#there's no point in a land acknowledgement when you don't help the people whose land your on

[qhariwarmi]

that NDN academia feel when your school does a land acknowledgement before every event, saying how the school wouldn't be where it's at without the indigenous people of the land, yet enrolls less than ten indigenous students a year, does almost nothing to help the people of that land, and has a very small and non extensive Native American studies program

[halalchampagnesocialist]

How to spot Liberal Zionist Propaganda 101

This post is by no means exhaustive at all. There are many Liberal Zionist talking points but these are just some of the most common ones. While on the surface they seem a little naive and hopeful at best, they are very much harmful. If you claim to be an ally to Palestinians, this post is primarily for you!

For starters, liberal Zionists will often try to both-sides the issue of Palestine, talk about how it's complicated, they'll claim that the conflict hurts both Israelis and Palestinians, how the only way forward is one where Jews and Arabs "just need to get along," amongst other things. They also often like to centre themselves, even when acknowledging Palestinians as the victims of Israel or this "conflict." From time to time, they also like to engage in tokenising certain Palestinians whose views tend to more or less align with theirs. Here are some common arguments you may hear from them:

1. Any form of justifying Israel's existence or claiming that the only solution is two states

It does not really need to be said why justifying Israel's existence is harmful but justifying its continued existence also means legitimising Israel's land theft, its expulsions of Palestinians, and its ongoing harm to Palestinians and other populations. Reducing any sorts of “solutions” into a binary is unhelpful. Needless to say, a 2ss would not even address any legitimate concerns Palestinian have, such as the right of return, and would only legitimise Israel’s colonialism. Talking about a two-state solution also implies that the root of the conflict lies in Palestinians not having their own state rather than being an occupied people. It is very much also possible to construct a paradigm where Jews and Palestinians both live together on the same land as equal citizens that doesn't involve two separate states, much less an ethnostate.

2. Security for Israel could only come through peace

This is a similar talking point to the one above. Not only does it centre Israeli safety and security above Palestinian liberation but it mistakenly assumes that once Israel makes peace with Palestinians, it'll achieve security. The reality, however, is that Israel's imagined security has quite often come at the expense of peace. In fact, "peace" has just acted as nothing more than a smoke-screen for Israel to carry out its expansionist policies, particularly in the West Bank. When liberal Zionists talk about peace juxtaposed with Israeli security, they're talking about attaining a negative peace rather than a positive one.

3. Israelis are not their government.

This point does nothing to actually help Palestinians. It is also an incredibly tone-deaf thing to say when Israel has targeted many Palestinian civilians by having alleged proximity to Hamas, such as being family members of militants or leaders (inc. children!), civil servants in a Hamas-led government, or even any male above the age of 15 they consider to be a potential combatant! It also deliberately erases Israeli civilians' support of and culpability in Israel's actions towards Palestinians.

4. Netanyahu and/or the Israeli right are the source of conflict.

While it is true that things have gotten inadvertently worse under Israel's various right-wing governments, they are not the source of conflict, but rather a product of extremist nationalism and Jewish supremacy perpetuated by the system. Both the 1967 occupations and settlements were undertaken under centre-left governments in Israel, and Israeli policy under non-right wing governments has been just as harmful towards Palestinians and has paved the way for where we are today. Blaming Netanyahu just also obscures the violent nature of Israel's military occupation over Palestinians which long precede him coming into power.

5. Netanyahu and Hamas are two sides of the same coin

I don't think I've seen any allies give validity to this claim but it's an extremely reductionist claim and is sort of similar to the one above. Groups like Hamas are merely a response to the Israeli occupation while Netanyahu is a byproduct of it. While some Israelis may see Hamas or their actions as an "obstacle to peace," Israel's actions and policies long pre-date Hamas and how Israel is currently responding to Hamas is no different to how Israel has engaged with Palestinian militant groups in the past, regardless of political affiliations or political goals. It is also important to note that Hamas has agreed to the establishment of a state along 1967 borders while Netanyahu aims to prolong the occupation and empower the settler movement (some of whom are part of his coalition government) as much as possible.

6. Israel is not a settler-colonial state.

While it is indisputable that Jews have historical connections to Palestine, that doesn’t automatically make you Indigenous or negate Israeli settler-colonialism. Colonialism in particular describes a relationship of exploitation. There are many cases of this, but we most clearly see this in the West Bank where Israel exploits natural resources on occupied Palestinian territory for its own political and economic gains. In terms of settler-colonialism, it is widely known that Israel expelled hundreds of thousands of Palestinians to make way for Jewish refugees and migrants to the new state of Israel, and is still actively facilitating Jewish migration to Israel today while denying Palestinians their right of return.

7. (X) doesn't help Palestinians.

It is not up to anyone to determine whether certain tactics or strategies are helpful or not. This point only seeks to discredit pro-Palestine organising. Only Palestinians get to decide what is actually helpful for the cause or not.

8. Any sort of Hamas-blaming.

On the surface it may seem like there’s nothing wrong with this, but this point is often harmful and usually lends itself to right-wing talking points because its objective is to deflect blame away from Israel. Certain arguments blaming Hamas also aim to minimise Palestinian suffering perpetuated by Israel. It also paints Israeli violence as retaliatory to Palestinian violence which only obfuscates Israel’s (and by extension, the US’) role in its state military apparatus and the differing power dynamics between Israelis and Palestinians. In other contexts, this point seeks to also legitimise certain opposition, such as the Palestinian Authority. Hamas-blaming also tends to sometimes lead to racist diatribes about Palestinians and their culture.

9. Al-Jazeera is not a credible news source.

Al Jazeera is a news source like any other. It has varying editorial policies and therefore will have equally good reporting on certain issues while having terrible reporting on others. The difference is that Al-Jazeera's news on Palestine is credible because it comes directly from their Palestinian reporters on the ground and first-hand eyewitness accounts. Western news sources are no more or less credible than al-Jazeera. Compare this to CNN, NYT, and any other Western news sources where Palestinian voices are often entirely missing from the narrative.

10. Overemphasis of antisemitism on the left

Antisemitism is a real issue and has the potential to fester in left circles if not directly addressed head on. Combatting antisemitism is extremely important, however, it is not an issue exclusive to the left. There is also a double standard in that no one expects Zionists to call out Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian racism. Certain accusations of "antisemitism" also seek to distract from what's going on in Palestine by making it about Jewish comfort and feelings. Combatting antisemitism, Islamophobia, anti-Arab racism etc is always important as the basis of good politics.

Last but not least, be wary of native collaborators or any sort of normalisers! They are Palestinians or Arabs who try very hard to appeal to Western liberal consensus and can end up perpetuating a lot of harm to the cause and/or other activists. You will know them when you see them.

[esyra]

I cannot help but feel Jewish people have a right to a state in the region after what the Romans under Tiberius and others did, but it should not require atrocities against other people's in the area. Being bullied does not justify bullying others, no matter how many generations suffered. Is there really no way the children of Ishmael and Isaac can live peacefully in Abraham's land? Are any of them even willing to try?😥

I don't oppose Jewish people having their own state, it's literally none of my business how they organize or not, but they don't get to destroy and brutalize an existing population to achieve it just because the British agreed.

Exactly like you've said it, it should not require atrocities against other people but that's what Zionism requires, because it claims sovereignty over a land important to Christians, Muslims and Jews alike. To make Palestine a Jewish ethnostate, it requires erasing the footprint of other religions.

While some prospects of Zionism have merit — calling for protection to a historically persecuted group and understands that the creation of a State is the safest and most efficient way to do so —, all rhetorics used to create Israel, as we know, are untrue and baseless.

Some say that Israel must exist because the Jewish are the only ethnic group without it's own state, which is just widely untrue. Many other persecuted groups like the Mbuti, Romani and Karen people are not even acknowledged and do not have their own State. Even if you consider just religious groups, there are thousands of religions that do not get their own state for there's no reasonable way to empty an entire land nor force people to convert to their beliefs. The Baha'i face ongoing persecution to this day and do not have their own State, for example.

Finally, to say Palestine belongs to the Jews because of the Holy Book it's specially insane, since we shouldn't force our religious beliefs onto others, but also because it's widely untrue.

The first explicit promise to Abraham was at Sichem described in Genesis, Chapter 12 and verse 7: "Unto thy seed will I give this land." The words in Chapter 15, verse 18, are clearer: "Unto thy seed have I given this land, from the river of Egypt unto the great river, the river Euphrates." The words used are "to thy seed" which would include all who descended from Abraham.

All Christians, Jews and Muslims believe that Ishmael was the firstborn of Abraham and is recognized by Muslims as the ancestor of several northern prominent Arab tribes and the forefather of Adnan, the ancestor of Muhammad. Muhammad was the descendant of Ishmael who descended from Abraham, whose descendants were promised Palestine/Canaan.

The words of Genesis 21, verses 13, concludes: "And also of the son of the bondwoman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed." Therefore, despite Israelites calling themselves the 'seed of Abraham', the descendents of Ishmael have every right to call themselves his seed also and ultimately to live in the land.

Furthermore, at the covenant of circumcision made with Abraham (Genesis, Chapter 17), when Canaan was promised to him, it was Ishmael who went through it: Isaac had been born yet.

Therefore the Divine promise included all descendents of Ishmael and although narrowed down in the times of Isaac and Jacob, it did not exclude their Arab brethren. It is well known that many Arabs accompanied Joshua into Palestine.

If everything Israel is based on it's false or unfairly violent, can anyone really claim it has the right to exist?

I'm sorry for the gigantic text but I came back to thousands of asks about if I think Israel deserves to exist and some pointed out the religious rhetoric to justify Israel, I've picked yours to unleash this for no exact reason other than you sounded the most empathetic and I'm trying to stop only answering the nasty asks.

And again, I'm sorry, I don't wish to sound aggressive or impolite but can we stop implying Palestinians are not willing to try? We have no power over Israel, any attempt at peace and justice must come from them first. We can only counter react to Israel, we have no upper hand over them.

[yutzen]

A White-Knuckle Climb

(another from the archives, and the first story with the main group, introducing its leader as well as one of the enforcers. Prompt provided by Make Up A Criminal on Cohost)

Smuggler who takes the scenic route.

"Now for the prettiest part!"

"Prettiest" was not the first word that came to Askalim's mind when it came to this stretch of their road. "Intimidating" would be closer, "terrifying" closer still - not that he'd ever admit it - and "completely and utterly insane" would top the list, despite being several words. And yet what choice did he have but to follow his boss, as the cowled simply grabbed onto raw stone and left their ledge to crawl along the wall.

Crawling along the walls was no place for a badger - and Askalim was close enough to one to be concerned - and such walls being almost two miles tall was not helping. But such were the Hollow-Lands: One of the largest, and most open caverns in the entire Subterraneum, dotted with stalactites and stalagmites alike into which whole cities could be carved. A colossal compartment of blanched limestone, soaked and dripping, whose surfaces reflected the blue glimmer of the sweet bulbs that clung to ceiling and walls alike. Such lighting carried far enough to see most of the plunge that awaited him if he stepped off this uppermost ledge for just one moment, but it didn't reach the very bottom. For that, he only had the dull, menacing roar of the rampaging river below, one that swerved between stalagmites with such fury he knew no one would ever find him if he fell inside. He had to hold the ledge with his claws to so much as peer over it...

"Enjoying the view? Now come on, we're on a schedule, Kal!" The voice of his boss snapped his attention away. Her bright yellow eyes shined from inside the cowl, and the teeth within her snout glinted in the light of a nearby bulb as Ziv-Ziri offered the biggest, most encouraging grin she could manage. "These extracts aren't gonna get to Ishiss all by themselves, you know?" she added, as if it'd help, grasping the next outcropping with her gloved claws.

Extracts, right. If any of the patrols that crawled the cities and the bridges between them saw even one of the flasks in their packs, they might as well dive into the dark themselves. And yet, as "Kal" reached out to try and sink his claws as deep as they'd go into bare limestone, he hesitated still. "Boss, why here of all places...? Are there no tunnels around this, no passages? No secret bridges, somewhere near the river? Even just some passage by the water, instead of this high up!?"

"Now, now, you know we'd be just as dead if we fell into it down there, as we'd do up here." He gulped at the thought; she was right on that; "the Dimashub never returns even one bone of those it swallows", as the saying went in just about every nation it crossed. "And besides", she added as she latched onto a patch of thick moss, "those are roads people look at. Even the tunnels! And you don't have any amazing sights in those either, am I right? Here we get to look at everything else; even if they saw us, we'd see them coming!"

"And then what!?", Askalim blurted out almost outraged, as growing panic he didn't want to acknowledge gripped his throat. He had a deathgrip on a jutting rock right where the ground came to an end, despite not even stepping off it yet. "Just fall off anyways trying to crawl away!? Zi, I'm a Toskar, this doesn't come natural to me like it does to you!" His free hand pointed one accusatory claw at his boss, before motioning to his own body - athletic, though heavyset, and with stripes of white and bluish-black hair that stood on end from fear. "I'm made for snow and glacier, and maybe cap-climbing, b-but not for this! You've got sixty pounds less, and if you fall off you can just fl-"

He clamped his fanged mouth shut on the spot, as a different kind of panic filled his eyes. Ziv-Ziri simply stared back with a sardonic smile, as she took the next "step" towards a further outcropping... spreading great chiropteran wings from the back of her cloak, showing off twists and tatters of bone and skin whose sight made sure he'd regret finishing that sentence.

And yet, the smile did not fall, and she did not look away nor keep going. She simply let her expression warm a little more: "We're already in this little enterprise together, Kal, aren't we? Either of us falls, the other's done for, don't make me outline the ways how." Still in place, she twisted her body closer to him, and outstretched one mangled wing towards her cohort. "Still, if you're so afraid" she lilted, bringing a twitch of unspoken objection from him at the word 'afraid', "I can guide you. One falls, both fall, but a bit more literal, what do you think?"

Askalim stared at the offered wing, one single functional claw nearing his own hand... and he sighed. "Fine. I was just being cautious, is all" he said as he reached out, let it guide his unused hand towards a different rock, and stepped off the ledge into the outcroppings of the wall.

The distance they needed to cover would be just a few minutes' stroll on foot, but when missing your step meant spending those minutes falling to your death, "bat" and "badger" alike needed to take their time. Ziv-Ziri took each step with utter casualness, with her wing acting as a tether to her trembling partner-in-crime, holding his hand and guiding it to the safest grasps she'd used. "Easy, step by step, and remember to use your nails when you step in 'cause they're bigger than mine!" She was almost laughing as she practically dragged him along, finding joy in the crossing, in the breeze that made her cloak flutter, and in the sights... He wondered if she enjoyed those as someone who once flew, reaching such dizzying heights as the closest she'd have to it. And here all he saw was-

He made the mistake of looking down. Towards the distant ground, so far away and eager to meet him at speed. At the jutting stalagmites, lunging from the dark like the teeth of a beast that wanted to devour him. At the lightless depths that roared with desire to watch him plummet screaming into them so their rapids could swallow him whole.

A rattled, high-pitched scream tore through his clenched teeth as he clung to the wall like a startled cat, his claws digging into the limestone so tightly the nails were gouging in. He rambled with actual terror in an attempt not to simply scream. "I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I CAN'T DO THIS GET ME DOWN PLEASE!". And yet he could not tear his eyes off the abyss, even as his claws sent pebbles tumbling down with their deathgrip on the wall. Not until Zi herself reached out, grabbed his chin with the guiding wing, and forced him to look right at her eyes.

"Kal, I will get you down, but first, I have to get you across. I know you can do this 'cause I know you. You wouldn't be here if you couldn't! So please, stop looking down, and look at where you're going. You hear me?" She spoke firmly, with an even tone, and without her usual smile, and simply refused to move further until he'd looked back at her, and nodded. Only then did she smile again, quietly this time, and led her claw back to his hand so that she could guide him properly.

Askalim did not look down again, no matter how much the void yearned for it. Only at the outcroppings, the dents on the wall, the cracks he could slip his nails into until his hold was firm enough to keep going. He trembled still, practically hugging the wall as he went, and each step more of a kick into the wall that aimed to embed his footclaws into the wall even just one millimeter - one millimeter away from the fall was still further away. It'd do for him. He started catching on to which spots worked for him, little by little, and catching up to the boss until she hardly needed to stretch her wing to reach him. She had no words to congratulate him, only a flash of her smile each time.

Before he could realize it, the other side came into his limited, wall-bound view. An actual ledge, jutting out of the wall and big enough for them to stand on, leading down a narrow path. He let out a held breath, and started to hurry, going from rock to rock until he almost bumped into Ziv-Ziri on the way; she took it in good humor, as she always did, and simply quickened her step with practiced ease until she was crawling on the moss right next to the ledge, reaching out with her other wing and easily bridging herself into the ledge...

Her, but not him. Because there was nothing in the way of outcroppings he could safely hold onto, nothing he could see: Just a thick, encovering layer of black moss that might hold her, but wouldn't hold his own weight, even without his pack of goods. The final stretch, just a few feet, and yet it may as well be a yawning chasm, and once again he stood at its edge, on uneasy footing, unable to take one more step...

And yet, as he stared at the black patch, already trembling in place, he saw two crooked wingtips breach into view. He glanced towards the ledge, and saw Zi lying on her belly, clinging to the ledge and overlooking it, stretching both her wings right into his reach. "Just this last bit, come on! I said "one falls, both fall" and I meant it, as I always do!"

Kal stared, and gave her a nod as he reached for both with one claw, the other still holding onto the last rock. He dug his feet into their crevice, making sure there'd be enough to spring from, and steeled himself with deep breaths... and counting to three, he leapt. Pulling tightly on her wings, and pushing himself off the wall, he threw himself towards the ledge to cover the distance that remained, landing with his heavy gut right against the edge; rather than bouncing off, with quick reflexes he slammed both claws onto the ground and practically launched himself upwards to pull his bulk away from the abyss. And with a thud, he made it. Actual ground at last.

Askalim scrambled further away from the ledge, to make absolutely sure, and rolled onto his back, panting and wheezing, staring at the ceiling... the very close ceiling, covered in dark mosses of many colors that hid the limestone's white, and with one large, ripe sweet bulb that bathed him in its light, hanging so close he could almost touch it... and as he found out once a batty figure loomed over him grinning, leaning right against it, so close he could indeed touch it once he dared to get back up. "See", she giggled, "that wasn't so bad, was it~?"

He screwed his eyes shut, and groaned his answer: "Boss, with all due respect, please shut the hell up."

"Greeheeheeheehee~! Come on, that was an experience!" She sat right next to his prone body, leaning in. "Now you get to brag about it! And besides, the tunnels would've been worse, 'cause "it's just two of us" is a disadvantage there. Here, it's a plus!"

"Guess getting jumped would've been an awful time, especially since I don't have my axe anymore..." The "badger" opened his eyes once more, finding the view of the ceiling so much more peaceful than a few minutes ago.

"Speaking ooooof", she began with joking tone, "does this bit make us a little more even about you saving my hide that one time~?"

