businesses.

• You had an entrepreneurial spirit just like him, so instead of settling for the allowances you received from him, you preferred to get to work and help him in each of his new businesses no matter what it was and thus generate your own profits at his side and his new success in Yoshiwara was no exception.

• You helped manage the house and organize the girls who worked there. Everything was very normal until after a few months you found out that there was a rumor of a creature that sneaked through the walls of brothels to steal pretty girls and turn them into its food. You didn't believe this children's story until one night you were face to face with that creepy creature with jutting bones, messy greenish hair, an imposing gaze and a merciless smile. The way you begged for your life before him seemed interesting and very different from what he was used to seeing so you awakened something inside him that made him let you live.

• Eventually you returned to see him again and again until with each of his visits the fear faded and you were able to slowly trust the other until you formed the strangest friendship you had ever had.

• Gyutaro was the Upper Moon 06, at first you didn't understand it but he explained how everything worked. You told him about you and he about him until the bond between the two of you grew closer and closer. Knowing more about Gyutaro and the shortcomings he had in his past made you feel the need to give him absolutely everything that he was deprived of in his human life, both material and emotional.

• His affectionate greetings towards you increased and made your and his heart race, every time he came you gave him things like expensive outfits to show him how handsome he was, pretty haoris to cover him from the cold and complete collections of books so that he might have a new hobby, even very expensive fragrances that he would never wear.

• All of this overwhelmed Gyutaro and made him think that you were a bit stupid wasting all your money like that. Not so much about wasting those things on a demon because someone like Douma would maybe use all those gifts, but about wasting your money on someone as insignificant and unpleasant as him. You noticed that he didn't reject your gifts at first but then he started to "forget" them after his visits and that made you feel a little bad. You asked him if he didn't like the color of that shirt or if it wasn't his size, if that perfume didn't match him or something like that and there he told you to stop wasting your money on him.

• It was new for him to receive so much attention from someone, positive attention and it confused him a lot but in the end he managed to explain everything to you and in the end you felt a little more relieved.

• You wanted to win over Gyutaro because you were starting to like him but you didn't want him to be misinterpreted as if you wanted to buy him, you were just someone who was very thoughtful with the people you loved and your pocketbook allowed you to give very unique gifts. But now you had to go a little slower so as not to overwhelm Gyutaro, so you would save the exaggerated and expensive gifts for later, although you couldn't help but give the boy a beautiful bouquet of flowers every time he came to see you and paint a noticeable blush all over  his face when you handed it to him.

[naazaif327]

It’s so strange to me seeing people bend over backwards to try claiming that there’s absolutely no connection between TLOU2’s setting and the Israel-Palestine conflict. Like, I absolutely love The Last Of Us from the bottom of my heart, those games and characters will stay with me for the rest of my life, but also it’s just like so clear from any angle that Seattle’s war between the Seraphites and the WLF is just Druckmann’s “progressive liberal” zionist view of the irl occupation.

Like, on the one hand you’ve got the WLF (IDF/Israel), who are clearly criticized as being overly militarized and doing a bit too much torture and dehumanization, but they’re also super diverse and queer-friendly, and they’re very accepting of various different faiths and religions while still being overall pretty secular (this isn’t just me speculating btw, as you pass by you’ll listen to various WLF npcs openly talking about their faith and sexuality). They’ve got a fucked up leadership/governance under their angry ruler Isaac, but they’re good people as individuals, they’re just caught up in a cycle of revenge/violence. They’re mostly made up of people who were oppressed (by FEDRA) before staging an uprising and revolting to take back their land, which they lovingly cultivate and make use of innovative modern technology to make their world better. It’s a perfect metaphor for Israel to a Zionist who truly thinks that he has a nuanced view of a country he loves.

And then you’ve got the Seraphites (Palestinians/Arabs/Muslims), an angry backwards religious cult that hates progress and queerness and religious freedom, it’s members all brainwashed and worshipping a powerful prophet who proved her worth by performing miracles to win military victories for the cause. All of their children either become child soldiers or child brides for the elders. They hate using technology or anything from the modern world, their backwards culture holds them back and makes them socially/militarily weak. They enact violent lynchings against any poor WLF soldier that crosses their path. Besides Lev and Yara, they are a monolith, a people who exist as violent enemies to slaughter or as brainwashed masses to be pitied as they are massacred. Again, a perfect metaphor for both Islam and Palestinians to a man who has only ever seen both groups through the eyes of Israeli propaganda.

Notably, there is of course no apartheid, no checkpoints, no forced migration by one group or another in the history of the conflict (which we slowly learn through notes and diaries and letters scattered throughout the game). The WLF did not slaughter Seraphites in order to steal their homes, did not take their land and murder their families, nor did they force the Seraphites into concentration camps. The WLF has not been policing the Seraphites’ crops, has not been seizing their funds or resources, or poisoning their wells. The Seraphites aren’t trying to reclaim their stolen land or get the boot of the WLF off their neck. There is no actual ongoing reason for the war, the only reason the Seraphites are still fighting is to “get vengeance” and “kill the degenerate Wolves” rather than to live freely, because Druckmann sees this as the root of the Palestinian cause. To him, Palestinians are not fighting because they’re oppressed by Israel but because they hate Israeli culture and Judaism, and because they can’t just let bygones be bygones (the “bygones” in this case being ethnic cleansing). To him, Israel isn’t oppressing Palestinians and profiting off their suffering, Israel is just fighting back against antisemitism and maybe going too far to protect itself.