Kal rolled his eyes with a snort, letting her laugh it up. "Like hell it does, this route was your idea." At the look in her eyes, however, he grimaced, and sighed. "Alright, fine, I'll cut you some slack. Bah, with negotiation like that it's a real wonder you ever left the Consortium".

Ziv-Ziri simply shrugged, as she got back up. "Hey, I stick to their principles way more than they do. Still think they're sticking to a bad deal, when they could be listening to the basics: 'Everyone wants something'. And back in Ishiss, the Ifchi sure want these!" She raised her pack triumphantly, patting the side... before she placed one foot upon her cohort, and rolled his startled form over onto his gut, making sure he'd be looking at the ledge. "Now come on, catch your breath, enjoy the sights! We can spare a little time, big guy!"

Askalim's grumble died in his throat, as his sight was brought to the great pillars of limestone that lined the Hollow Lands, plunging through mist above and darkness below. At the shimmering dots of sweet-bulbs just like the one above him lighting up the landscape, with the shadows of bridges criss-crossing the titanic chasm hardly visible in the distance. Maybe this place was pretty, after all, at least when it wasn't trying to kill him.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO NEFE COSMIA, AINCHASE ISHMAEL. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: Revvington age: 23 pronouns: no ooc contact: @architectureteam, tumblr other characters in xc: Noah Ebalon (Nyx Pieta)

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Ainchase Ishmael (Opferung) age: ??? (adult, looks early 20s) pronouns: any series: Elsword canon point: Monaterra app triggers: religion & religious trauma? this app is surprisingly tame personality: The very first thing you may notice about Ainchase is just how cruel he is. He has next to no respect for human life - why would he, when humans have been nothing but disgusting filth? He's not the type to torment people for fun or to go out of his way just to harm others; he simply feels absolutely no desire to help anyone, any kind acts he might do being fueled by purely selfish motivation. Anything he does matters only to him. Anyone else? They can rot. He cares little. Don't trust him to watch your back - he'll abandon you, or even actively stab you in the back, if he finds he can gain from doing so.

The second thing you would notice is how lofty and superior he thinks himself compared to everyone else. As an angel, he lives on a plane of existence above all others - both figuratively and literally. He is not shy on how he considers humans and other sapient beings to be like the garbage on the streets, and how he is a divine creature worthy of respect, something everyone else has to humble themselves in front of. Yet… he also hates himself deep, deep to his core. Yes, he is an angel, yes, he is better than most, it is not a front - but he is an angel who failed his mission, the one thing he was created to do. He is an angel who became corrupted by demonic energy. That's right - him, an angel, a holy, pure being, tainted by demons, worthless, repulsive things that need to be eradicated… He is a worthless, filthy sinner whose prolonged existence is a punishment. He was created for one singular purpose, failed, and promptly felt abandoned by his Goddess, left to fumble around in the dark all on his own after his path was torn astray. That one singular purpose of his - to live and serve Her - taken away from him, it's left him feeling lost and hopeless. Nothing is left for him. His cruelty and his excessive violence is a desperate cry for help, a last-ditch attempt to reach his Goddess and be put back on the right path. He is a broken tool, desperate for guidance, acting out in fear and contempt in the hopes it'll end his suffering. It doesn't matter what happens to him after. With each passing second, every action he takes, his sins grow worse and worse, but he does not care. She is all he knows. She is all that matters to him. He'll do whatever it takes to hear from Her. Once–(if, but he refuses to accept that) She finally acknowledges him… he'll take whatever punishment he deserves.

something your muse struggles with: Ainchase is incapable of reasonably existing autonomously. He is not a person - he is nothing more than a tool to be used, and much to his dismay, he has been discarded and left behind all on his own. In his current state, he simply cannot properly function without his Goddess' guidance, as demonstrated by the absolutely broken state his rampant emotions have spiraled him into. your muse’s greatest strength: He is nothing if not determined and headstrong. He has one singular overarching goal, and he will stop at nothing to reach this. It is impossible to convince him otherwise or stop him in any way. The same applies to any smaller goals he might set his mind to - he will do anything it takes to achieve what he wants, no matter what it does to him or anyone else.

history / background: Elrios. A land kept alive by the Great El, a gift from the goddess Ishmael. A massive crystal of life-giving energy, taming the destructive, wild chaos that Elrios was born out of, making its lands finally inhabitable by the many different peoples that came to live on it. No good thing is to last, however - after disastrous wars and misuse of the energy of the El, it grew viciously unstable. It took many lives to keep it from collapsing, but even now it remains unstable and needs constant tending to stay whole. That is where Ainchase Ishmael came in. An angel created by Ishmael, his sole purpose was to feed his energy to the El, to hopefully stabilize it for good. … unfortunately, things weren't going to be so easy.

He arrived too late. He descended down from heaven and arrived in the city where the El was kept, but before he was able to approach, the El exploded in front of him. This explosion tore apart the fabric of reality, creating interdimensional rifts that lead to the endless chaos between existence. He was promptly sucked in through one of these rifts, before it closed behind him, trapping him inside.

Within, he wandered into the god Henir, the very core of the endless chaos itself. This god's very presence was enough to irreversibly taint and corrupt his being, marking the skin around his right eye. Then he was abandoned, left there to wander the void for five hundred years before finally finding a trace of El energy - a lifeline. He followed it until he stumbled onto another rift leading outside, and finally managed to escape chaos, arriving back in Elrios.

When the El exploded, it was scattered into countless tiny shards. These shards were powerful enough to make the surrounding areas inhabitable, and villages were built around them. He arrived in one of these villages, near a teen who was trying to protect the shard from a demon… which then got stolen by a bunch of bandits while he wasn't looking, of course. Ain couldn't tell if the El energy he felt came from the El shard or the teen, so instead of leaving to chase the bandits he decided to stick around for now, under the guise of being a priestess of the goddess Ishmael. This is how his little adventure as part of the El Search Party started.

During his travels, Ain learned that his contact with the goddess Ishmael had been cut off. He had called out for her many times, but she never answered. This worried him immensely. His worry, coupled with the guilt of having failed the mission he was created for, caused his hatred towards humans to start growing. Humans, despite having already caused the El to explode through their misuse, kept abusing the El's power and using it carelessly, even now that it was in tiny shards. The thought of this filled him with disgust, even though he knew there was nothing he could do. The El was the gift of the Goddess given to humans, so it was theirs to do with as they pleased.

This anxiety of his started physically wearing away at his body, likely as a result of the corruption he sustained within chaos. He knew he couldn't go on much longer like this. To combat this, he took some of the latent El energy in the environment and recycled it back within his body to sustain himself whilst he fought off the corruption. Quietly he carried on, hoping he could finally get the chance to reach out to Ishmael.

This chance never came. His anxiety started to build up as no matter what, he could just not reach her. He started fearing the worst - what if she had forgotten about him? Or worse, abandoned him? He tried to swallow it down - he can't let his anxiety get the better of him now.

His efforts didn't matter. When he arrived in Feita, he found an El shard that had been utterly corrupted with demonic energy. Absolutely panicked, he rushed over to try to purify it, but stupidly left himself open to the demonic energy… which seeped in through his corruption. Before he could tell what happened, the demonic energy started twisting his magic, corrupting it as well.

Fury overtook him. Not only did these humans shatter the El they were given, they then proceeded to further desecrate its shards with no remorse. The Goddess may have given them this blessing, but these foolish, ungrateful beings did not deserve it at all.

His unstable emotions, having started festering because of his increasing corruption, lead him to make a grave decision. If the El is left as is, it will only get worse. His mission was to return energy to the El. To do so, the destroyed El must first be restored. However, he cannot leave it to the same humans who destroyed it. It has to be protected, and he has to do it. He has to return the scattered energy to the El… so he left the El Search Party, traveling on his own in order to reclaim the El energy from those awful humans using it for their own ends.

His power and his body slowly corrupted further as he continued on, eating away at him like acid. He was unaware of the way his corruption was starting to take root deep inside and rending apart his very core.

At the end, the El was restored, even though he hadn't been the one to do it. Not that he minded - it was one step closer to his goal. Now all he needed to do was to sacrifice himself to the El, giving it his power and finally stabilizing it… but when he reached out to become one with him, an instinctive repulsion pulled him away from it, something deep within him screaming that he shouldn't merge with it. This confused him at first, but he soon realized why; he was corrupted by demonic energy and steeped within chaos. He was no longer a pure being formed entirely of the El. Something like him could never fully restore the El.

In an instant, everything he had hoped for collapsed. He had hoped if he just fulfilled his mission like he was supposed to, everything would work itself out. He wasn't meant to make decisions on his own. Confused and more desperate than ever, he called out for the Goddess to help. He would take anything. Guidance on what to do next, punishment for failing, or to be destroyed and replaced… anything.

Yet all he got was that same, horrifying silence.

He couldn't understand. Everything kept building up, things he was never meant to deal with… he started growing resentful of the Goddess. One last time, he cried out in prayer, bearing all of his emotions to Her. Humans were foolish creatures that shattered the El and spat all over Her gift - then why did She give them Her mercy, but not him, Her faithful servant, the one who has been dutifully serving Her this entire time? Why did they deserve it, but not him? How could She stay silent, watching him like this? Unless She really, truly had abandoned him…

…

He could take this no longer. Driven beyond exhaustion, Ainchase gave up trying to reach out to Her. But he had to hear from Her. He wanted an answer. Any answer. And if he couldn't reach Her, then he'll just get Her to come to him.

Even if he has to destroy the Goddess' beloved Elrios. If he can reach Her… it'll be worth any sin.

powers / abilities: Intervention. Ainchase is a divine being, whose presence was supposed to be ephemeral. This is reflected in his Intervention. Ainchase has to will himself into the physical world, using the power of his pendulum, before he can interact with the world - in order to "intervene". Whenever he is not intervening, he disappears from everyone’s memory like he never existed, resting on a different level of existence, and when he intervenes again, memories are restored once again as if he's been there the entire time. Thus he has lived a life of constantly shifting in and out of reality, intervening in order to impose his will on the world, and disappearing again to regain his power and strength. Note that his pendulum is required for this, and if he has broken it, he cannot stop or start intervening until it has recovered.

Disparate Force. A harmony of two types of magic, unique to him. Ainchase can freely switch between either to focus his attention on a very specific power and shift his style of combat accordingly.

Cycle Magic. The magic granted upon him through the power of his own name. Ainchase’s Cycle Magic lets him manipulate the El energy around him to boost his own inner potential. This magic leads to a more magically oriented fighting style where he uses the magic of the El to fight his foes at range.

Creation Magic. The magic granted upon him by the Goddess Ishmael. Ainchase’s Creation Magic lets him create projections of all sorts of objects, though he mostly uses it to create various weapons to do combat with. This magic leads to a more physically oriented fighting style where he gets down and dirty up close with his very own arsenal of weapons. Thanks to the influence of demonic energy, both styles of magic have mutated into a rawer, more forceful form of themselves. It has become wilder, more powerful and harder to control. His untamed, corrupted magics are capable of tearing apart the fabric of reality and everything caught in-between - even being on his side doesn't mean you're safe.

Spiritualism. Once his pendulum has been broken, Ainchase can drop his human appearance and channel into the full power of his angelic heritage through a process called Awakening. His appearance drastically changes as he assumes his ‘true form’, causing him to radiate light, gain flight and a powerful echo to his voice, but most importantly, vastly increase his combative potential. This is also a button that causes neon signs to float around him loudly declaring that he is non-human and of divine origin, but, hey, it's not like he was really hiding it anymore.

inherent abilities: Energy sensing. Being an angel, Ainchase's natural ability to sense all sorts of types of magical energy emanated by people is vastly superior to that of normal people in his universe. He can feel the energy in a large radius around him, allowing him to 'feel' people and magical things even when he cannot see them - like a sort of blindsense. He is mostly attuned to sensing different kinds of El energy and derivatives of it (like elemental El energy or Henir energy), and demonic energy. This means that, for example, he can tell if a person is attuned to a specific element, if they're part of the Elsword universe, and if they are a demon or not. He could learn to sort of identify people by the energy they emit, but that would take a long time - perhaps a possibility for those he spends a lot of time around.

items / weapons: Pendulum. The pendulum that Ainchase carries with him wherever he goes - the very source of his strength and something he keeps on him at all times. The radiance within the center of his pendulum glows with a harsh light, and is a reminder of his origin. Working as an anchor and a limiter, in order to access the limits of his power, he has to shatter and destroy his pendulum with his magic. This slowly repairs itself over time - he can delay this repair, but not speed it up. This unleashed power can then be further increased to its absolute limit when accessing his Spiritualism form.

starting ability: Disparate Force starting item: Pendulum

would you like this character to be housed upon arrival?: no :3

extra:

discord id: entmachtung

[ilici]

kitty, kitty, kitty.

Gogywasfound's 1K event here: click here !

Summary: You and Karl rarely argue, and the one time you do, he is streaming. So he punishes you, after he finishes his stream.

GN reader !

NSFW MINORS DNI !!

Warnings: Degrading, cat maid outfit, biting, gagging, choking.

Word Count: 2138

Karl was already in a bad mood from Quackity and Sapnap teasing him about his relationship with Y/N. They kept repeating, "Karl is a simp", "Karl's the bottom in the relationship for sure.", "I bet Karl literally whines when he doesn't have Y/N's attention." Finally after a while, he snapped at them telling them to quit. They did, noticing he wasn't joking, although twitch chat thought it would be funny to come up with the nickname, 'Whiney boy Karl'. Y/N on the other hand was watching his stream from their shared bedroom, and they found it hilarious as it was all true. Karl was the bottom in the relationship, he would always beg for attention and would turn bratty if Y/N ignored him, and Karl was indeed a simp.

Taking it upon themself to go and bother Karl personally, Y/N got up out of bed and made their way to Karl's streaming room. Karl's fans have seen Y/N on multiple occasions, whether it was them giving food to Karl, keeping Karl company while he streamed, or even joining him on the stream, it wasn't abnormal for Y/N to just randomly pop up. When Karl's door open, he cautiously looked over as Y/N entered the room with a mischievous glint in their eyes. When the two would argue, it would be once in a blue moon, as they knew each others limits and boundaries. But it was never a pretty sight when they argued, as Karl is one to never truly show his feelings, he would finally let them all out when he was arguing.

He would scream, cry, and even go as far as to ignoring them for days on end. Y/N was a different story, they never really showed much emotion when arguing, nor did they show it when they were not arguing. Y/N was not the best at showing emotions due to childhood trauma, which Karl soon helped on, to the point where Y/N would only show genuine happiness around Karl. Now was one of those moments, where Y/N showed their emotions, which was mischievous. Karl already didn't want to deal with their antics as he was still a bit upset from Quackity and Sapnap's bit. "Hi bubba." Y/N greeted, walking over to Karl, and sitting down on the floor. Karl nodded his head in acknowledgment, as he pretended to focus on Minecraft.

Not liking his reaction, Y/N rolled their eyes and spoke up, "What's this 'Whiney boy Karl' ordeal about?" They asked, already knowing the answer. They just wanted to get a reaction from him, and Karl shifted trying to contain his emotions. "I don't know, something chat made up." He said dryly, hoping Y/N would drop the subject. "Obviously, but how do they know you're whiney?" Y/N asked once more, and Karl closed his eyes inhaling sharply. "Shut up." He muttered under his breath, Y/N hearing, but the mic didn't pick it up. Taking this as an invitation, Y/N shrugged and looked around aimlessly, "But it's true, why are you getting so worked up?" They said, which caused Karl to slam his hand down on his desk.

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" He said, deathly calm, which shocked Y/N as he was always one to yell during their arguments. "What's wrong with telling the truth? You shouldn't lie to your fans." Y/N argued back, and Karl threw his headset off, which startled the two people that were in a call with him. "What the hell is going on over there?" Sapnap asked, as the two clicked on his stream to see what was happening. Karl had muted on discord, but forgot to mute his actual mic, so the stream could hear and see everything. "Oh? Tell the truth? Okay, sure." He scoffed, moving his gaming chair away from him roughly.

Y/N rolled their eyes, and flipped him off, "You are an asshole, I was joking around and you snapped on me. What the fuck is your problem?" They said, now angry, and Karl laughed shaking his head. "You know what you were doing. You came in here to purposely anger me." Karl said, stepping dangerously close to Y/N, "Holy shit, this is getting good." Quackity said, and Sapnap laughed a bit as he has witnessed a fight between the two before. "So what if I did?" Y/N said, grabbing Karl's shirt collar pulling him closer with a harsh glare. "I bet you did it because you're wanting me to fuck the absolute shit out of you." He whispered, so that his mic wouldn't pick it up, and Y/N visibly gulped.

"What the fuck did he say to them?" Quackity asked, and Sapnap hummed, "You may be short, but that isn't the only thing short on you. So is your temper." Sapnap said, making up random sentences as the two whispered between each other. "What if I want you to?" Y/N asked, looking at Karl's lips as he licked them hungrily. "Go get fucking dressed you attention whore." He whispered in their ear, and Y/N walked out of the room red faced. Everyone assumed it was from anger, but Karl knew what it was from. "Sorry guys, I gotta go. Y/N is having a tantrum because I've been streaming for 3 hours now." He said, before smirking, "Whose the whiney one now chat?" He asked, before he abruptly ended the stream leaving the call without a word.

Quickly making his way to the bedroom, Karl swung the door open to see Y/N in the maid outfit, adjusting the cat ears on their head. He smirked, and bit his bottom lip scanning their body. "What an adorable kitty you are." He said, and Y/N scoffed flipping him off, "Bite me, bitch." Y/N muttered under their breath, and Karl raised an eyebrow walking to them. Grabbing Y/N by their throat, he glared at them, as he reached behind pulling on their hair to make them look up at him as their height difference was by a whole foot. "Speak up kitty." He said, and Y/N winced looking Karl in the eyes, "I said, bite me, bitch." They said, daringly and Karl just chuckled.

"As you wish." He said, removing his hand from their neck, keeping the other tangled in their hair so their head was angled. Leaning down, he harshly bit their neck as Y/N let out a strangled mewl. "Fuck, that hurt." They said, trying to get out of his death grip. Karl being a lot stronger, they were stuck in his grip, as he kept biting around on their neck leaving prominent hickeys. "So pretty." He said, looking at his work on their neck. "On the bed, now." He demanded, and Y/N quickly listened not wanting to be punished more than they already were. Smirking at this Karl, slowly walked over as he adjusted them so they were on their hands and knees. "Ass up higher." He said, and Y/N arched their back.

Karl, was indeed the bottom in the relationship, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to be dominant. "Good kitty." He whispered, pulling down their underwear, and walked to the front of the bed, and forced their mouth open shoving their underwear inside their mouth gagging them. "Not a sound kitty." He said darkly, and Y/N nodded in understanding. Moving back, he moved the skirt up, showing their bare ass. He rubbed it lovingly, and slammed his hand down on it harshly to make sure, the underwear muffled the sounds. Smiling as he heard a muffled yelp, he slowly pulled his shirt off, and unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. Pulling them off, along with his boxers, he stepped out of them watching as Y/N squirmed around impatiently.

Getting on top of the bed, he gripped their hips roughly, knowing he'd leave bruises on them. Making sure they were prepared, he slowly entered in them, and he let out a satisfied moan when he bottomed out. Not moving, he waited for a signal, and once Y/N moved back against him for friction, he took that as the signal. Pulling out completely then slamming back in, he heard Y/N let out a surprised muffled moan. Repeating this action, he made sure to keep his pace even until he himself grew tired of it. Picking up his pace, he watched as Y/N was slowly reaching their high. Reaching forward he helped them reach it, "Cum for me, be the little whore you are and cum for me." He growled out, now ramming into them.

Letting out loud muffled moans, Y/N felt themself cum at his words, and they would've fell onto the bed if it wasn't for Karl's death grip on their hips keeping them up. Keeping his fast pace, he finally came inside of them, and pulled out watching as Y/N helplessly fell onto the bed tiredly. Smirking as he saw the white liquid slowly fall out, he smacked their ass again, this time softer. "You think we are done? Fuck no, get your ass up." He said, and grabbed their hips again, making sure to dig his nails into their skin. "Cat's have 9 lives, so you have 8 more rounds to go." He told them, and Y/N whined out, digging their face into the bed as he slammed back into them without a warning.

By the time it reached 4 A.M. Y/N was worn out, and sore, while Karl was just tired. Falling down beside Y/N he was breathing heavily, "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" He said, looking over at Y/N who was just staring at him in a haze. Chuckling he reached over, taking the cat ears off, "Now you know that I will bite back if it comes to it, literally." He said, and Y/N just let out a tired laugh, as they took off the maid outfit, limping to the bathroom to cleanse themself. Karl watched amused at their limping, "Seems like the cat couldn't land on all fours." He joked, and Y/N flipped him off from the bathroom.

"Will you shut up?" Y/N whined, and Karl got up walking into the bathroom, "Seems like someone didn't learn their lesson." He said, picking Y/N up, and walking into the bedroom throwing them down onto the bed harshly. "No- wait- I'm sorry." Y/N said quickly, and Karl looked at them, before he nodded. "Just rest up." He said, handing Y/N his shirt to put on. Putting it on happily, they laid down, Karl wrapping his arm around their waist. "Do you think they heard our argument?" Y/N asked, mainly thinking about if they heard the sexual parts or not. Karl chuckled, "I made sure they didn't hear those parts, don't worry. They probably heard everything else." He admitted, and Y/N nodded their head.

Y/N yawned tiredly, and soon fell asleep. Karl shortly fell asleep after, the two were soon awoken by a loud bang from their living room. Groaning, Y/N rubbed their eyes as they looked around confused, "Karl, someones in the house." They said, and Karl quickly got up walking out of their room to go into the living room. "Holy shit!" Karl yelled, and Y/N bolted out of the room, and found Karl on the floor, and a relieved Chris standing above him. "Oh my god Y/N I thought Karl murdered you!" He said, running over to you, and hugged you. Looking down at Karl confused, Karl shrugged in an answer, "I saw your guys argument, and when Karl or you didn't answer your phones for 12 hours straight, I thought one of you died." He said, and Karl laughed a bit.

Y/N scoffed and mumbled, "One of us did." Which Karl heard, and Chris looked at Y/N confused, "What?" He said, and Karl got up, "They probably got scared from you." He said, and Y/N nodded, "I thought me and Karl were going to be murdered, as it is 6 in the fucking morning Chris!" They yelled the last part, and Chris laughed sheepishly, "I was just worried about my baby cousin, alright?" He said, now embarrassed. "How the hell did you even get in?" Karl asked, and Chris pointed to the now shattered window, "Sorry about that.. I'll ask Jimmy to buy you a new one." He said, and Karl slapped Chris upside the head. "God you're so dumb, and you have a fucking son." Y/N said, rolling their eyes pinching the bridge of their nose.

[anythingwriter]

Vipers

Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: language, men being sexest, brief mention of death, a little bit of a slow burn

Word Count: 3,900 of pure trash:)

Requested by: @imthebadguyyy

Summary: Thomas Shelby has been expanding his business for years, making deals with other gangs all the time. But the Vipers, they were a different story. They’re crazy and dangerous, and they are not willing to share their land, so Tommy sets up a meeting with their leader. It was not who he expected.

a/n: Dudley is a city in England kind of close to Birmingham, just so y’all know.

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

Polly was minding her business, walking around the shop straightening up here and there. It was just her and Esme at the moment, the betting shop had not yet opened. There was supposed to be a family meeting in about ten minutes, but by the looks of it Tommy was going to be late as perusal.

Ada had just walked in, shortly followed by John and Arthur. Finn stayed with Isaiah, Tommy had told him not to come because it was an “adult” meeting. They all sat around, conversing and just having small talk and after twenty minutes of waiting for Tommy, Polly was fed up.

“Where the bloody hell is that brother of yours?”

John and Arthur looked at eachother wearily, should they tell her?

Their looks didn’t go unnoticed by any of the women. Ada was getting frustrated too, Tommy called the damn meeting so where the hell was he?

“C’mon boys, Polly and I want to know.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand down his face and itching his mustache, “so you see ladies, he-”

Arthur was interrupted by the door to the shop slamming open and banging against the wall, Tommy coming in with literal blood on his hands.

“What the fuck Thomas? Where in the bloody hell have you been? An- and is that blood?! Christ Tommy!” Polly was so confused, her nephew came into his own meeting late, with blood on his hands?

Tommy ignored his aunts questions and walked around the table, lit a cigarette and poured himself a glass of whiskey, Irish of course. He grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood off of his hands, all while being silent. Everyone else had grown quiet too, waiting for Tommy to speak, or at least acknowledge them.

He drank his whiskey in one gulp and poured another. He then finally looked up at his family, now clean from the blood on his hands. Well, at least the blood that you could see.

“I’ve been trying to make new...acquaintances you could say,” he took a long drag of his cig, “and people were not happy about it.”

The three women looked at Tommy, waiting for him to explain more. John and Arthur already knew everything, they were just sitting there, waiting for their aunt's reaction to what Tommys was about to say. He quickly drank his second glass. Polly copied his actions, bringing her drink to her lips as well.

“As you all know, our business is expanding everyday. We’ve already reached London, and now, now I’m trying to get to Dudley.”

Ada's eyes widened and Esme immediately got up to leave. Polly began to ferociously cough on her drink, not expecting to hear such news. Arthur leaned over in his seat and aggressively started to smack his aunt’s back, trying to help ease her drink down. Tommy sat there just watching everything with a stoic face.

Polly began to swat at Arthurs hands, and he pulled them back raised in the air defensively, not wanting to get hit by his aunt.

She rose from her seat, a look of disbelief on her face and pointed her manicured finger in Tommy's face, “Are you MAD Thomas?! You have no business being on their land! Now you've done dragged us all into this! Thomas, what in the blo-”

“Hear me out Pol, I’ve al-” Polly cut him off like he did her, she was furious. He was going to get them all killed!

“No Thomas, you listen to me. You go on their land and expect to make a peace treaty with them? They’re so good at what they do no one’s ever seen their faces Tom! Just you wait, this is all going to come back and bite you in your ass!” Polly stormed out of the shop and into their house, slamming the doors behind her.

They all sat in silence for a few seconds before John decided to break it, “well, that went better than I thought it would.” Arthur snorted at that, raising his drink to cover the sound.

“Whose blood was on your hands, Tommy?” For the first time the whole meeting, Ada had finally spoken.

“Some man came up to me and told me to leave, saying they didn’t want the devil to walk among their streets. He pulled a knife on me, so I shot him. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that? Simple as that Tommy? You’ve shot one of her men! This is war now Tommy.”

Arthur looked up from his drink and made eye contact with Ada, “Her? Who in the bloody hell said anything about it being a woman, Ada? You really think the leader of The Vipers is a woman?”

“Haven’t you lot heard? There's been rumors for months about the WHOLE gang being run by women.”

John and Arthur both barked out laughter, women? Why would women be running a gang, let alone one as dangerous as The Vipers.

Ada’s face turned red, cursing her sexest brothers. Stupid men and their cocks.

Tommy sat there reclined in his seat, lost in his own thought. It couldn’t be women, could it?

His sister stood up from her seat, yelling at her brothers before leaving the room in the same fashion Polly had, even slamming the door a little harder.

Arthur smacked his hand against the table, breaking Tommy out of his trance. Him and John were still laughing their asses off.

“Women? Can you bloody believe that Tom? A bloody woman!” John doubled back over in laughter again at Arthurs words. Tommy still just sat there, watching his brothers laugh. He got up to leave the shop, heading to London to see a certain Solomons.

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

“Tommy, what can I do for you mate?” Alfie was loud, as usual.

Tommy sat in front of Alfie, preparing himself for the conversation ahead of him. “There’s word going around, Alfie, that you are the only ally of The Vipers, is that true?”

Alfie stared blankly ahead of himself before letting out a loud boisterous laugh that had Ollie wincing in the corner. He looked at Tommy and immediately stopped when he saw Tommy was serious.

“Oh, oh you’re serious?” What business could you possibly want with The Vipers Tommy?”

“Is that a yes or no, Alfie? Are you allies with them?”

Alfie eyeballed Tommy before sighing and nodding his head. Tommy smirked at his small victory. “I’m wanting to do business with him, Alfie. I want to expand and put some of my men in Dudley. But, I need help. I’ve heard they’re unpredictable, especially their leader. Would you care to tell me his name, Alf?”

Again, Alfie laughed. He stood up with the help of his cane and leaned on his large desk closer to Tommy, “right, there's two things you need to know Tom. First of all, they are unpredictable and they wouldn’t hesitate to bite your head off if you backstabbed them, yeah.” He paused for a second, debating if he should tell Tommy the second part.

Tommy nodded, waiting for Alfie to continue, but he didn’t.

“What’s the second thing?”

Alfie just smirked down at the brummie, “That's for me to know and for you to find out.”

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

Three days later it was Friday evening and Tommy had invited everyone for a family dinner, it was all Polly’s idea. They were all gathered around the unnecessary large dining table at Arrow house. Charlie sat next to Tommy, Esme and John were next to each other, their hundreds of kids all at home with a sitter, along with Karl. Polly and Ada were sat side by side and Arthur was in the corner of the room pouring himself a drink. It was getting late, everyone had already ate their dinner and dessert.

“Mary, could you take Charlie up to bed? It’s getting late.”

She quickly walked around the table nodding her head, “Yes, Mr.Shelby.”

Everyone had migrated to the living room now, for once not talking about business. Their laughing was interrupted when there was a knock on the door, they all stood up.

“Who could that possibly be this late at night?” The loud knock had put all of them on edge.

The men all drew their guns, walking to the door, telling the woman to stay put. Naturally none of them listened and they all followed behind the boys.

Tommy swung the door open with his gun pointed out, ready to shoot whoever was there. They were all confused when they didn’t see anybody, but they were even more confused when they looked down to see a box with Tommy’s name on it.

Polly smacked Tommy on the back of his head, “Don't just stand there you idiot, bring the box in!” She reached down and grabbed the box, bringing it in and sitting it on the living room table.

John was a little hesitant, why was there a box? Who had dropped it off?

Tommy inspected the box, it didn’t seem harmful, but that didn’t stop his nerves. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was a little freaked out at the package too. He slowly reached for the box and ever so slowly opened it.

“BLOODY HELL!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“TOMMY I-”

“WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT?!”

Everyone was screaming and panicking, Tommy had jumped back and almost tripped over his feet, the women had all run to the next room and the men had drawn their guns once again.

Lunging out of the box was a bright green fluorescent Viper, hungry for blood. It striked again, almost catching Esme by the arm as she ran by it. It slithered out the box, its fangs out waiting to catch someone. Arthur began shooting at the floor, steadily putting holes in it. Tommy had finally stood back up, and John reached for Esme to check her for injuries. Arthur kept shooting, still putting bullet holes in Tommy's wooden floors.

A loud bang echoed through the house, and it wasn’t Arthur because he had run out of ammo. There stood Ada with a small revolver in her had, and a bullet lodged in the snakes head. Everyone stopped to stare at her, eyes wide in shock.

“Guess chasing rats finally paid off, huh?”

Polly had walked back in the room and bent down to inspect the green snake before standing up to look Tommy in the eyes.

John hugged Esme to his chest and turned towards his brother, “What in the bloody hell is this Tom?”

Tommy looked at John blankly, he himself didn’t even know. He went to make something up but Pol had beaten him to it.

“This, John,” she reached down and picked up the dead but still squirming snake, “is what you call a Viper.” And with that she flung the snake at Tommy who jumped back in disgust.

Adas head perked up at that, “A viper? But how, they're not native.”

Everyone thought about it a moment, before they put the pieces together. Polly began to laugh maniacally and everyone averted their gaze to her, had she gone mad?

“I told you Thomas! I told you this was going to come back and bite you in your ass!”

Tommy sighed and ran a hand down his sweating face before peering in the box again. Inside was a note and he reached in to grab it and he read it aloud, “Stay off our land Shelby.”

Everyone began to fret again. They were running around like a chicken that got its head cut off, screaming about how Tommy never should have stepped foot in Dudley.

Tommy sat down on his couch, thinking about what to do. What if Charlie had been downstairs? The snake surely would have gotten to him, after all he is just a child. He needed a smoke and a drink as soon as possible, he stood up and marched up to his office to make a phone call, completely ignoring his family's calls of his name

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

Two weeks after the snake incident, Tommy had managed to get a meeting with you, thanks to the one and only Alfie Solomons. When Tommy had told him what had happened that night he shook his head and chucked, telling Tommy you had done the same thing to him all those years ago. But Tommy still didn’t know who you were.

The three eldest Shelby’s stepped out of Tommy's car and landed on the Dudely turf, they all felt a little uneasy about the situation. They began to follow the directions Alfie had given them, the area getting more and more sketchier as they went.

Dudley was very dull, the sky was always grey and the streets were always muddy. The air was foggy like Birmingham, maybe even worse. They were getting looks everywhere they turned, none of them being used to it considering their name.

A loud clang of metal caught their attention and they all turned to look. All three of them pulled their guns when they saw a scruffy man charging them with a knife. Right when Arthur was about to pull the trigger, they all four stopped when someone yell.

Another man came running towards them, screaming at the man that was attacking them.

“Stop Marc! They’re here because Yilan has agreed to meet with them!”

The man stopped what he was doing immediately, turning as pale as a ghost and dropped his weapon to the ground. He turned back around to the Shleby’s and apologized profusely before running off.

The three brothers looked at each other in confusion.

“What the fuck was that about? Who the hell is Yilan?” John was asking too many questions and Tommy didn’t have the answers to them.

“I don’t fucking know John, now shut the hell up!”

(a/n: Yilan means snake in Turkish [which is my family’s native language])

The man who had stopped the other walked up to the brothers.

“I am sorry, sirs. Yilan is what we call the leader of the Vipers.”

Tommy nodded a thanks to the man, asking him if he could take them to their headquarters. The man reluctantly agreed, not wanting to get on anyones bad side.

After around twenty more minutes of walking they stopped in front of a worn down brick building. It had vines growing up the whole thing and two very, very large men were guarding the door. Their escort had scurried off as soon as they got there, Tommy not even being able to thank the man.

The brothers began to walk towards the door and Arthur leaned down to whisper, “Ha, and Ada said they were run by women!”

John chuckled, he couldn’t wait to tell Ada she was wrong. Tommy hushed the two before speaking to the men guarding the door.

They both stared at the brothers, almost as if they were staring into their souls. They didn’t speak, waiting for one of the others to.

Tommy cleared his throat, “We’re here to see your boss. We have a meeting, Thomas Shelby.”

The larger out of the two opened the door, “Third floor straight down the hallway.” Tommy nodded his head before heading in, the two brothers following his lead.

The inside of the building was loud with music and the walls were all painted bright green. Tommy guessed for a viper. They all walked in a little further and stopped in their tracks, shock registering through their veins.

There was not one man inside. The room was full of women from every race you could imagine. Some had a tattoo here and there, some were covered in them. There was women with red curly hair, others with black straight. Any type of woman you could imagine, from short to tall and thin to curvy, was there. And they were all staring at them.

Arthur gulped and John smirked but then quickly frowned when he realised that his sister was right, this whole gang was women. He did have to admit though, it was a little sexy, even though he knew half of them could probably kick his ass.

Tommy cleared his throat before walking ahead, not making eye contact with any of the women. He walked towards the stairs and climbed them until he got to the third floor and walked straight down the hallway. When they reached the door Tommy hesitated for a moment before knocking. A faint “come in” was heard, and they all walked in.

Sitting behind a large oak desk was you, relaxing in your chair with a wicked smile on your face. You were so ready to finally meet the man who wanted your land.

Not making any effort to sit up in a more presentable position, you gestured to the three chairs in front of you, telling them to take a seat.

Tommy and John did but Arthur was still hesitant. What had they walked into?

“No offense ma’am, I think I would rather stand,” he was fidgeting the whole time and you could smell his nervousness. Tommy looked up and glared at his older brother.

You leaned forward in your chair and rested your arms on your desk and sat your chin on your hands. “Please, Arthur, take a seat before I shoot both your knee caps and make you sit.” You pulled a gun and sat it on your desk, smiling up at Arthur.

John was a nervous wreck and Arthur visibly gulped and sat down with shaky legs. Tommy kept staring at you though, he thought you were beautiful, but psycho. You intrigued him.

You leaned back in your chair again, leaving the gun on the desk. “Mr.Shelby, I do really hope you enjoyed my gift the other day. Alfie told me it brought… excitement to your family.”

God you were definitely psycho.

Tommy cleared his throat, “Ms.Yilan I-”

You sat back up again, “No no no, Mr.Shelby, that is not my name. Please, call me y/n.”

For a brief moment there, you almost seemed normal. It scared the brothers how easily your emotions changed.

“Right, okay. Let's not even talk about that, okay? Let's just get straight to business. And please, call me Tommy”

“I like the way you think, Tommy.”

And boy did you like the way he looked too.

“First of all Tommy, I do NOT like you coming on to MY land and shooting MY people.” You were getting angry, your eyes were ablaze and your jaw was clenched.

“That man you shot, Tommy, had a family. He had a wife and two daughters, and now I have to spend MY money on them because YOU shot their caretaker. I could be doing so much more with that money.”

Tommy was taken aback with your forwardness, those were not the words he was expecting to hear.

“He charged me with a knife, it was self de-”

“Nonsense Tommy! You could have simply knocked him out, anything but shoot him! He was an innocent man Thomas!”

Tommy sighed, he knew there was no winning this. “You’re right, and I apologize for my mistake.”

John and Arthur looked at each other with wide eyes, Tommy apologized?

“Thank you, but your apology is not accepted, but I do believe we're even.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed, even? How were you even?

This caught Johns interest too, “Even? How do you mean?”

You smirked at all of them and they became concerned, what had you done?

“On your way here, hope you all had a nice trip by the way, I sent two of my women to your town. I told them to do exactly as you did, but add some Viper charm to it. They took my beloved snake Ebony with them, and they allowed her to pick an innocent man, like you had.”