In the game, both sides were hurt by FEDRA, and then after the WLF defeated FEDRA, the Seraphites randomly pushed into the suburbs to terrorize the citizens there, causing them to rush to join the WLF. From then on both sides in tandem kept attacking and thus escalating conflicts into more and more violence. There is no oppression, no power differential, one side is not living in the forcibly abandoned houses of the other. There is no reason for conflict, only the meaningless violence that would immediately end if we could all just get along and stop trading completely equal blows.

The conflict ends on an uncertain note that nauseatingly mirrors the current reality. After escalating conflicts, the WLF launches a violent all-out attack on the largest Seraphite base, their island, wiping out most of the Seraphites, razing their fields and crops, slaughtering their children, and burning down almost everything the Seraphites spent decades building. The WLF in turn have lost much of their military force, but their homes and their children seem blissfully unharmed at the end of this. The future is uncertain, but it seems that the WLF/IOF is the “winner”. And it’s all very tragic to Druckmann of course, the dead Scars/Arabs are a very sad thing that could have been avoided if everyone just listened and relaxed. Material oppression doesn’t matter, and this could all just be solved by having integrated schools or whatever.

[firinnie]

I'm currently designing children of Aphrodite and Ares and I have a question...

Did gods and Universe just hate Harmonia??? Or maybe because she represented harmony and peace bothered them because Olympus has no chill???

Literally on her wedding day she got a gift from her husband made by Hephaestus - a robe and a necklace. A CURSED NECKLACE that literally led to the destruction of this entire family for generations. Why? Because Heph is still angry that Aphrodite "betrayed" him when he forced her into the relationship. Boyyyyyyyyy!

I feel so sorry for Harmonia. Her grandmother (Hera) indirectly killed her daughter Seleme who was in a relationship with her grandfather (Zeus) and pregnant with Dionysus. Then her second daughter, Ino who took Dionysus under her care also experienced Hera's wrath for it, because why not. Goddness drove her granddaughter's husband (Athamas) mad and he killed their older son (Learchos) so Ino jumped into the sea from a cliff to save herself and her younger son (Melicertes). Poseidon turned them into sea gods, so profit. Agaue, another daughter, was stunned by Dionysus and led in killing the King of Thebes - Pentheus. Did I mention that he was her own son? Imagine waking up from a trance and seeing your son's torn body and blood on your hands. The fourth sister Autonoe helped Agaue kill her son, her nephew, and then Autonoe's son was torn apart by his own dogs. It happened when Artemis turned him into a deer when he UNWITTINGLY saw her naked in the forest. And finally Polydorus, the last child and only son of Harmonia and Cadmus… who actually nothing happened to. He was supposed to die on a hunt so… maybe that's it? But apart from their direct children, do I have to remind you of the whole story of King Oedipus and his family who are descendants of Harmonia? No one ends well there! And when the necklace was finally consecrated in Delphi, in the temple of Athena… the tyrant Phayllus decided to steal it for his beloved. And how did it end? Their son went mad and killed his entire family after burning down his house. Bravo!!

(It's a good thing she was turned into a snake along with her husband, maybe she'll manage to stay as far away from this madness as possible.)

[tododeku-or-bust]

i want to ask, when do you think all this 'taking' of aave into general white vocabulary, making it trendy, really stripping the meaning from it began? (if that question makes sense.)

im a teen (not white. not black) and have lived in a majority (I mean literally 96%. I checked) white town pretty much my whole life.

despite that. i hear a LOT of (what i presume is supposed to be) aave. used absolutely wrong. i hear "goofy ahh" from my peers DAILY.

years ago, the main thing people criticized was "simp," that it was aave and white people had watered down its meaning. since then, that problem has exploded. so like.... what happened that made it get to this point?

I would be lying to you if I said I had an exact like, year or something that white people began stealing specific aspects of culture from Black Americans, including AAVE. But for pop culture, it's been happening for over a century 😅 beginning of the 1900s at least. you can find black and white videos of white teenagers listening to music that they loved, stunned when they find out it's Black artists singing it. Black people weren't supposed to be human, making things they liked! White studios would re-record Black artists' music and sell it to white children, as they wanted the profit from Black culture without Black people. The blues and jazz were considered "devil music", meant to entrap good Christian white children and women into "fornication and marijuana with Blacks and Mexicans and Jews".

So it's really always been about wanting our labor, creation, and profit, without having to deal with us as a people. And that mindset goes as far back as the beginning of chattel slavery, wanting me to cook your food and pick your cotton and build your economy, while refusing to acknowledge that I'm the reason you have any of it. So while it's not so overt in 2024, the appropriation of AAVE (while punishing Black people for speaking it) is one of the ways that same entitlement continues. It's just that in 2024, many white people are so used to being able to appropriate that when we all finally started pointing it out, it got uncomfortable real quick. Because you couldn't always do that as easily as we can with the internet.