Tommy was definitely confused now, where was this going?

“She did amazing, really. She struck an innocent man in the streets. And I would say that right about now,” you checked your watch, “her venom is kicking in, and he is dying a slow and painful death.” You looked up at the three, flashing them an innocent smile.

“You fucking crazy bitch! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!” Arthur lunged for you across your desk, Tommy and John trying to stop him.

He grabbed your gun that you left on the table and pointed it straight to your face. All you did was smirk at him.

Tommy pleadingly begged Arthur to put the gun down, but you held up your hand to stop him. He looked at you like you were crazy. Which to be fair, you were.

“Go on Arthur,” you pressed your head closer to the barrel, “I know you want to. Why don’t you pull it, huh? Do the world a favor and get rid of a crazy bitch like me.”

Arthur stared in your eyes, looking for any sign of fear. He found none. He thought about it for a moment, should he do it? After all, the world would be a better place.

He smiled, and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened, his smile fell when he heard you laughing. He opened the barrel to the gun and found that there were no bullets, you had played him. He backed away and fell back in his chair when you got up. You pulled a gun from the waistband of your trousers and pointed it towards him, shooting a shot that whizzed by his head so he knew this one was full. John flinched, and Tommy reached for his own gun.

You pointed your gun at John and then back at Arthur, “You two, get out. I want to speak to Thomas. Alone.”

They both got up and scurried out the door like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. You put your gun away which was a sign for Tommy too as well, and you both sat down.

“Now Thomas, lets talk about business, yeah?”

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

Almost an hour later you and Tommy had finally come to terms and made a small business deal. It wasn’t anything big, but it was a start. Tommy still sat in front of you, drinking his whiskey that you had poured him. Oddly enough he had grown to like you.

Strangely, so had you.

Tommy put out his cigarette and pointed his drink in your direction, “What’re you doing this Friday y/n?”

You pretended to check your agenda, and smiled at Tommy. “Well, hopefully I’ll being going on a date with a very handsome man.”

He smiled up at you “He must be quite handsome for you to agree.”

“That he is Tommy. How about you?”

He smirked at you through the rim of his drink, “Oh you know, I’m going on a date with one crazy bitch.”

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

I hope you like it @imthebadguyyy !! Although, I low key hated it😂😂

Have a great day darlings!!❤️❤️❤️

Let me know if y’all want to be added to the taglist!!

@nothingleftthaticando @shadowfoxey

[nine-blessed-hero]

Self-Indulgent Modern AU

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion - Modern/ Everyone Lives AU CW: Swearing, canon-typical violence Words: 7,951 Context: Instead of, y’know, writing The Ruby Falls, I have instead been daydreaming about what I’m calling the Self-Indulgent Modern AU - the version of the Modern AU where Martin is Aderyn’s father... and therefore she’s a Septim. Fair warning, I'm not sure if I consider this finished or not, but it came to a nice final point. So, we'll see. Available on AO3 Tagging: @mishkakagehishka @strosmkai-rum @arcane-elder-scrolls​ @bread-of-death

It starts with the Red Diamond – the Key to the Septim's Vault in which lies Numidium.

As soon as it's placed in her hands, still warm from Uriel's palm, it becomes the most important object in her universe. Uriel's words, "the future is in your hands", are taken literally, and the Red Diamond becomes something she has the burden of protecting, in the interest of protecting the future.

When the stone is taken from Jauffre, she's every bit as angry and guilt-ridden as he is. The vicious joy of lifting it, still warm, from Mankar Camoran's corpse is unmatched.

Then Martin shatters it, and it shatters her. The future, as Uriel prescribed, is gone; spread into a million scarlet pieces on the CEO's office floor. The pieces are gathered, sticky with Martin and Mehrunes' blood, shoved into a bag, shoved into an empty coffee can, solved into a corner of her Land Rover, and... not forgotten about, per se, but not acknowledged. Not commented on, the subject swiftly avoided if brought up in conversation.

Martin gets better. He wakes up from the coma. Aderyn goes to see him, gets as far as his hospital ward, and stops. He shattered the Key. He shattered the future that was entrusted to her. He may have performed the act, but she was the cause of it. No one's said anything, it never comes up in conversation during those long dark weeks where Martin's still asleep, but Aderyn knows, it was her actions, her screwup, that destroyed something good. Martin is the only person who knows, firsthand, how badly she screwed up, and she can't stand the thought of how he'll look at her now.

She drops off the face of the Earth.

The Fox knows people who know people, and Aderyn winds up in Germany, Red Teaming for a company whose name translates out to "The Corner Club". (Ariahnod receives a postcard each week from places she's never heard of, confirming her daughter's continued health). It takes a few months, but she stops being the taciturn girl the Crisis made her. She talks, she laughs, she learns to swear and order alcohol in the myriad languages of Europe. 

The coffee can is dragged out of its dusty cubby. The blood, now dried, is washed from the shards. Epoxy is acquired, and so begins the most infuriating jigsaw puzzle.

People help, that's the part that surprises Aderyn the most. When she has friends over for drinks and dinner, they poke at the shards, find parts that match, place them carefully together and set them aside for her to glue together later. They don't understand the puzzle, but they're invested in her success (the partner of a cousin of a colleague, a woman she met exactly once, hails her on the street and asks if it's done yet). They don't know, and she doesn't explain, they're helping her glue the future back together. She deeply appreciates it.

Eventually, the Red Diamond is as complete as it's going to be. She takes it to a jeweller and has it set in a gold mount. It lays on her chest, warm from her skin, and for the first time in four months, Aderyn switches on her phone. The most recent message is a text from Baurus: It's my birthday in two weeks. We're having the old crew over for dinner. It would be good to see you again.

Aderyn mentions it in passing to her manager. Within a week, she finds herself standing on the front step of a London townhouse, magnum of champagne in hand, having been requisitioned by the Grey Fox for a job suspiciously close by. The Diamond is stuffed into a pocket – she's sure no one will want to see the reminder of her failure.

Dinner is... fine. No one mentions she's been incommunicado for four months – it's all the same camaraderie as if they'd never left Cloud Ruler. Fortis asks about the gold chain hanging from her pocket, prods and teases until she snaps at him in German to eat a bag of dicks. Caroline finds this hilarious; when it's translated, so does Fortis. 

In the break between dinner and present opening, Aderyn sneaks into the garden for a cigarette. Jena joins her and gently asks to see the hidden item. The Diamond is reluctantly revealed. Jena runs her fingers over it like she can't quite believe it's real, hands it back with a smile and damp eyes.

There's a hesitant cough from the kitchen door. They look up to find Martin standing there. "He's about to start the presents," he says. Jena squeezes Aderyn's shoulder and goes inside. Martin has to step aside to let her pass, and the door swings closed after her, leaving just the two of them in the garden. The diamond seems to blaze in the night. 

"Is that..." he asks. "I'm sorry. You weren't- I'll put it away..." Aderyn says, but then he's in front of her. "Unless you... want it?"

Martin takes it from her unresisting hands, holds it up and examines it. He shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. You've done a good job fixing it up." He places it around her neck, where it settles, warm, on her chest. "I'm glad you came back."

~*~*~*~

It starts with Ariahnod Griffiths (née Williams, née Griffiths), and Martin Septim (née Smith).

In between her work for the Grey Fox, Aderyn protects Martin. It's taken another month or so to adjust to being back in his and Baurus' lives, and Martin is still adjusting to being a CEO. Ocato has pressured Martin to attend a party that he's maybe not quite ready to attend. Aderyn has gone along as backup hands. It's needed when Martin is overwhelmed and the Blades decide to take him home. She and Jauffre are left to patch things over.

Aderyn is supposed to be staying overnight at Martin & Baurus' place, but she's been drinking. Jauffre tells her to get her overnight bag from her car, and he'll drive her back.

She doesn't make it.

Someone has planted a bomb under her classic Ferrari, and it's sheer dumb luck she isn't inside the thing when it blows. Aderyn winds up in hospital. Ariahnod walks through the doors of the hospital suite, takes one look at Martin, and a screaming match ensues. Baurus, ever the peacemaker, separates irate Mother from confused ex-Priest.

Over a coffee in the hospital cafeteria he asks the inevitable, How does Ariahnod know Martin?

She knew him in University, Ariahnod says. A few years older than her, smooth talker, not really the studious type, gave his degree as "studying the philosophy of anatomy". Baurus is confused, so Ariahnod elaborates: Martin is one of four men who could be Aderyn's biological father (there were some women too, but there's less chance they're a parent). Aderyn doesn't know and Ariahnod has no plans to tell her – she seems quite happy believing that Robert Williams, the bricklayer from Brighton, is her father.

Baurus, of course, knows about Party!Marti. Not in explicit detail, but enough. Even so, it concerns him that neither potential Father nor potential Daughter knows about this. He wants to tell them, but Ariahnod is adamant – Aderyn doesn't need another father in her life. Baurus tells her that ship left port a long time ago and has since circumnavigated the globe.

When Aderyn is better, Baurus leaves the hospital with a new secret, and Ariahnod leaves with a lot to think about.

~*~ This is all canon so far, but this is where things diverge. ~*~

It starts again with the Red Diamond. 

Today is a bad day, a board meeting of Tamriel Industries has blown up into a full-on political argument; the Blades have taken Martin to the nearest park to 'get some air'. A bad day turns into a worse day when a splinter group of the Mythic Dawn attack. Aderyn and Roliand are covering Martin's retreat, and somehow the pair of them get separated. 

Her fight is going fine until the Red Diamond slips from under her shirt. The Agent of Dawn steps back, eyes wide.  "You carry the Key," he says. "So it is true – you are a Septim Brat."  Aderyn is too flabbergasted to respond.  Then the Agent's eyes narrow. "With both you and the Key, we can finally honour Lord Dagon." Anger flares through Aderyn. "The fuck you will!" But before she can act, the Agent of Dawn is tased. The police have shown up.

She elects not to put what the Agent of Dawn said into her official report and statement. It's irrelevant, really. The ravings of a madman. She tries to forget it.

~*~*~*~

A week later, the Agent of Dawn's words are still itching their way through her head. An unfriendly reminder of something her father, Bob the bricklayer from Brighton, once said at the height of an argument keeps joining it: "I wish I'd never agreed to take you on". 

It's foolish to entertain the notion that Martin, not Bob, is her actual, biological father. What are the odds? Microscopic, that's what. The Mythic Dawn are just confused because she's half his age and they share a close bond.

But it still can't stop her asking, one day over breakfast, "Marti, hypothetically speaking, how would you feel if you found out I was your daughter?"

Baurus chokes on his cornflakes. Martin nearly spills his tea. Pelagius starts to exclaim something, but the rookie he's training smartly shoves a hand over his mouth.

"What, dearest," Martin says, delicately setting down his tea, "has brought this on?" "I dunno. 'S just a thought," Aderyn mumbles into her coffee. "Nevermind. Forget it."

Baurus leaves the room, presumably to change into something not covered by milk and cereal.

Martin is silent as he finishes his tea. Aderyn thinks he's forgotten about it, as requested. Until they are taking the dirty dishes back into the kitchen when he pauses in the middle of filling the dishwasher.

"Aderyn?" She stops rifling through the snack drawer. "Nothing would change. You do know that? I would still care about you the same way I do now." He contemplates a moment. "Actually, no: I think I would worry more." "Really?" "Really really."

Aderyn launches herself across the kitchen to hug him, so full of feelings, they leak from her eyes.

~*~*~*~

The next incident is a month later. She's in Southampton with Methredhel. They've just finished a site consultation and are on their way back to the car to visit Uncle Modryn when Aderyn is attacked. 

They're walking down an alley - dark brick and dirty paving. Two men are coming towards her and Methredhel. They split, such that the women are forced to walk between them. Aderyn's hackles are already raised. Then, as she passes them, one grabs at the chain around her neck. She plants a foot on the man's inner knee and pushes. At the same time, she feels a burning sting down her arm and Methredhel is screaming, "Get away from her, fuckhead!"

The man Aderyn has kicked cries out, but his grip doesn't loosen. In a moment of savagery, she bites his hand. He releases his grip with a startled yell. Behind her, there's a dull thud and a masculine shout. Aderyn doesn't need to turn to know that Methredhel has smacked Goon #2 with her very solid and tool-filled handbag.

Aderyn backs up, pulling a small can of aerosolised grease from her utility belt. Beside her, Methredhel is pulling out a mace spray. The two men turn tail and run. Methredhel swears at the men's backs in what Aderyn assumes to be Hindi, and she has to pull Methredhel away from the scene.

By the time they get back to the car, Methredhel is shaking (so is Aderyn, but she ignores it better). They climb in, and Aderyn plies Methredhel with a handful of sweets then starts to call in the attack.

To: jeNNAAAH! From: Pizza is not a vegetable Code black - actual. MD made a grab for the Diamond

"Oh my god, you're bleeding," Methredhel says suddenly. Aderyn looks down at the nice slash mark from her bicep to her elbow. "Oh," she says. "'Oh'? 'Oh'!" is Methredhel's incensed response. "Fuck you and your fucking 'oh'."

"It's not that bad, 'Hel. I'll get to it in a moment. I've got to call this in," Aderyn says, but Methredhel is already clambering into the back of the Land Rover to fetch out the first aid kit. Aderyn sighs and finishes the text, letting Jena know that she and Methredhel are fine.

There's a lot of kerfuffle about a tiny scratch. When they get to Uncle Modryn's, Methredhel submits a police report and Aunt Sabine fusses over Aderyn's arm. When they get back to London, Jauffre is waiting for Aderyn and demands a full report. Breakfast is interrupted by the Rookie, Garrus, announcing Captain Lex has arrived.

"Oh, Christ no-" "Language..." "Tell him I ain't here, leave a message and I'll get back to him never." "I'm glad to hear you still hold me in such high regard." "Fuck!-" "Language!" "-You coulda told me here was here-here." "Sorry, marm..."

Lex is here, it transpires, because Aderyn's name was flagged from Methredhel's report. And where Aderyn is, the Mythic Dawn is also, and they've become an unintentional pet project for Lex. He also wants chapter and verse about what happened, the incident before too, and to be kept in the loop if there're any more incidents. Aderyn makes vague promissory noises; Jauffre wholeheartedly agrees.

~*~*~*~

The next incident is nearly three months later. Aderyn is at a security conference in Düsseldorf, where she's been invited to speak. She and a friend from the Corner Club, Sottilde, have been up late chatting and gone out to a fast food joint. Sottilde has gone to the loo and Aderyn is gazing out of the window, nibbling on a chip, when a van rocks into the car park. Not so unusual. But then it takes two laps around the car park, despite it being two am and nearly empty, and stops three spaces down from her land rover. Out climb four men. They are far too interested in Aderyn's car for her liking – nosing around, peering through the windows. She sighs – she misses the days when the Mythic Dawn were easy to spot in their red body armour; now she has to go by instinct alone.

"Does that door lock?" she asks the boy at the counter in German. He looks startled. "Yes?" "Good. Lock it." He dithers. The men outside have satisfied themselves that Aderyn is here and are making their way towards the shop. "Now!"

As he scurries to do her command, Aderyn moves into the bathroom.

"Sottilde?" "Yes?" comes her voice from the far stall. "There's, ah... A problem I need to deal with. Out front. Can you stay in the toilet?" The loo flushes. "What?" Sottilde asks, coming out of the stall. "What problem?" "Some people who don't like me much have shown up." There's a noise from the shop. "Please. Stay here." Sottilde growls. "You think I'm some barbie girl? Let's send them packing." She stalks past Aderyn.

In the small, overbright restaurant, they can see the men rattling the doors. They don't look very secure, and Aderyn starts dragging a table over. Sottilde picks up the other end.

"Sol, I don't think you're a barbie girl, whatever the fuck that means, but these are serious fucking bastards. Please, just stay in the back." "No. There are four of them and only one of you. I will not stand by." They shove the table against the doors. "Let me handle it!" "No!"

There is a sharp retort from the door. Cracks spiderweb out from where an Agent of Dawn has shot the door. He's lining up another. Both women high-tail it over the counter, where the boy is already hiding.

"Is there a backdoor?" Aderyn asks him. He nods, and points.  "What's your name?" "Sebastian." "Sebastian, call the police."

The boy nods and reaches for the handset on the wall. Sottilde is already heading to the back and Aderyn hurries after her.

"Sol, wait!" she calls. "You don't- Stop!" But Sottilde has already wrenched open the heavy fire escape. Gunshots sound. Sottilde screams. Aderyn leaps forward to slam it shut again.

"Guess we're not going out that way..."

Aderyn finds the first aid box, patches Sottilde up, and drags a barrel in front of the door.

When they return to the front, the boy holds the phone out  "She wants to speak to you," he says. Aderyn takes the phone. "Yes?" "My name is Miriam, I'm the dispatcher for your call. Sebastian said you were in charge? Whom am I speaking with?"

Aderyn gives a rundown of who she and Sottilde are, what their situation is, and why the men outside want her. The line is silent just a little too long after she's done, and when the woman speaks again, it's with a touch of awe in her voice. But she remains professional, makes no mention of the title Aderyn hates so much.

"The police will be with you in twenty minutes. The paramedics cannot have access until the police have made the area safe." "Understood."

They transfer the call to Aderyn's mobile which she links to an earbud. All her weapons are in the car. "Sebastian, I need a broom." He points to a mop and bucket. "Will that do?" "Perfect." She snaps the mop head from the wooden handle. "The police will be here soon. We've just got to hang on. Is there a storage room?" Sebastian nods. "Good. I want you to hide in there and stay until the police come." "Vögelchen," spits Sottilde. Aderyn isn't sure when they stopped using German, but it doesn't matter. There's a crash from the door. One of the Agents of Dawn is climbing through. There isn't time to argue. "Hide," Aderyn says, and vaults over the counter with her broom handle.

"Miriam, just out of interest, what's the law on reasonable force here?" "Broad. You said they have guns. What do you have?" "A stick." Silence. "I would not have thought I would need to wish the Hero of Kvatch 'good luck'." "The Hero of Kvatch always needs better sodding luck."

Goon #1 and #2 go down easily enough. Goon #3 reminds her she's been at a conference since nine am the previous day, and it's now three in the fucking morning, and she's just fought two other burly blokes.

Goon #4 is... just waiting. Unnervingly so.

Not that it matters because Goon #3 is kicking her ass.

"May as well give in now," says Goon #3, after a particularly brutal kick has sent her to the floor. "We will take you, Septim. We will have Lord Dagon's revenge." "Stop. Calling me. Septim," she grinds out, rising. 

It's unfair. With every utterance, they add kindling to the tiny, idiot part of her that desperately wants this to be true. That she's actually related to someone good, and honest, and kind. That it's sweetness and light that runs in her veins, and not vileness and hate. Martin is the best person she's ever known, and secretly she would adore being his real daughter. But she's not. It's an impossibility. And it's unfair they keep reminding her of that.

Anger stokes the waning adrenaline. Goon #3 isn't out, but he is almost down. Then #4 steps in. She's nearly down herself. A blow to the face splits her cheek, and she's leaning heavily on the makeshift staff.

They're boxing her into a corner. A jab here, a parry there. She doesn't think anything's broken, but she's exhausted. The police are almost there, Miriam says. They might be too late.

"Do you think we would fight so hard," says #4, "if we weren't sure you were the child of Martin Septim?"

"I know what it says on my birth certificate! My father is scum, who cheats his customers and cheats on his wife! Martin is not my father!"

"We had your blood checked." The goon grins and licks her blood from his first. "Septim red-drink is the sweetest of all."

Aderyn thinks she's going to throw up. The sweat on her skin feels like it freezes instantly, and dizzying nausea grips her. #3 is grinning too, and they're almost on her. She's so fucking fuc-

The men crumple.

Plastic chairs don't splinter, like in the movies. They just deform slightly. Sottilde and Sebastian stand behind the crumpled goons, holding wonky plastic chairs. In German, Sottilde tells the Agents of Dawn to eat a bag of dicks.

~*~*~*~

"They're wrong!" Aderyn slams her hands on the conference room table. She's been back in England two days before Director Preston summons everyone to a meeting at the Priory. She's at one end of the long table, Preston at the other. It feels like everyone else in her life is arrayed against her.

"Two witnesses and the dispatcher confirmed what's said on the recording is accurate," says Hieronymus Lex. It's been pointed out that Aderyn omitted this information in her police statement and Blades' report. Her excuse that she forgot is starting to come apart.

"The Mythic Dawn are wrong," she corrects. "Dearest, what if-" Martin tries. "No. Listen. I know who's listed on my birth certificate-" "Do you?" murmurs Baurus. "-and I'm sorry, but neither of them are you." She can't help but spit it. Martin pales, misunderstanding where the venom in her voice comes from.

"We all heard what was said on the recording," Captain Lex says. "It's worth investigating."

"They're lying!"

"At the very least," says Preston, "we should assign someone to your protection."

"I don't need a fucking bodyguard! We can't afford to take personnel away from where it's really needed." She waves towards Martin.

"They're going to keep trying, Aderyn," Jena says. She's using the Calm Big Sister voice, and today it rankles. "Whether they're right or-"

Aderyn straightens. "You're going to believe a bunch of deranged blood-drinkers over me?" She tears the Red Diamond from her neck, slams it on the table. "After everything I've fucking done for this, you're calling me the liar?"

The Grey Fox stands up. "That is enough." His tone sends the room temperature plummeting. You could hang icicles off his words. It's the tone that says 'you go too far', the tone that warns she's on the verge of losing her job. It's the tone that would usually have her shaking in her boots, would make her sit down, shut up and put up. But she's too wound up, too scared, masking her fear with too much anger.

"You're goddamned fucking right it is."

Every door in the Priory slams as she passes through them on her way to her car. Martin, ever loyal, ever faithful, follows her down.

"Where are you going?" "Anywhere that ain't fucking here!"

~*~*~*~

She turns her phone off and hurls it into the back of the Land Rover, picks a direction and drives.

This is worse than the last time she left, Aderyn knows. She may not have said it, but she wonders if Preston and the Fox heard the 'I quit' in her voice. She wonders if she has a job anymore. Doesn't matter, says the anger. She doesn't need any of them, doesn't need any of this shit. She's fine on her own, always has been. All she needs is a full tank of fuel, the open road, and a direction.

After an hour or so, she finds herself on the M4, heading West, to the Welsh border. The Land Rover, like a mare confident in her rider's tics and quirks, knows where she needs to be and who she needs to talk to. Past the Severn, she goes North and climbs the first reasonably tall hill she finds. She stops at a triangulation point, staring out at the dark, undulating mounds ahead. The world is empty, up here. Civilization, the hustle of a city, is safely distant. The anger that has been on a constant low boil since she left the Priory comes back full force, and she screams, long and loud, into the rain-spiked wind. A dozen sheep go careening away, the only witness to her rage. She screams again, the frustration of a kestrel with her wings clipped. Her independence was hard won, fought against Bob, against her mother, Ariahnod, against a world that didn't give two shits about her destitute, Eurotrash arse. And now she'll have to do it all over again, against Jauffre and Lex, and the goddamned piss-faced cunts of the Mythic Dawn. The screams turn into sobs, great heaving things, that leave her like a marionette with its strings cut, crumpled at the foot of the triangulation plinth as she weeps herself into oblivion.

The sky was low when she got there, late afternoon. Now it's lit by a half-moon, and she's being woken by doggy kisses. Aderyn groans and pushes the fuzzy snout away. The Colly backs up, sends three pitched barks out into the night, before returning to her curled form and sticking it's cold wet nose in places where a cold wet nose should not be.

"F'off," she says, sitting up.

The dog backs up and barks at her expectantly. When she doesn't move, it darts back in, nosing at her legs.

"Alright! God. Stop herding me." Aderyn stands. She's as cold as the ninth level of hell, stiffer than a shot of Celtic Poteen, and feels like she's been on a 4-day bender.

A shrill whistle cuts the air, and the dog stops harrying her.

A lilting Valleys accent greets her. "Ah, you're alive. Good. I hate filling out the paperwork for a body." A woman in a waxed coat, tall and handsome as the mountains, is watching her. The shepherdess holds out a hand.  "Isolde Jones. This is Sylwgar. He's very good at finding lost little lambs."

Aderyn introduces herself through chattering teeth. Isolde takes her to the shepherd's hut nearby and plies her with black tea that's like molasses and a large tot of brandy. They talk into the night about why Aderyn came up here in the first place, scared Isolde's sheep, and then thought it was a good idea to fall asleep on an exposed mountainside in November. After hearing the tale of woe, Isolde decides Aderyn might have a point and packs her down with a blanket to sleep in front of the fire with the dog. In the morning she's sent off with a few griddle cakes for breakfast and told to take care of herself better.

By lunchtime, Aderyn has reached the Valleys village her mother moved to. Ariahnod says she just wants a quiet life now, and here she has it, taking stock photos of the beautiful Welsh countryside. 

"Hello?" Aderyn calls as she knocks on the door and walks in. The cottage is tiny but not cluttered. Exposed beams and whitewashed walls create a sense of cosy history.

"In the kitchen," Ariahnod calls. Aderyn follows her nose through the cottage, following the scent of bread.

"Helo, cariad." Ariahnod stands, short auburn hair fluttering in a breeze, and embraces her daughter. "Cyfarchion, Mam." Ariahnod tuts. "Too formal. You didn't get very far with your lessons, did you?" They sit down at the table, where lunch has been spread out: a thick doorstep loaf, local-churned butter, gammon ham and pickles, Bara Brith, and strong tea.

They talk about everything and nothing as they eat. Then, as Aderyn is finishing her tea, Ariahnod says, "So. You never visit me. What's made you come by now?"

The problem, Aderyn knows, with being intuitive in your methods, is that sometimes the subconscious doesn't let on to the conscious mind what the hell it's up to. As much as she likes to anthropomorphize her car, she knows it was her subconscious that brought her here. Aderyn opens her mouth and waits for the explanation to fall out.

"Do you know where my birth certificate is?" Ariahnod twitches at its mention, and when she speaks, it's dismissive. "It's probably in the roof. Lots of things got slung up there when I moved." Then, suspiciously, "Why?" Again, Aderyn hopes her brain's got something up its sleeve. "The Blades need a copy. We got a new HR bod, and they're looking through everyone's records." Her mother raises an eyebrow. "I didn't ask why. It's HR. You do as you're told, yeah?" Aderyn gives a half smile. Sometimes, she thinks, it should concern her how easily she lies to her mother.

Ariahnod huffs. "Access hatch is above the hall, there. Ladder's in the garden shed." She starts clearing the dishes away, her manner brusque, which makes Aderyn wonder.

Still. She fetches the ladder, goes into the loft, spends the cold, drizzly afternoon sorting through boxes until she finds a battered Roses tin with her name on it. The packing tape which sealed it has long since dried and come apart, the way tape is wont to do after 20-odd years. Aderyn pulls the lantern closer and balances on the beam. She pauses. She could put it back, pretend she never found it, go back to London and live with being attacked every other month until Jauffre forces her hand. But she's never been one to be dictated to. She opens the tin. There are baby pics, grainy with age. A passport photo of her on her mother's lap, bold blue eyes staring at the camera under her mother's green. A doctor's card listing vital statistics and vaccinations. Her hospital armband, not much bigger than a £2 coin. It lists her as 'Griffiths', which isn't surprising – her parents weren't married yet. Some milk teeth and locks of hair, already golden orange. Under all this – the paraphernalia acquired by a newborn – is a flimsy sheet of paper, folded into quarters. Aderyn tugs this out, places the tin aside. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the paper. She scans the details, surprised that her place of birth is Newport, not Southampton as she thought. A chill grips her as she finds the space for the father's name blank.

"Mum?" Aderyn walks into the kitchen, clutching the birth certificate. 

Ariahnod is sat at the pine table. Two cups of tea and two chasers of clear liquor are already on the table. Aderyn puts the paper on the table, next to her mother. She feels stiff and robotic, all thoughts on ice.

"Explain."

Ariahnod takes the paper, uncreases a folded corner, and sighs. "I don't know who your real father is." 

Ariahnod goes on to explain about her wild Uni days, about how none of the four men who she slept with would agree to a paternity test – Martin included. She went home. Her parents – Aderyn's Nan and Grandpa of whom she's never heard of, much less met – wanted her to give up the baby. Ariahnod wouldn't do it. 

19 years old, homeless and with a babe-in-arms, she turns to family friend Modryn Oreyn, currently living on base at the Marine Camp in Poole. He's due on rotation soon; the house will be empty. She's introduced to the other families on-base as his sister. He's nearly ten years older than she is and they look nothing alike, but no one says anything. Ariahnod goes on the dole, and things are hard, but they get through.

When Aderyn is two, Ariahnod meets Robert Williams, the bricklayer from Brighton. She's at a supermarket, Aderyn is colicky and screaming the place down. Ariahnod is trying to juggle a bottle of milk that's up too high and a trolly and a screaming infant... The milk is the thing that gives. It explodes, covering mother and babe and every other fucking thing in a five-foot radius. Bob comes to her rescue. He's so sweet and kind, gentle, calm, and confident. He makes her feel special and not a fuck-up. They exchange numbers and part ways.

By the time Modryn returns from his rotation, Ariahnod has decided that Bob is The One, and is making plans to move out to be nearer where Bob is working. Modryn does not like Bob; but he wants Ariahnod to be happy and Aderyn to have stability, so he keeps his trap shut, and prepares to be there if things go south. Ariahnod and Bob move in together on an estate in Southampton. When Aderyn is five, the adoption papers go through, and they're married.

"And, well. You were there for the rest." Ariahnod shrugs. "Legally, Bob is still your Dad, just not your biological father."

Aderyn takes her shot of poteen, down in one.

It's a lot. Too much maybe. She stays the night in the cottage, then drives North, to the Brecons. There she spends some quality time brooding up a mountain, before driving west, to the dramatic coast at Fishguard and Cardigan Bay. Brooding by the empty Irish Sea does as much good as brooding up a mountain, and so she drives south and east, to the Forest of Dean. But the trees do not soothe her either, and she's running out of dramatic terrain. She stays North and East; Worcester, Birmingham, Notts, Lincoln, the Wolds. She rocks up finally in Grimsby, on the banks of the Humber, having run out of land. Short of driving around to Hull and getting on a boat bound for Belgium, she's not going any further. 

Aderyn hates to leave a question unanswered. She's coming to terms with the past and what Ariahnod told her, but it still hasn't answered the pivotal question. Aderyn can't go back to Martin, back to whatever life remains there for her, without knowing if he really is her father. 

Orange glare lights up the dark fleecy sky, making the twilight hazy. The rough voices of fishers and industrial noise settles into the background. Water sloups against the crenellated, rusting dockside, sending up the tang of brine and dead fish. The air sits clammy on her skin. 

Somehow, it's more of a balm than tree and mountain, and it's there, between the darkling water and the sodium-lit fish sheds, she finds her way forward. There's only one true way to get the answer she needs, only one way she can do it without involving anyone else. Her path lies South, to London and the White-Gold Tower at the heart of the Septim dynasty.

~*~*~*~

It's too easy to get to the Vault; Aderyn is pissed off by this, but it's a secondary concern right now. She uses an exploit Carwen found to access Martin's calendar without leaving any footprints, picks a time when he's scheduled to be in a long meeting away from the CEO's office. Down the A1, and into London. She leaves the Landy on the outskirts, uses cash to buy her ticket for the Tube, takes the backway into the building, keeps her head down and carries a box past the loading bay security. She's cloned her credentials, changed all the identifying fields to NULL, and she uses this to get up to the last stationery room before the office. There she grabs a manilla file folder, stuffing it with blank paper. Now is the part where it might go wrong. In the corridor to the CEO's office, Aderyn peeks around the corner. There's a Rookie at the door standing on her own, a tall, well-built woman with black hair, Alex- something. Fortis must be close by, which means she needs to hurry.

Aderyn straightens up, holding the file like a shield, and strides to the door, credentials already in hand.

Alexis(?) comes to attention. "Marm," she stutters out. "I wasn't aware you were back." "I'd appreciate it if it stayed that way. I'm just dropping a... note to Martin." Aderyn stops and looks away, face creased. Then she sniffs and rubs her nose as if her eyes are wet. "More personal than an email. Easier than a conversation." She gives Alexandrea(?) a tight smile. "Of course, marm." The woman swipes Aderyn in using her Blades credentials and doesn't bother checking Aderyn's. Something else to add to the list. "I may be a little while. I thought of some things I want to add on the way up." "Of course, marm."

Inside the office, Aderyn heads straight for Martin's desk inside the glass partition. She scribbles the items she's noticed on the paper, adding an illustration to a post-it note stuck to the folder. It's supposed to be a raptor sitting on a branch – it looks more like a penguin. Then she does the complicated little dance that takes her, unseen by security, to the vault. No way around the camera pointing at it, she just has to pray no one is looking.

The vault is a formidable thing. Dark steel, a foot thick, only accessible by the sleek, light grey console beside it. She's seen Martin use it once, watched the little lights turn green as it had confirmed his parentage by iris and blood markers. They'd tried the Key too, but whatever fragile design was etched inside it is too broken now; the vault can never be opened.

She takes a breath, lets it out long and slow like she's pulling a trigger, and places her hand inside the sleeve of plastic. There is a pinprick. A drop of cooling blood slides down the pad of her finger into the analyser. Her eyes are glued to the confirmation panel, as the seconds tick slowly by. 

The light turns green.

She has to force her knees to lock.

For absolute surety, she places her eyes on the scanner. A light flashes in her vision, and she withdraws, just in time to see the second light turn green.

For a long moment, she can't move. Then, abandoning all pretence, Aderyn leaves the office. She gives Alexa(?) some genial salutation, and leaves via the front, straight into the nearest pub.

Aderyn hasn't thought this far ahead. She assumed the lights would turn red. She has no sodding idea what she's supposed to do now.

~*~*~*~

Hieronymus Lex finds her on the same bar stool three hours later. He sits down on the stool next to her, and with half a brain cell, Aderyn notes he's in uniform.

"Griffiths." "Piss off, pig."

Lex motions to the bartender that she's had enough. He lets her finish her current drink though, which is nice, considering.

"I assume you drove here. Where did you leave your car? I'll drive you home." "Finchley."

She can feel Lex is giving her some kind of look, but she just takes another sip of her drink. "The other-side-of-the-City Finchley?" "Yup." A sigh. "What exactly was your plan here?"

Aderyn shrugs. "Go back to the car, sleep it off. See Marti and B when I'm sober?" She finally looks over at the copper. "I ain't going back to Martin piss-drunk like this, got it?"

They enter a staring contest. 

Eventually, Lex huffs and looks away, enunciating in beautiful Essex diction, "Fuck!"

Lex ends up taking her back to his place. It's exactly like she imagines a copper's place to look like. Neat, ordered, minimalistic. She's set up on the sofa, painkillers and water and a bucket close to hand.

"If you throw up on anything besides that bucket, you're paying to have it cleaned." Aderyn waves an uncoordinated hand. "Fine."

Lex drags a chair over. "What happened to you?" he asks, elbows on knees. Aderyn closes her eyes.  "Do you know how much wrath I'm risking by not announcing you're here? The least you can do is give me some details."

He has a carriage clock on his mantle. Its tock resounds in the silence.

"Went and saw me mam. Found out I've been lied to. My entire bloody life. And I had to find out from the Mythic fucking Dawn. Martin's-" She stops. "He's got a one-fourth chance of being my bio dad." "You were gone nearly a fortnight." "Had a lot to think about, didn't I?"

He leaves her alone then, curled in the not-quite dark on a sofa that smells of musk, to contemplate what comes next.

~*~*~*~

She's greeted by hugs and worried, weepy eyes. There's a lot of palaver. Some of the Blades have come up from the Priory. "You owe me several drinks, Rook." This from Jena. Roliand squashes her in a bear hug. Baragorn tells her a place and time when she is having a medical. Ferrum says it's been too long since they all went out. Then she tells Martin the four words everyone dreads – "We need to talk".

They go up to Martin's office.

"I... I was wrong," she says. "According to my Mum, there's a one-fourth chance you're my father." She relays some of what Ariahnod told her. Martin nods along, his expression contrite.

"I was not an especially nice person back then," he says. "Too inflamed with greed and the power that seduction brings." Aderyn has guessed about his party days. There have been hints and broad mentions of it in the time she's known him, but he's never explicitly admitted to being the man he was then; at least not to her. Now he speaks of the Dionysus-esque cult he was part of; of some of the frankly horrific things he was party to. "I remember your mother very clearly. She seemed wild and unbroken. And, back then, I liked a... challenge." He goes on to mention Ariahnod's revelation she was pregnant. "You know, I'd always thought I'd hallucinated it. I was on acid, and there was a dragon in the tree behind her which was rather distracting." He huffs out something that could be an ironic laugh. "No wonder she slapped me."

They each take a long drink of tea.

"I suppose the question is," Martin says, "what do you want to do now?"

Aderyn's gaze finds the shelf of knick-knacks and fixes on a bottle filled with coloured sand. He continues, "I'm more than happy to have a test done. If that's what you want. Or not. You know. In case..." In case the result isn't what they want. She should tell him about the vault.  She opens her mouth, but what falls out is, "Do you- D'you want to be my Dad?" She looks back. His eyes are soft, his smile gentle.  "I seem to already be acting like it," Martin says. "Do you want to be my Daughter?" The world takes on a wobbly haze. Her voice squeaks out around the sudden lump that forms. "Yes." His shoulders relax. "Well then. That's settled." His smile broadens. "No testing required." Aderyn swallows, mouth dry, smile wonky. "Yeah. Sure. No testing."

~*~*~*~

Life continues, more or less, as it was.

Martin and Aderyn decide not to appeal her adoption order to Bob the bricklayer. It's a lot of stress and hassle, a lawyer tells them, for a process that has little chance of success. Baurus still calls her 'little bird', but now there's something lighter in his face when he does.