[nostis-omnia-perdet-omnia]

Alex Strider.

This is a character bio for Alex Strider.

Alex Strider is a human street-kid, born to Benjamin Strider and Abigail Strider. She was born in the Free City of Rooksbury, a city with no formal government, ruled mostly by gangs and plagued by roaming monsters and random violence. She had always been a smart child, and she was smart enough to notice her family’s financial struggles. But it didn’t matter, or so she thought, for they would be just fine, as long as they had each other.

Alex was only 11 years old when it happened. The Jackals, the gang that lorded over their part of the city, increased the rate of tribute again. They wanted 20% of all coin made by the little potion shop her parents ran. If they paid all that, they wouldn’t have enough to eat, thought Benjamin. He decided to hide some of the money, as to evade the hefty tax. The week after tribute was charged, his undead corpse was found aimlessly roaming the streets, the skin on its face removed, and a snarling jackal branded on its chest.

She had, as many broken children do, blamed herself. If they just had more money, if they had just paid their tribute, none of this would’ve happened. But she did not sit still, wallowing in guilt. Instead, she picked up the skills and mind of a thief; pick-pocketing strangers, pilfering from the city’s many markets... Over the course of a year, she stole her way through the city.

Alex was only 12 years old when it happened. She had come back home, pockets full of what did not belong to her, a particularly good haul, she thought. She noticed the smell of alcohol, and paid no mind to it-- she had become all too used to the scent of her mother’s drinking. She left what she had stolen at the door, and went to look for her mother. It was strange-- she had yet to receive her mother’s greeting, the one she always received. It didn’t take long for her to find her mother on the ground, surrounded by bottles and empty syringes. Alex would never find out if it was an accident or suicide.

Alex was now an orphan. She had no one nor where to turn to. She roamed the streets, living off of anything she could steal, never spending more than a night at the same place. She had seen the city inside and out; the siren-infested docks, the underground wizard colleges, the dwarven-elven race wars… She had also profited from it all; the city’s chaos was something that could be exploited for gain, she learned. This lasted for a little over a year. Eventually, she had a run-in with a newly formed “gang”: The Outlawz. In reality, it totaled to little more than a group of teenagers, desperate for some form of stability. Though hesitant, she joined the group. Together, they formed a new family, composed of bonds forged in crime. Now, she had moved from petty theft to something akin to grand larceny (though, there was no jurisdiction to define it as such; Rooksbury is a “free” city, after all). Drugs, jewelry, gold, and many other goods were acquired during the many heists of the Outlawz. After the hefty cut taken by the fence, the gang’s fees for operating on their turf, and the split between the 6 of them, they were left with very little. But it was enough. Alex found herself thinking something she didn’t expect to ever think again: they would be just fine, as long as they had each other.

Alex was only 15 when it happened. The Outlawz had decided it; they would find a way to leave this city, and they would do it together. To accomplish that goal, they planned a heist, one more ambitious than any that came before. Tantalus Inc., a megacorporation, part of the Demilian Conglomerate that controlled a nation’s worth of land, had its headquarters in Rooksbury. A shipment of arcane components worth more than all of their previous earnings combined had recently arrived, and if all went well, would “disappear” just as quickly. Six people walked into that tower. One, the traitor among them, stayed at that tower, taken in by the corporation he’d sold his family out to. One, Alex, left that tower, with scars both internally and externally. The other four were never seen again.

Alex was done being naïve. She was done trusting in others. She was done with this city, this gods-forsaken city… She was done with stealing. She made a choice. One she never thought she’d make. She fashioned a weapon out of a baseball bat and a piece of steel sharpened and shaped to become an axehead. She took all the money she had left and had it enchanted. And then, she signed a contract. A contract with Skulltrader. For 6 months, they provided her with shelter, food, clean water, and training. After that, she was officiated; as the youngest mercenary in Skulltrader’s ranks.

A 16-year-old murderer for hire. No one in their right mind would hire her on her own; she would almost exclusively get ride-along gigs, providing backup for other mercs. She sometimes talked to them. They sometimes even let her come along on the post-job tavern crawls. But even then, it was business. Just. Business.

She got her first kill when she was 17. She couldn’t sleep for weeks after the fact. The second was easier. She can barely remember the fourth or fifth. Eventually, she started getting solo gigs; private security, gang warfare, shake-downs… She even managed to buy a glyph implant, that was installed into her spine, allowing her superhuman speed. That kind of bio-enchant was expensive, but worth every coin. Killing became second nature to her. She was good at it. She didn’t enjoy it, but she didn’t care. It was them or her, after all.

4 years passed. This time, there was no “each other”. There was her, her bat, and the mana flowing through her spine. This city wasn’t going to get the best of her. She wouldn’t fall into its traps again. She wouldn’t let Rooksbury defeat her. She would survive, no matter what.

Alex Strider: Orphan, stone-cold killer, former sucker and merc extraordinaire. She knew better than most: This was No City for Heroes.