Jauffre is overjoyed, inasmuch the hoary old goat is ever joyful. He rules that, since Aderyn has no Septim blood, she can keep her position in the Blades. The implication that he would revoke her status as a Blade is all that stops Aderyn from admitting what the Vault showed. He's still concerned about Mythic Dawn attacks, but he's far more relaxed about Aderyn's assertion she can handle it.

Armand gives her a damned strong talking to and the Fox doesn't talk to her for nearly a fortnight, but she gets to keep that job too.

There's been no movement from the Agents of Dawn. 

She has two parents who don't treat her like a burden, actual friends – not mere acquaintances – who enjoy her company, two jobs she adores, and a reason to keep bungeeing back to the same home. Everything is settling into a life that Aderyn is proud to have.

It lasts four months.

~*~*~*~

The rookies – Alexine, Garrus, and Christophe – have completed their training and are now full Blades. As tradition dictates, they have been taken down to the local pub for a pissup. There is a fair group of them, as they stagger and sway down the lanes at midnight towards the barn they'll be bivouacking in. Christophe and Ferrum lead the merrily inebriated, Achilles, Fortis, and Garrus just behind. Roliand, Jena, and Pelagius follow them up. Aderyn and Alexine trail at the back.

Alexine is the one that saves her. 

The black van comes out of nowhere. Tires squeal and brakes screech as it stops, the door slides open and people in red body armour grab her. Aderyn is drunk and too slow in her movements. Alexine is less soused and freshly trained; she wraps her arms around Aderyn's lower waist and pulls, hollering for backup. The Dawn have Aderyn's arms, and a tug of war ensues. Aderyn, for her part, is struggling, twisting to loosen everyone's grip. Then something cold slides into her bicep and, though she remains mostly cogent, she goes slack, unable to control her limbs.

Things become a bit blurred, then. She feels her body tugged this way and that; the helplessness is infuriating. Alexine is yelling, there's shouting from the front of the van. Hot blood brushes her face. A gun goes off. Perhaps it's the other way around. Suddenly she's on the narrow pavement, held securely in Alexine's arms. Jena is talking rapidly into a phone nearby. Christophe is clicking his fingers in Aderyn's face.

"F'off," she says. He's trying to ask her something, probably running through the first-responder questions. But he's too quiet and everything else is too loud.  "Don't need hospital," Aderyn adds, because she'll do anything to stay out of the damn places.  She can tell by his expression he disagrees.  "Jen? I need-" Alexine still has her arms around Aderyn, which is good, because she's suddenly really bloody cold. "Need t'tell you summint. Jen?" A warm hand slips into hers and there's the smell of melons. Her eyes have closed while she wasn't looking and all she can hear is water rushing, like her head is in a river. But Jena is there–

~*~*~*~

The next thing Aderyn knows, she's waking up in an unfamiliar bed in a near-dark room that smells of antiseptic. There's one big window inset into the wall, the curtains splayed open to highlight a figure. They're all lean lines, rimmed with the spill of silver moonlight and cold LED streetlights, like an elf from the Mabinogion. Only the glistening pate gives them away.

"Gramps?" Aderyn croaks out.

He's beside her in a flash, offering a sip of water. Once she's sated, he takes her hand. "You," he says affectionately, "scared the shit out of me. Kindly don't do that again." She mumbles her sorries. Then, "Is everyone-?" "Achillie has a fractured wrist. Pelagius took a knife to the arm. Garrus has a hefty concussion." The old man gives a grim smile. "It could be worse. I hear our rookies performed admirably." "I should buy Alexine some flowers," Aderyn agrees. Her tone is blithe, hiding the guilt that's surfaced. As a Blade, she has a responsibility firstly to the Vault and then to the Septim line. But she also has a duty to her sibling Blades. They deserve to know what she is, and what they were protecting.

"When's Marti gonna get here?" she asks. "Not long, maybe half an hour." He squeezes her hand. "Good. Cuz, um. Director, there's something you need to know."

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

[writteninkat]

i - your grandma must have been strong

word count: 2,007

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

index

You zipped your last luggage closed, huffing tiredly as you stood up. You looked around you- your empty room, your plain, pink walls that were once decorated with many posters and pictures, your floor that was once covered by a big fluffy white rug and some clothes and stuffed toys.

You sigh, smiling. You were surely going to miss this place. Your back tingles as you turn around to see your mother leaning on the door frame, looking at you with sad eyes.

"Do you have to go?" Her voice is soft and calming- it always has been. She's the only person who could ever calm you down especially when your father left the two of you to work at the Heroes Association in Japan.

"I want to be able to protect people. Children, women, the elderly... I wanna be someone people can depend on. Someone you can depend on." You place a hand on her arm which she covers with her own, he warm palm along with her soft smile about to send you to tears.

She nods, walking inside your room to help with your baggage. "The movers just finished loading up your other stuff. All we need is your excess baggage." She pushes the luggage towards the door, you mirroring her actions.

She cups both of your cheeks, looking you at you with adoring, glassy eyes. It's your first time being separated from your mother in you sixteen years of existence. The two have always been attached to the hip, you traveled everywhere together, even as the two of you had constant arguments you could never stay mad at each other for too long.

She was the only one you had.

"Stay safe in Japan, okay? If your father gave you a hard time, call me. I'll pick you up no matter what time it is, no matter where you are. I love you." She kisses your forehead and you finally let your tears fall as you wrap your hands around her thing wrists.

"I love you so much mom." You sob, hanging your head as your mother wrapped her arms around you. You hear a voice of a woman through the speakers, telling you your flight was taking off in a few minutes.

You quickly give your mother a kiss on the cheek before letting one of your guards assist you with your bags. You waved good bye to your mom and soon after, your trusted body guard.

You were on your way to Japan, to a new life, a new school, new friends and hopefully to reach your new goal: to prove yourself worthy of becoming a hero without your father's help.

You walk towards the giant gates of UA, taking a deep breath before finally taking a step inside the campus. Your heart thumped on your chest nervously as your palms began to prespire. You kept your eyes forward, not wanting to do anything with the teens around you as your only goal was to pass the entrance exam. You walked inside the building you were lead to, taking a seat at the very back in fear of attracting any unwanted attention.

"What's up UA candidates?! Thanks for tuning into me your school DJ! Just as your application said, today you will be conducting your exams in seven different locations! Your location has been assigned to you in the paper you were given." The loud blond man with long hair swept way to the back of his head announced, making you click your tongue. Not to be a mood buster, but isn't he being a little too loud?

You take the piece of paper he was talking about, eyes lower to read the letter that's written on it. Test Location: Battle Center C.

"Excuse me sir but I have a question." Your eyes fall to a purple-headed boy with glasses whose hand is raised. The blond teacher acknowledges him and he begins talking about how there are four villains in the paper you were given and not only three.

He then begins running his mouth about how a minor mistake such as this would be an embarrassment for a school such as UA. You scoff, muttering something about having a stick up his ass.

After the teacher ended his speech, you along with the other students began piling out of the room and to your designated battle centers. As you enter your specified location, you take out the black leather gloves from your pocket, wearing them. You clenched and unclenched your hands to make sure that it fit you well.

"Hey grandma." An unfamiliar voice catches your attention, unfortunately for you the rude nickname was directed towards you.

"Grandma?" You raise a brow, unsure what he meant by it.

"You white hair reminds me of my grandma's." He snickers, pointing at the white streaks of hair you have beside either sides of your face as a few other students chuckling behind him. He looks plain, very, very boring. "Why don't you give up on this exam, grandma? Your knees may start hurting."

The signal went off and the robots began moving behind you. As you kept a straight face, your hands begin glowing a blinding white light as a black with blue and silver accent claymore appears in your hands. You run to your left, applying your speed quirk as you ran towards the gigantic robots, swinging your sword vertically.

The slash creates the same blinding white light, the robots, the buildings and concrete ground that the light touches all disintegrating into nothing. You speed into the other robots, stealing the targets of other students as you accumulated your points. Once you finish and only a few robots are left, you return to your spot to where the plain-looking boy along with his little friends were still standing at, jaws hanging eyes blown wide.

"You grandma must have been very strong."

"I got in." You say into your phone and you hear your mother squeal in delight from the other end of the line. A smile breaks into your face and you feel your phone vibrate, signaling a new notification. As you pull your phone away to see what it is, your eyes widen in surprise as you read your notification banner.

'Mom' sent you $100.

"Mom what the heck is the money for?" You chuckle. "I'm not there with you but I want you to celebrate getting into UA. So go use the money and spoil yourself."

"Mom you don't have to-"

"Okay, mom mode off. I demand you go and award yourself eith the money I sent you." Your mom's tone switches from soft and caring to cold and demanding, making you chuckle. "That doesn't suit you at all." You laugh, you can practically /hear/ your mom pout at the other line.

"Okay, okay. I'll do as you say. Thank you, mom. I love you."

"I love you more my baby."

The call ends and you change out of your usual sweats and oversized tee. You put on a black spaghetti strap and high-wasted mom jeans. You hoop in a black belt and fold the ankles of your pants to show your white sock inside your checkered vans. You finish the look with medium-sized hoop earrings and a oversized red zip-up jacket which you leave unzipped with one shoulder hanging off.

You step out of your apartment, pocketing your keys and taking a deep breath in. Japan is just so beautiful, the scenery, the buildings, even the weather was perfect. You strut down your apartment building, scrolling through your phone as you searched for cafes nearby. It was a five minute walk of calm and relaxing vibes. You step into the cafe, eyes darting around the adorable cottage-core aesthetic it had going.

"Hey my name is Mio. What can I get for you this lovely afternoon?" The cashier beams brightly, your day becoming better and better with every move you make. "I'll have a strawberry shortcake as well as a strawberr frappe with extra foam, strawberry syrup and strawberries." You beam back at her and she takes your order with a bright smile, tapoing away on the computer's screen.

"Does your life depend on strawberries or something?" A rough and deep voice asks behind you, causing you to turn around. Once you do, your eyes widen at the sight of a young blond with vermilion eyes. He looked around your age.

"I like strawberries. Is it that big of a sin?" You ask, soft smile across your face as you cross your arms together. The guy had such piercing eyes, those red orbs looked like they could trap you in them forever.

"Not what I'm saying, but if you're that much of a strawberry fan, I recommend their strawberry pop tarts." His eyes drop to the display fridge beside you and your eyes follow his, landing on the adorable little tarts with red jam on top of them.

Just as you were about to order them, the cashier speaks up. "Your total is 1,500 yen." She smiles brightly, making you pout. You didn't want to cause more trouble for her seeing as your bill has already been printed by the machine.

You scan their QR code, paying virtually as she hands you your buzzer. "We'll give you a signal whrn your order is ready. You can find a seat and wait there thank you!"

You turn around at the blond who's looking at you expectantly, "I guess I'll have to try your recommendation some other time." You smile at him, walking off to the table catering two chairs. It was seated at the far back of the cafe, away from the many customers the cafe had.

You began scrolling through your social media, liking the posts of your past classmates and chuckling at some memes you saw.

A plate full of the same tarts with red jam is placed on your white table and you didn't have to look to see who it was. "Is this you way of flirting with me, rubies?" You ask, looking up at him with a teasing, smug smile. His face contorts into annoyance, "Hah? Flirting with you?" He scoffs, "Not a chance. And who're you calling rubies?"

"Your eyes remind me of rubies. They're pretty."

The blond's face relaxes and you push the seat across from you, silently telling him to sit down. He does as 'told', huffing as he watches you pick of a tart and bring it over to your lips. You bite on it, eyes widening as the flavor explodes in your mouth. It tastes sweet but not the sickeningly sweet kind, it's soft soft in the inside and lightly crunchy on the outside.

"You look like you just ate food made by gods." He chuckles, "You look dumb."

"But it really does taste so good!" You've never felt this much excitement since you found out you got into UA. And that speaks a lot given that you've only ever felt this kind of feeling with your mom.

"I should have bought the entire stock if I knew you liked it that much." Your heart skipped at his words. What is this feeling? You felt nervous all of a sudden, you can barely contain your smile and somehow, you didn't want to go home yet. This is a very new feeling for you. It's kind of... scary.

"I'm L/n."

Idiot. Stop it.

"L/n Y/n." You extend your hand towards him which he looks at for a few moments before taking. You shake both of your hands with a soft smile, your thoughts going haywire at how soft his palms feel.

"Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou."

You pull your hand away, finishing the last piece of strawberry pop tart on your plate before your buzzer turns on. You pick it up, standing up. "Thanks for the tarts. See you around, rubies."

"Call me that one more time and I'll blow your face up."

You snicker, smirking. "Whatever you say, rubies."

[rosemary-is-in-pesterquest]

ooh! I have thoughts on Eridan!

okay so, to me, Eridan ties into this thing that homestuck has going on with a lot of its more morally grey characters... the question of how responsible young people are for their negative qualities and actions, and where the age threshold for personal responsibility is.

the characters in homestuck all straddle this line between being young enough to consider them victims of the forces that influence them, while also old enough to understand what they're doing and how it affects others... especially because a lot of these kids come off as really smart for their age, and very precocious. we've all been through phases in our lives that make us cringe, not because we're ashamed of something harmless, but because we recognize that we had absorbed something harmful, and took longer than we wish we had to unlearn it. it could be as simple as being kind of a jerk in a misguided attempt to seem cool, or as dramatic as actually hurting someone in an attempt to remedy one's own insecurities by putting down others to seem better by comparison... but how far can you push that before people aren't willing to forgive? before people abandon the notion that better guidance and more appropriate role models could reform someone? and it's especially interesting when you consider how old homestuck's core audience might've been when they first encountered this story, and how it affected their perception of the characters if they saw them as peers, rather than as children from an adult's perspective.

so to talk about Eridan, I wanna frame this in terms of his classpect, because it actually goes a long way towards contextualizing his behavior. Eridan is a prince of hope, meaning that he destroys hope or uses hope to destroy... and this can be seen in practically every conversation he has. if Eridan is contacting someone, it is because he expects something of them. advice, or consolation, or a solution to a problem he's having... it's always something. when he contacts Kanaya, he wants her to auspistize between him and Vriska. when he contacts Feferi, he wants her to give him encouragement, and maybe date him when he asks. and in every case, the way he demands these things by being rude, whiny, or self pitying, makes people reluctant or unwilling to give him what he expects. he destroys what he hopes to obtain.

it goes deeper than that though. Eridan has absorbed this ideology of sea dweller superiority from living on Alternia... and he actually takes it way farther than it even makes sense to. the aristocracy on Alternia use the lower class for all sorts of menial work that they feel entitled not to have to do themselves. they might have the ability to freely cull individual low bloods for any reason, but eradicating all land dwelling trolls would leave a lot of unpleasant yet necessary tasks with no one to do them. I don't think Eridan actually wants to live in a reality where sea dwellers have to pick up the slack of doing things like sanitation work, or construction or something... but another concept that is heavily tied to the hope aspect is delusion. Eridan is exaggerating. he's trying to agree with Alternia's ruthless class structure so hard that it's actually kind of absurd. but Feferi calls him on that... she says she thinks that he self sabotages on purpose. because he knows, at least in some capacity, that the consequences of getting what he "wants" would actually be really uncomfortable to live with.

so not only is Eridan's goal to destroy... it is also a false goal that he constantly undermines. and all of his waffling between grandstanding and self pity destroys his romantic prospects, which are what he actually seems to want the most.

if you look at the way Eridan pursues relationships, he actually makes a lot of logical sense, but not a lot of emotional sense. he's idealized the act of perfectly filling the relationship requirements of each quadrant. he wants Feferi to be his matesprit, which is purely based on the fact that she's high enough on the hemospectrum to be an appropriate match in terms of status. he wants Vriska to be his kismesis, and Kanaya to be their auspistice, and there are hints that Karkat might've been someone he was considering for moiraillegience, though it wasn't emphasized as much. and there you go! his goal is specific, but it's based more on ideals than on the actual needs and feelings of the people involved, and it's totally self centered... he always wants them to cater to his own needs. the reason why he gets as nihilistic as he does on the meteor, is because all of his endeavors to achieve these relationships are falling through. he feels like he has no hope of mending his existing connections, because he still only sees them in terms of people either giving him, or not giving him, what he wants. but the rest of their race is dead. as the last twelve trolls in existence, they only have each other as romantic options. and as Eridan gets more and more desperate, he gets more and more demanding, which is the exact quality that drives everyone away from him to begin with, and it culminates in him having a "if I can't have what I want then nobody can have any of their hopes either" meltdown.

to backtrack a bit, I wanna reconsider questions such as, when is a kid old enough to be held responsible for their own negative qualities? like... when are you comfortable with ceasing to blame environmental factors? when are they just a bad person? is it after they've refused a certain number of chances to make better choices? when do they reach an age, or level of bad behavior, that makes you think they can't be helped to reform from these negative qualities? where does an adult lose their patience for the idea that a kid is just a victim of their upbringing?

obviously Feferi is Eridan's peer, but these are basically the questions she grapples with when she talks to Eridan. it's like growing up next door to a kid whose parents have some aggressively wrong-headed political stances. as you grow, that kid might mirror their parents' way of thinking... and by the time the two of you are in your teens, it's hard to ignore how much of a jerk that kid is becoming. but you've seen them at every step of their development. you know where it comes from. maybe theirs is the dominant political belief in the community, even if your own parents aren't like that. maybe you wonder if you would've agreed with them if you grew up under their circumstances. you've felt the pressure, but you haven't lived in it like they have, and maybe if they just had the chance to grow up under different conditions, they wouldn't be this way. and you are aware that you could be an influence on them... maybe they need you to help them see another perspective. you always got along so well as kids. when did things even change? and that's kind of where I imagine Feferi is at when we're introduced to her and Eridan. it's a crossroads between believing that you might still matter enough to them to change their outlook, and the persistence of their ingrained beliefs. it's tiring to do that kind of work, over a long period of time, to minimal results. when is the appropriate time to give up? in this way, Feferi's own hopes for Eridan fade over time. she says at one point that she was mainly acting as his moirail so he wouldn't try to underfeed her lusus and kill the land dwellers that way. she's not sure how serious he is, and she can't take that risk. deep down, I'm pretty sure Eridan knew he was never actually going to commit a genocide... but his need to grandstand, and legitimate belief in his caste superiority, had convinced Feferi enough that she still felt obligated to manage him as though he was a real threat.

these characters are thirteen years old. they're right at the edge of childhood and adolescence... right at the age where children aren't quite so innocent. they want to assert themselves. they aren't mature, so there's a lot of responsibility that they still shouldn't be trusted with yet, but they've become aware enough to feel like that's demeaning, and to want to be taken seriously. in an effort to make people acknowledge them without looking down on them, they'll try just about anything. they don't have the experience to know what they're doing yet, so it doesn't always work in their favor, and that's frustrating. you can see bits and pieces of this in homestuck's characters. like with the way they try to paint themselves as an authority on something, or shit talk each other in order to emphasize their own strengths. it's a really interesting theme, because homestuck pushes some of these young characters really far in terms of how bad the things they've done can be, or how much their lived experiences have taught them that what they're doing is acceptable. they can be really self aware in some ways, and come off as really childish in others. it's hard to know what you'd do about them in real life... and your answer changes depending on your own age and perspective. it's a really cool gray area to poke around in, and homestuck is excellent at it.

wtf I like Eridan now

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/8/2020: PELICAN BLOOD (2019)

If you are reading this and the present date is between October 8 and 11 of 2020, please consider buying a virtual ticket to see Katrin Gebbe’s PELICAN BLOOD, available on demand through the Nightstream festival:

https://watch.eventive.org/nightstream/play/5f6e7e78d6a9bf0036613fa3

I am about to discuss this movie and its conclusion in great detail, but it would be much better for a person to come to it in innocence--not because it’s so reliant on anything as gauche as surprise, but because it is so thoroughly excellent that wading through a movie review first would be like letting your dinner grow cold. And, it simply deserves our support.

When I saw PELICAN BLOOD last year at Fantastic Fest, it became one of my favorite movies before it was even over. I might admit that this was sort of a match made in heaven, as this movie checks almost every one of my personal boxes, but I don’t think my assessment of its value is a simple matter of personal prejudice. I’ve been haunted by it all these months, and deeply worried that somehow I might never see it again. When I discovered that it had landed on Nightstream, I was over the moon.

This is writer-director Katrin Gebbe's second feature, a fact that will astonish you when you see it. Last Blogtober, I wrote about her first feature TORE TANZT, which has the troubling english title NOTHING BAD CAN HAPPEN. That intense indie drama concerns a born-again christian punk who wishes for an opportunity to prove his devotion to god, and finds it in the form of a family that invites him in off the streets, and then proceeds to torture him. That's an oversimplification of what actually occurs, but it is a film that's hard to be brief about. It's cheap and a little rough around the edges, but it is deliberate, intense, and difficult to forget. (In fact it's supposed to be based on a true story, although I haven't managed to pick up that trail) When I first saw it, it certainly made me wonder what else that director might be up to, and I was astounded when I found out. 2019's PELICAN BLOOD emerged six years after TORE TANZT, with little in between besides a television episode and a segment in the anthology THE FIELD GUIDE TO EVIL, and yet Gebbe's artistic evolution is dumbfounding. Her themes are all unmistakably present--faith versus doubt, mystical versus metaphorical experience, and physical martyrdom--but exploded into a grand, elegant psychodrama that holds the viewer captive every minute of its two hours.

Celebrated german actress Nina Hoss plays Wiebke, a stable owner who trains police horses to tolerate the frightening conditions of a riot. She lives at the edge of her pasture, raising her tween daughter Nicolina (Adelia-Constance Giovanni Ocleppo) on her own. Wiebke has a talent for healing the wounded, or perhaps it's more of a calling; she raised Nicolina, a bulgarian orphan, into a bright, balanced, emotionally available tomboy, and the two of them joyfully anticipate the arrival of Nicolina's new adoptive sister. When little Raya arrives (Katerina Lipovska), she first presents as sweet, even solicitous, needing only a mother's love to fully bloom. However, as soon as she determines that she is welcome and wanted, she undergoes a disturbing transformation into a violent and unpredictable creature, possessed by an abject hatred. Wiebke recognizes that her new child is seriously traumatized, which activates her sense of purpose, and she pledges herself fully to the child's recovery--despite the admonishments of Raya's daycare, her doctors, and virtually everyone around them, that the little girl is beyond all but clinical help, and even that promises no guarantee of salvation. Refusing to give up, Wiebke makes a series of increasingly dangerous personal sacrifices in Raya's name, until finally she finds herself at the doorway to what some consider another world, but what is to others only madness.

Gebbe won Best Director in the main competition at Fantastic Fest, and it would have been a crime if this were otherwise. Her control over what are essentially forces of nature is humbling. Extracting a profoundly moving drama from a cast of adult actors is challenging enough on its own, but to get these terrifyingly convincing performances from children, evoking deep trauma and physical violence to self and others, is another level. As if this weren't enough, Gebbe adds animals into the mix, giving the story of Raya a parallel in the troubled career of a police horse who is considered a lost cause by all but Wiebke. The training scenes in which Wiebke guides the volatile animal through fire and smoke, while her own lifeforce is being progressively depleted by her new child, are as harrowing as anything having to do with parenthood, and Wiebke seems to take the horse just as seriously as her child. Friendly single dad Benedikt (Murathan Muslu) tries to flirt with the trainer by remarking on her unusual career, but she spits bitterly, "The horses are not the problem," giving us a glimpse of the philosophy that drives her.

Another of my favorite german films is Werner Herzog's 1976 short NO ONE WILL PLAY WITH ME. This funny and poignant story involves a bullied and neglected little boy, and it is preceded by a card displaying the adage "There are no bad children, only bad parents." This is the principle that drives Wiebke in work and life: Those who are seen as failures, have been failed by others. One has the sense that Wiebke sees herself in these wretches. She has no partner, and balks at questions about her relationship history, shying from physical affection even with people she knows and likes. A tell-tale scar graces one cheekbone; when she finally begins to welcome the benign Benedikt's advances, he strokes it instead of kissing her, acknowledging that he can see who she really is.

Wiebke tries to extend this same empathy toward Raya, refusing to let the child bait her into wrath and rejection. However, this show of pure faith and tolerance does not work, and the right approach becomes less clear as Raya begins to blame her mounting acts of vandalism, arson and assault on an evil entity that controls her will. A psychiatrist aprises Wiebke that this is the "magic period", in which the child uses magical thinking to divert feelings of guilt and responsibility. But, after a fashion, Wiebke begins to sense this malevolent presence as well. Is this etheric intrusion real? Or is she beginning to empathize with the child--with the experience of grappling with a damaged part of yourself--to the point of dissolving boundaries?

The title of the movie refers to a fable about a pelican whose chicks die, and she resurrects them by feeding them her own blood. This is a clear metaphor for Wiebke's trial with Raya, that becomes shockingly literal when, after endangering her home and relationships by prioritizing the new child, Wiebke places her own health on the line by taking an unregulated drug to give herself a bizarre advantage. When Wiebke discovers the shocking nature of Raya's original trauma, she experiments with the radical idea of treating the girl like a little baby, hoping to start from square one with her capacity to be mothered, and in the service of this dreadful proposition, Wiebke starts taking a lactation-inducing pill that proves to be an immediate risk to her health, and puts her in an even more perilous position with Raya.

Although it focuses on a preternaturally devoted mother, PELICAN BLOOD recalls what makes movies like HEREDITARY and WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN so potent. We have the idea that in becoming parents, we are perpetuating our own essence, extending our history and celebrating the precious connection of blood, which is supposed to impart an automatic same-ness. Unfortunately, this only shakes out to arrogance for many, denying the quirks of psychology, chemistry, and the unique impact of trauma--even if minor, or explainable as something benign--on a mind too young to fully comprehend the nature of the experience. Even without abuse in the home, anyone can have a child less like themselves than they could have ever imagined, for reasons beyond their own control. In all this, the child is innocent, and it is the duty of the parent to prioritize the child's feelings, over the vanity of wanting an heir to your own best qualities. Wiebke sacrifices not only her vanity, but potentially her very life, to show Raya love. When this blood sacrifice does not work, Wiebke finds herself facing the realm of alternative belief as a last resort.

The introduction of PELICAN BLOOD's folk horror element can seem a little left field, if you haven't noted the clues scattered throughout the film. Before the revelation of Raya's boogeyman, Wiebke begins to discover evidence of an old pagan tradition still being practiced around her proverbial neck of the woods. Soon, she tentatively entrusts herself and her child to a local witch, who puts them through a harrowing exorcism. Though the process is uncertain at first, its impact forces Wiebke into a direct acknowledgment of the entity harassing her daughter. And ultimately, it awakens in Raya a capacity for love.

While the reality of the supernatural in PELICAN BLOOD remains in question, I think the effect of this ambiguity is specifically meaningful. I usually scoff at any type of "was it all a dream?" nonsense, as this is a tactic employed by directors who think their greatest accomplishment should be getting one over on the audience. I don't see any inherent value in simply reversing the apparent meaning of things, just to make people feel stupid--and worse, this has trained modern audiences to try to defensively predict the least likely ending to any story, instead of just engaging with it emotionally as it plays out. For this reality-bending trick to be worth anything, one must be able to answer questions like, IF this was all a dream, THEN what meaning is added to the story?

In PELICAN BLOOD, the unresolved question of whether magic is real is of great relevance to the whole concept of belief. Human beings crave extranormal experience; we're deeply attracted to tales of ghosts, UFOs, mythical creatures, and parapsychological abilities. Even the skeptics among us enjoy arguing about these things, and many regular folks without eccentric interests read their horoscope "just for fun". Most telling of all is the enduring popularity of stories about the strange and unusual, which require no particular belief system from the audience; the fantasy of this extra dimension to our mundane lives is just so satisfying. Despite all the pleasure we get from these ideas, though, we tend to cling first and foremost to objective truth; we tell ourselves that if there is no "proof", then an outrageous thing cannot exist. But, this is actually contrary to many of our lived experiences. On the basest level, we delight at videos of insane parkour stunts, at the same time that we say these guys are "like" superheroes, but are actually just guys. My question is, what's the difference? If a person can achieve physical feats that most of us can never imagine attempting, then what difference does it make that this person was not bitten by a radioactive spider? If a fortune teller in a carnival is so good at "cold reading" strangers that she gives the effect of being able to read minds, then what is the appreciable difference between a carny and a "real psychic"? If a faith healer "just convinces" someone to become free from a chronic ailment, and the patient goes on to live a happier life, who cares if no "real magic" was in evidence? What is the difference between exorcism and hypnosis, if the end result is the same for a seriously disturbed child and her mother? The only difference appears to be some material confirmation of specific mystical forces and substances--which, admittedly, would be exciting on its own--but this would still only be an alternative version of the events that led up to the same "miraculous" result. We only worry about the existence of God and magic because our definitions of these things tend to be limited to what we think of as literal and scientific. But, if the correct effects manifest themselves, then all that is purely cosmetic. Belief is real. Faith works.

[longsightmyth]

Hi. I've been meaning to read the black jewels just because I've found some things about the worldbuilding interesting, but I keep hearing that it's definitely dated with its girl power message and its separation of people into male and female. Would you mind detailing why you don't like it?

So while I personally feel it is necessary to take the context of a work into consideration (ie, time, culture, etc) especially in the case of feminism and the ever-evolving understanding thereof, I’m going to go ahead and say it: The Black Jewels is bad. It isn’t feminist, it doesn’t perform the author’s stated intent of examining a world where the Nurturers (ie women specifically) control the Warriors (ie, men specifically). I capitalized the words because Anne Bishop does in her introduction in the 2003 omnibus of the first trilogy. We’ll get back to that.

Cut for the content that is part and parcel of The Black Jewels

I’m going to revisit context here. I, for instance, love Dragonflight and consider it a feminist if occasionally outdated work. Anne McCaffrey was writing sci-fi in the 60s in the US, working within the sudden framework of sexual liberation (…questionable) and civil rights. She chose to write a book with built-in genetic diversity where a woman is important not only because we’re told she is, but because nothing in the book would happen without Lessa’s decisions. On the surface dragonrider culture is comparable to Bishop’s Blood culture: there are queens (in Pern dragon queens ridden by their weyrwomen psychic/empathic soulmates, while in TBJ Incredibly Magical Women are the queens) and the culture has evolved to revolve around them. In practice… well, on a meta level Lessa drives the plot by her decisions and actions while Jaenelle drives the plot by her existence and sexiness, even as a twelve year old. Narrative power is consistently removed from Jaenelle: her father, brother, and lover make the decisions that change the world and are the ones acknowledged by other characters to have the power, though they like to SAY they defer to Jaenelle. Lessa is dictated to by men, but Lessa and the book comment on the fact that it’s wrong on a meta level and society level. Lessa takes power on her own, or has it conferred on her by other women: Gemma confers on Lessa the final piece of knowledge/plot to lead Fax to his doom though she dies doing it, Ramoth (admittedly a dragon, but a lady dragon) confers on Lessa the power to literally control the weyr and everyone in it by way of their dragons. R’gul in Dragonfligh perverts the social order as we’re told people have perverted the social order in TBJ, but once Lessa realizes it by way of Manora (a woman) she takes steps to undermine R’gul on her own time, in her own way, on her own initiative. Jaenelle is never allowed that option: The Boys are already doing it for her. She has to take the final step (expecting to die doing it, though of course The Boys save her), whereupon she is depowered on a magical level as she already was on a narrative level. Lessa uses the power she discovered to save the world (interestingly, while Bishop calls women the Nurturers, Jaenelle’s worldsaving involves the murder of the MAJORITY of The Blood, while the worldsaving plan of Lessa, who is routinely allowed to be unpleasant, unlikable, occasionally violent, and on more than one occasion downright bloodthirsty,  involves instead multiple plans for MORE dragons, including negotiating the forward time travel of more than 1500 dragons to save her world and her people, yes even the ones she doesn’t like. Which one is nurturing here?). Interestingly, while Lessa acknowledges the possibility of failure and death, she relies on herself, her dragon, and her family ties (it’s no coincidence that Lessa uses her family’s ancestral lands as her way to travel back in time, and it is no coincidence that those family ties are part of what allows her to convince another Ruathan woman to help get everyone forward in time) to get herself back and to save, not her love interest (though F’lar is admittedly instrumental in making sure everyone survives long enough for Lessa to get her idea).

None of this is helped by Jaenelle never having so much as a paragraph written from her point of view. Lessa, on the other hand, is the main PoV. For a book series ostensibly about Jaenelle, it’s very telling that we never ever get to ‘hear’ her views on anything.

Further, the sheer amount of child sexualization is startling in the Black Jewels. Not only is there a truly excessive amount of rape in general and child rape in specific, every man (yes even the good guys whose PoVs we’re in) attracted to prepubescent girls (Daemon likes to say he’s attracted to Jaenelle’s power and not her body when she’s twelve, but he’s still attracted to a twelve year old and plans to wait until she’s old enough to have sex with him)(yes he is the hero). Pern, despite what Todd McCaffrey would have us believe of his mother’s world, does not allow for the sexualization of young girls in specific and children in particular, let alone a father constantly commenting on the sexual attractiveness of his fifteen year old daughter who has been in a coma since she was twelve.

Please consider also: Dragonflight was published in the 1960s. The first Black Jewels novel was published in the late 1990s. There’s… not really much excuse for any of this, though admittedly series like Throne of Glass and A Court of Thorns and Roses, both of which pull a significant amount of inspiration from The Black Jewels, are still being published. So what do I know?

I’ve never written a short reply in my life, and for that I apologize. My point is this: The Black Jewels fails at it stated objective and fails as a feminist work in general. Further, it fails on a worldbuilding level: for a book that says the culture revolves around women, everyone sure is interested in what the men are doing and saying and how masculine men are.

Also, you can check out the tag ‘myth rags on the black jewels’ and you’ll see a lot more commentary and a lot less comparisons to Dragonflight.

[thesentientmango]

Home is Where the Hart is

Analogical, and Royality

-----

*We are approching our destination. We ask that all passengers fasten their seat belts, put their trays in the upright position, and their window shaders to prepare for landing at this time. Thank you for flying with Sanders Flights.*

The seat belt sign flicked on, and flight attendants started to move done the isles to make sure people were prepared for landing.

Logan closed his book, carefully placing it in the pocket in front of him. He sighed leaning back in his seat, enjoying the hum of the plane around him.

After a while the captian announced that the plane was coming down to land.

At the first subtle downward jerk of the plane, a hand shot over, and grabbed Logan's. Logan glanced over at his boyfriend, whose eyes were scrunched closed, as his hand gripped tighter on Logan's.

Logan reached his other hand over, placing it on top of his boyfriend's, and started to speak into his ear.

"Virgil, stardust, we are alright. This is normal. We will be alright."

Virgil simply squeezed Logan's hand tighter in response, and Logan could feel his pulse quicken with every passing second. Logan stroked the back of Virgil's hand fondly, trying to calm his boyfriend whose breath was speeding up past the point of hyperventilation.

Logan tried to calm his boyfriend in the only way he knew how. Rambling. Logan negan to talk about everything and nothing, and he continued to talk to Virgil for the duration of the landing.

Logan and Virgil exited the plane, and Virgil immediately collapsed onto the nearest bench.

Logan knelt in front of him, "Virgil, are you alright?"

Virgil shook his head. "I really hate flying," he mumbled.

"I know stardust," Logan murmured, "we've arrived now."

"Yeah, I guess, but now we're going to meet your parents, and what if they don't like me! What if they hate me, and they make you choose between us, and I know you love your parents, I wouldn't want to get between you. And--"

Logan cut Virgil off with a wave of his hand, "My parents will greatly enjoy your presence. I have already informed them about you in great detail. They are ecstatic to meet you."

Virgil nodded hesitantly, and although Logan could tell his fears were only slightly subdued, he stood, and helped Virgil to his feet. "We should retrieve our luggage." Logan mentioned.

~~~

Logan parked their rental car outside his parent's suburban home. He expected Virgil to make some sound of acknowledgment when he pulled into the driveway, but he didn't. Logan glanced over to see his boyfriend sound asleep in the passenger's seat. His mouth was slightly agar, and the soft rise and fall of Virgil's chest caused a fond smile to dance across Logan's face. Logan reached over, and brushed a stray strand of hair from Virgil's eyes. To his suprise, before he withdrew his hand Virgil blinked his eyes open.

Logan smiled lovingly down at him, "Hey Virgil, we've arrived."

Virgil looked around, before nodding, "Do you think they're waiting?" Virgil's voice was still raspy from the nap.

"Yes, I suppose they would be."

Virgil unbuckled his seat belt, before reaching his arms out in a stretch as a yawn escaped his lips, "Let's not keep them waiting then," Virgil sighed.

Virgil and Logan got out of the car, before they both approached the front door, with Logan leading.

Logan reached his hand up to knock, but before he could the door swung wide open to reveal a grinning figure.

"Logan!" They happily cried, "Oh Logan, I can't believe you made it! Was your flight alright? How was the car ride over?"

Logan smiled, "Dad, everything went fine. We both mase it in one piece." At this he turned to reveal Virgil. Logan's dad's eyes lit up, and Logan spoke clearly, "Dad, this is my boyfriend, Virgil. Virgil this is my Dad."

"Virgil! Kiddo I've heard so much about you! I'm so glad I finally get to meet you."

Virgil cleared his throat before responding, "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Hart."

Logan's dad laughed lightly, and Virgil's blood ran cold. What had he said wrong? Logan's dad thought he was foolish, and--

Before Virgil could finish his train of thought, Patton voice spoke up, light and cheerful. "Oh kiddo, you don't have to be so formal with me! Please call me Patton!"

Virgil felt himself visibly relax. Patton didn't hate him.

Then another voice joined the conversation, "Ah you must be Virgil!"

Patton whipped around to face the man that appeared behind him, before putting a hand on his chest, "Oh Roman, love, you scared me!"

Hearty laughter sounded from the taller man, "I'm sorry my darling. I just simply couldn't wait to meet our son's boyfriend!"

"I forgive you," Patton teased, planting a kiss on his husband's cheek.

Logan cleared his throat interrupting his parent's display of affection, this caught their attention, and his father extended his hand, "Virgil it's nice to meet you, you can call me Roman."

Virgil nodded hesitantly, "It's great to finally meet you, um Roman."

Patton clapped his hands, "Well why don't you both come on in! I'm sure we all have a lot of catching up to do!"

Logan nodded, "That would be nice. It is good to be home."

Over the next few days Virgil got closer and closer to his boyfriend's fathers. By the end of their trip, Virgil could say with confidence, that he had found his home with the Harts. As Patton would say, home is where the Hart is.

Thanks for reading <3

Tag list: @your-friendly-neighborhood-enby

[canonconspiracy]

Dying Together And Drinks (Murphy x Reader)

Fandom: The 100

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21

Pairing: John Murphy x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Severe Injury

Cross posting on Wattpad and AO3 (@rmorningstar21)

__________

At first, when you were left injured in the dropship, you just lied there.  Everyone was gone, and your wound made it so you would be unable to stand, unable to move.  Murphy had made sure that you would die, and the fact that no one had taken out the bullet that was allowing you to bleed eternally, you knew that with everyone gone, you were done for.  

Somehow Raven, who had also received a bullet from Murphy, was taken away by the same men that gassed the rest of the camp.  You had not seen them taken away, but hiding behind the metal inside the dropship, you were unseen by the assailants. In that sense, maybe you had gotten lucky.  

When you heard movement, you reached for the gun nearby, pointing it at the only place of entry of the dropship, when your eyes landed upon a bloodied, beaten John Murphy.  Your lips visibly frowned upon the sight of the limping boy, heart clenched with fear of uncertainty as the boy had been the one to shoot you in the first place.  

"What are you doing here?" You spat weakly, your teeth fresh with blood as your eyes watched the boy make his way in.  

Murphy held his hands up weakly in defeat, his lips in a frown as he laid his eyes upon you.  "Dying, same as you," he said simply, that little bit of Murphy sass still apparent in his voice as he spoke, no matter how badly injured he was.  

If you weren't in so much pain, just maybe you would have let out a sarcastic chuckle.  Instead, you tossed your gun off to the side, before moving yourself to as much of a seated position as you could muster.  "If you can get close enough, just maybe I could get the restraints off you," you said softly, struggling to speak as you did, but your eyes were set upon the bloodied brunette.  

He took no time getting over to you, though it was a struggle.  You reached into your pocket to pull out a knife, taking his hand with your own as you cut the bounds that were upon his wrist.  His eyes that caught your own were almost shocked as he felt his hands freed, massaging his wrists as he backed away from you, returning to the spot that he originally was.

There weren't a great deal of words shared between the two of you before you began coughing up blood.  You felt as if you were drowning, your eyes widened as you coughed. Blood trickled and spilled from your mouth as you struggled.  

"Hey, hey," Murphy said quickly, getting over to you as quickly as he could.  "Get on your side, now." He started to move you, and you struggled initially, before allowing him to fully turn you to your side.  "There, just like that. Are you okay?" 

You allowed yourself to cough all the blood out that you possibly had to cough before your eyes glanced back into his deep brown eyes.  In a shaky tone, you asked, "Why are you helping me?" 

His lips curled into a half smile, saying, "I don't want to die alone." 

"I'm likely going to die before you, you know," you said with a soft, pained chuckle.  

This time, he sat beside you, laughing pained and sarcastic as well.  "You're reassuring," he said sarcastically as he sat by your side. "Why are you being so nice to me?" 

You sighed, sitting up as much as you could try and muster.  "What made you like this, Murphy?" You countered. "My parents didn't love me, but I don't go around killing people." 

"My parents loved me," he countered, a frown on his face.  You could almost see tears forming in his eyes as he spoke, and your own eyes softened at the sight.  

"Then what, pray tell, made a boy whose parents loved him into a killer?" You said, before watching his eyes water just a tad more, causing you to frown.  "I mean, I really want to know, Murphy." 

You watched the boy's pained brown eyes almost overflowing with tears, truly showing you into his soul as he looked at you.  "He gets the flu," he started off, his voice full of melancholy, mixed with the rough tone of a man that was tortured mercilessly.  "Then his father steals medicine that it turns out wouldn't have helped, and got floated for it. His mother turns to drinking. Before he find her lying in a puddle of her own vomit, she tells him that he was the one who killed his father." 

Your heart tightened at his words, and you absently reach your pained hand out towards Murphy.  He flinches at the initial touch of your hand against his own, but does not pull away. "I'm sorry, Murphy," you murmured softly, your eyes averting as you spoke, directed towards the floor of the drop ship.  "If it means anything, I've never actually hated you." 

"I shot you," he muttered out, his brown eyes glancing back over to you.  "I've held a knife to your throat."  

Admittedly, the list of wrongs that he had done to you was long, and he could have gone on, but he had also done positive things for you as well.  Through the short time that you had all been on the ground, it had been about survival. Everyone had done bad, and it was not just John Murphy that had killed.  Thinking back to who he killed, even when he tried to hang Bellamy, it was all revenge. Being hung was not something you could just forgive and forget, and in a sense, you could understand that.

You squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly as you said in your weak voice, "We've all done shit since we've been down here.  I'm not going to say you're a fucking angel, or thank you for shooting me, but you've done what you needed to do. I can't condone every action, but I can understand them." 

"I didn't mean to shoot you," he defended raspily, his grimace prominent upon his face.  "I saw you at the hanging. Even after I threatened you, you were trying to get me down." 

You could feel a few tears drip from your eyes at his words, and took in a sharp breath.  "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it from happening, really. You may walk around camp like the local badass, but I didn't think you killed Wells.  Even if you had, what they did was too much." 

"I kind of wish it didn't go this far," he said softly, a whisper that wondered whether or not he wanted you to truly know how he was feeling.  "You're the one person that's seemed to care." 

"Well, we'll both be dead soon anyways," you said with a melancholic chuckle, your breath wheezing slightly as you spoke.  Your eyesight had already begun to blur, lack of blood taking its toll upon your body as you sat beside him. The warmth in your body was slowly draining as the blood did.  "But, in hindsight, I wish we got to spend some more time together." 

Murphy moved closer to you, clearly feeling the temperature change in your skin, resting your head upon his lap.  He stroked your hair gently, tears dropping cautiously from his eyes as he held you. Partially from the blood loss, and partially from the fact that you did not mind it anyhow, you allowed it all to happen without a fight.  He whispered to you, "Y/N, please, don't you die on me yet." 

Your world was blurry, but you were still breathing for the time being when the calvary had arrived.  Though you were not sure who had walked in, your eyes closed as Murphy was stroking your hair comfortingly.  "Help her!" Murphy exclaimed, referring to you.  

You felt your heart speed up for a bit as you were removed from your comfort, actually missing Murphy's surprisingly gentle touch.  Your vision was replaced with Dr. Griffin as she checked you out, initially saying, "Y/N, you're going to be okay," in a soothing, motherly nature.  "What happened to you?" 

"I-I got shot," you said weakly.  

Abby checked out your injury, telling you that you would need surgery and that you would need to be brought on a stretcher.  Shortly afterwards, you, Abby, and Murphy were joined by Bellamy and Finn. Murphy walked at your side, as with his injuries he was still limping and unable to carry the stretcher.  

"T-thank you," you whispered to him as you were lying on your back, head turned to see him.  "In case I die, you know." 

"You're not going to die," Murphy snarked, a light smirk across his lips.  "You're a fighter." 

***

Murphy was right, of course,and you had to spend days waiting for him to return to Camp Jaha.  You had to wait even longer for Murphy to be let out of interrogation, as Finn had massacred a handful of women and children.  It felt like forever since you had seen the sarcastic asshole last, until he popped right down beside you at the table.  

You gently sipped the moonshine, glancing your eyes over to his brown eyed gaze.  "I'm fully pardoned," he started off with, as the two of you sat with Clarke, Bellamy, and shortly joined by Finn.  "The pardons for the 100 extend to what has happened on the ground." 

You allowed your lips to slip into a smile, and you acknowledged him with your eyes.  For whatever reason, though you were so excited to see him, you could not seem to utter a word to him.  He returned the same look, though, and it melted you inside.  

He proceeded to make enough snarky comments between the group to be told to leave the table, shortly followed by yourself.  "I-I've been waiting to see you again," you said sheepishly, though your voice was almost too low for even him to hear.  

"I see you made it through surgery," he said back to you, a slight smirk on his face.  

You chuckled, saying, "I had something to look forward to once I got out, so I couldn't really die on that operating table." 

"Oh?" Murphy replied sarcastically.  "What, you found a boyfriend within the time I've been gone?" 

"You wish," you said sarcastically with a chuckle.  "Maybe I went crazy from blood loss, because I was actually looking forward to seeing you again." 

"You've got to be kidding me," Murphy said rolling his eyes, though his smirk was turning into a little more of a smile as he glanced over to you, taking another sip of his moonshine.  "What, I shot you and you fell in love with me?" 

"In your dreams, Murphy," you chided sarcastically.  "It takes a little more than almost dying to win my affection, thank you." 

"Well, I have some other ideas," he replied, his voice getting almost suggestive as he spoke.  

You rolled your eyes, saying, "Not holding a knife to my throat again, right?" 

"Hey, I'm not a psycho," Murphy scolded lightly, causing you to laugh.  

You reached for his hand, placing yours gently on top of his as you did.  A bit of blush formed upon your cheek at the feel of his calloused hand below your own, especially since he did not pull away.  "I'm kidding, jesus, Murphy," you said softly.  

Murphy's brown eyes flickered to your lips, and back up into your eyes, as if he was asking you politely.  This was a shocking action from Murphy, but nonetheless, the two of you began leaning in closer to one another, until the gap was fully closed.  You could taste the moonshine against his lips, and moulded yours to his as the two of you kissed. Feeling him smirk into the kiss made you blush just a little bit more.  

You wished that it did not end when it did, but unfortunately you could hear someone clear their throat behind you.  Bellamy was standing behind the two of you, his arms crossed in disapproval as he watched the two of you separate. An annoyed look blossomed on Murphy's face as he noticed who was creating the hindrance towards the two of yours lips colliding once again.  

"So, you two?" Bellamy scoffed.  "Really?" 

"Do you have a problem, Blake?" Murphy chided.  

You rolled your eyes, before the two of them could get into another stupid fight, standing up to be in front of Murphy, in between him and Bellamy.  "Yes, really," you said confidently. "If it weren't for him, I would have died in that drop ship hours before anyone got there. I know you boys don't see eye to eye, but I don't see where you have any reason to jump in on our affairs." 

Bellamy let out an annoyed huff, knowing he couldn't step into anything that would piss the guards off, leaving the two of you alone once more.  You turned back to Murphy, who had a somewhat impressed smirk upon his face. Watching as he stood, you felt his arms slip around your waist firmly.  

"You really pissed off the king," he chided playfully, nuzzling his head into your neck as he spoke.  

You chuckled softly, curling into him a bit as the two of you stood.  "He's not the king of our society anymore," you said softly. "And after all, who cares?  He'll get over it eventually." 

"Would you prefer to go somewhere a little more private?" Murphy suggested, knowing it was getting late anyhow.  

You hummed in reply, nodding as you did so.  Hand in hand, the two of you made your way back to your room, which was mainly adorned with the pile of discarded pillows and blankets that you had made into a bed.  "I know it's not much, but it's better than nothing," you said softly.  

The two of you had not gotten overly frisky this night, instead, actually getting to know one another while lying comfortably in one another's arms.  He stroked your hair gently as the two of you spoke, enjoying the soft feeling of your hair against his skin. You told him about you, and how your parents were only present until a little bit before you were put in the sky box, as they had been much like his mother.  

Lying peacefully in one another's arms, soft kisses were shared with chapped lips, as well as secrets you had never told anyone of the 100 before.  To think, you almost died merely a few days prior, in the presence of the same person who warmed your bed now. The two of you eventually drifted off into slumber, and though the tough John Murphy would never admit it, he had been the happiest he had been since he arrived on Earth - even the happiest he'd been since he was sick.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

I don't know if it's a stupid question but why do you think Aegon was so sure he was the father of Daemon? I heard he was supposed to be in Braavos when Daena was pregnant and she hide the parentage but did he just claimed Daemon because he disliked Daeron and didn't want Baelor as king? Is that why he started rumors about Daeron but not Daenerys?

That’s not a stupid question at all, allyria! In fact, it’s one I’ve thought a lot about and it’s led to some tinfoil. 

Was Aegon in Braavos when Daena was pregnant? According to the SSM on Daena written in 2006, Daena escaped once in disguise “with the contrivance of her cousin Aegon,” although of course this information is from a long time ago; perhaps GRRM hadn’t come up with the ‘Aegon goes to Braavos on a diplomatic mission for a few years to keep from raping Naerys to death in childbirth’ reason for Daeron II-Daenerys’ 19 year age gap. In the 2014 World of Ice and Fire, it’s revealed that Aegon went to Braavos in 161AC and started an affair with the sea captain Bellegere Otherys that went on for 10 years, during which time she gave birth to three children. If the affair happened in Braavos and only in Braavos, then of course Aegon could not have fathered Daemon, but due to Bellegere’s itinerant occupation there’s no reason to assume they didn’t resume the affair in King’s Landing; in fact, that must be the case, since in 171AC Aegon VI openly took Barba Bracken as his mistress, meaning he was in KL at the time he and Bellegere broke up. So it’s possible that the SSM of Aegon helping Daena escape is still canon, thus Aegon came back to King’s Landing (maybe in the late 160s) from Braavos and perhaps had an affair with her. Considering there were rumors about Aegon being Daemon’s father before he was even acknowledged, I suppose the timeline must’ve worked out for some members of his court.

Now here’s where the tinfoil comes in:

Why do you think Aegon was so sure he was Daemon’s father? I don’t think he was, and only acknowledged Daemon as a last resort. I mentioned in a previous meta that acknowledging Daemon meant acknowledging seducing a princess without intent to marry her (which would’ve brought the wrath of the court and her powerful family, as seen with Saera/the Stinger in F&B), and Aegon wanted to avoid a scandal that could trigger his removal from the Throne. He would not have acknowledged Daemon had his own non-Daeron sons proved so disappointing. 

Aegon IV is unique in Targaryen history for having mistresses as opposed to paramours. (Aegon II and Aerys II had illegitimate children with unnamed [nice one, GRRM -_-] and presumably not-noble paramours, but they did not take them openly as mistresses.) He is also an aberration in real life history, since most kings did not choose unwed teenaged (by which I mean: a 16, a 13, a 15, and a 14 year old), relatively highborn girls to be their mistress; it was considered sacrilegious to defile a virgin, especially a lady, so most kings chose married women with husbands who’d look the other way. Doing so also saved kings from having to care for illegitimate children, since their offspring by married women were legally her husband’s unless acknowledged by the king in writing. It would seem logical for Aegon IV to keep to the lowborn/unimportant in Westeros paramours he had before his ascension (ie, women like Megette and Bellegere), or shift to married women, but he chose 4 Westerosi ladies and an impoverished Essosi aristocrat. Now it could be he was just reveling in being king and bedding highborn girls without consequence, or it could be that he wanted illegitimate sons whose mothers’ were ladies, and giving these unwed girls the ‘mistress’ title essentially ensured that those sons were without a doubt his, (since they had no legal father to cast doubt on his paternity). I suppose Aegon IV took high-but-not-too-high-born mistresses to have sons (who would at least have their family’s support) who could oppose Daeron later on, while not creating too big of a scandal.

It’s bad luck for this supposed plan of Aegon’s that both of his acknowledged, without-a-doubt-his sons turned out to be unsuitable. According to the MUSH RPG Melissa Blackwood was the daughter of a war hero (Bloody Ben) and a Baratheon (the Storm Ellyn) and the granddaughter of a Lannister, and was a beloved mistress besides, but her only son was born with albinism and thus thought cursed; this likely caused Aegon to “lose interest” in her shortly after Brynden’s birth. Aegor also had high birth, but there was no way Aegon was going to show favor to the grandson and nephew of the people he executed out of spite. Instead, he sought suitable sons in Jeyne Lothston and later Serenei of Lys, but then Jeyne got the pox and Serenei died in childbirth with a daughte, so I guess the barely-mobile Aegon figured he’d never have anymore kids by that point, and had to make do with what he had (note: twoiaf is not at all clear when Serenei died and Shiera was born, but I’m putting it around 179-181 because I don’t want Aegor and Brynden potentially “”falling in love”” with an 11-14 year old). So between the son with albinism, the son with traitorous blood, or the son who might not be his son but was the son of a princess who didn’t remarry (so no legal father/husband to dispute the paternity) who was brought up in the Red Keep and was an accomplished fighter at age 12, he was going to bite the bullet and call Daemon his, giving him Blackfyre as a token of favor. Helping his cause was that Daena had probably died before the acknowledgment (again there is no record of when Daena died, although the SSM indicates she lived long enough to raise Daemon, although according to Bran Stark eight/nine is “nearly a man grown” so who knows when childrearing is apparently done), and thus was not around to continue to refuse to name her child’s father.

Is [Aegon IV’s hatred of Daeron] why he started rumors about [his dubious paternity] and not Daenerys’? While I believe Aemon was Daeron’s father after all due to circumstantial evidence (parallel what Viserys I did to Aegon’s lover Falena Stokeworth with what he could’ve done to Naerys’ lover Aemon; send them both away from his child in a position befitting their birth), I do think that Aegon’s dislike of his son (or rather, what he believed Naerys, Viserys, and possibly Aemon and Baelor “turned him into” while he was separated from his child in Braavos) first made him consider that Daeron wasn’t his. However, I also think that the circumstances around Daenerys’ conception must’ve proved without a doubt that she was Aegon’s. Remember that she was born very soon after Aegon became king. Perhaps Aemon could’ve been sent on a scouting expedition to the Dornish marches in preparation for erecting those siege engines, meaning he was separate from Naerys for a time. Another theory with canon precedent is that the High Septon ordered a public re-consummation of Aegon and Naerys’ marriage some time around Aegon’s ascension, similar to Maegor I and Ceryse Hightower’s second consummation; it’s a prince exiled to Essos for a few years who ignored his legitimate wife in favor of younger, “more fertile” women, leading to their estrangement, then coming back together upon his return and their ascension as rulers. If Daenerys was born nine moons after a public consummation while Aemon was away from King’s Landing, then that would explain why there were no rumors about her paternity. Of course, a female child would not have, under the recent court logic that disinherited Queen Daena and her sisters, been able to challenge Daeron in the way a son could’ve, so the rumor mill simply may not have thought she was worth gossiping over.

I hope my response was interesting and coherent, in spite of all the tinfoil :)