#this is not to say that it didn’t make all colonized nations more backwards in their social development as well as their economic developme

[ciswomenofficial]

Transmisogyny might have had a dialectical relationship with European white supremacy and colonialism for the past several hundred years, and they might look similar in some ways because of how they were shaped by each other and by the same external pressures of this era, but if you think that transmisogyny is a result of white supremacy and colonialism, you don’t know much about the history of gender and patriarchy in Europe let alone the rest of the world.

[radfemsiren]

my brain cells die any time i see kataang shippers say zutara is bad because it's "colonizer x colonized romance"... like firstly, the fire nation never colonized the water tribes, and secondly, zutara doesn't even fit that dynamic. in the colonizer romance, the colonized woman falls for the colonizing man because he's from a more "enlightened" society and the relationship will bring her benefits and save her from the "backwardness" of her own people. this metaphor serves as propaganda for how the colonizing nation is the masculine "superior" and must "take care" of the feminized colonized nation like in a heteronormative marriage.

in the case of atla, zuko learns that all the nations are equals and he becomes a traitor to his own country so he can help aang end the war. if zutara were to happen in the series, it would only be when zuko became an anti-colonist and redeemed himself. i can understand why some people might not like the idea of katara falling for the fire lord and becoming his queen - even though this choice would actually piss off the fire nation traditionalists way more since the royal family practised eugenics and only married other fire nation people from powerful clans or lineages to create powerful firebenders - but zutara is simply not a "colonizer x colonized romance" at all.

i also think it's interesting that people want to apply these real-life implications onto zutara but ignore that the creators only hated zutara because they didn't like the bad boy winning over the nice guy, and aang is based on BUDDHIST MONKS. like hello, monks can't ever get married or have any type of sexual contact whatsoever. a monk that is lustful is considered a corrupted and evil monk, and there's many sex scandals in buddhist countries because there's men who claim to be monks to gain women's trust only to sexually assault them.

Omg true, if anything it would be a major act of rebellion against fire nation supremacy for Zuko to reject all the fire nation traditions and marry Katara, who is the Chieftain’s daughter of the poorest nation of all. He had to continuously redeem himself to her and reject his nation over and over to finally join them, like it’s definitely not a white savior “I’m gonna save you from your savage inferior ways” cliche to me at all. It would be such a slap in the face to all the division that the fire nation enforced, and give so much political and economic power to the southern water tribe that even its sister tribe didn’t offer.

Also, who says she has be the fire lords queen too, maybe he would join her and rule from her tribe for half the year… making him equally the chief of the water tribe. That would be super interesting, to shift the political power and make the isolated southern water tribe the new activity center of the world 🤔

Also it being seen as romantic for Aang to reject his spiritual ascension and chakras for Katara… it felt like a bummer to me. Not as this big romance gesture but just another example of them being wrong for each other oof

[fixyourwritinghabits]

On Fantasy Monarchies

I've been trying to figure out how to frame this right every time I remember how irritated fictional monarchies make me. I think I’ve finally figured it out, so here goes:

So we all know a monarchical system of government is... bad, right? Like, history has countless examples of 'hey maybe birthright rule is not the right way to run a country' AND YET many a fantasy will not blink twice at 'the good queen of the right blood replaced the bad king of the wrong blood and everyone was happy again' ending, despite the obvious solution of the bad king not being a thing if we just got rid of kings. So many fantasies about princes and princesses and like... man, there's got to be other interesting fantasy characters out there not so beheld to holding up the status quo. Like, c'mon.

(Obligatory disclaimer, yes you are allowed to have monarchies in your fiction and no, you do not have to bend over backwards to point out that monarchies are bad or whatever, especially if your book is about something else. This is just my particular hill to die on.)

Let's say we do want to point this out via a sympathetic villain character, because that's an interesting plot development. So say your bad guy's like 'hey, monarchies suck' and your hero's like 'yes good point Big-Fat-Ugly-Bug-Face-Baby-Eating O'Brien but the theme of this book is recovering from trauma and there's just no room for the chaotic upheaval changing our entire government would cause.'

So what do you do? You can't change the system of government overnight in any realistic or satisfying manner. Big-Fat-Ugly-Bug-Face-Baby-Eating O'Brien might have a good point, but he's also not going to make that point by eating babies. Well, you could try:

The Killmonger Method - The movie Black Panther did a pretty good job at having a villain with several good points about how Wakanda's society was wrong, but went about proving them the wrong way. However, at the end of the movie, T'Challa came to see the value of those points, and started taking steps to correct it. He didn't throw out Wakanda's entire system, but he did recognize it was time for change. Your characters could do the same.

The 'Hey, Other People Have This Point Too' Method - How do we avoid the issue of having a valid point wrapped in the cloak of evil (therefore making that point seem bad)? By having more than the villain make it. Maybe there are several people, groups, or organizations seeking change. They don't all have to agree, and they might not get what they want at the end of the book (especially if you don't have the page count to overthrow a system of government), but your hero becoming aware of them and opening up to change is worth exploring.

Progress Via Contact (not Colonization) - Your character's worldview expands as they discover other nations, other forms of governance, and other approaches to society. Forming alliances, relationships, and trading with these other nations could bring change on its own.

The Nuclear Option - You could just break everything. I know this seems like a bad idea now, but what if? What happens if the world is shattered, and has to be rebuilt? Can you find hope in that narrative? A way to make things better the second go-around?

Now I've made this very specifically about systems of government, but swap it out with systems of magic, societal structure, etc and it hopefully works the same. The main take away is that you don't have to change the world, but if the bad guy is actually right about change needing to happen, you at least need to leave the door open for that possibility. Even if the main character is the only one to realize that, even if that places a mountain in front of what seemed like a smooth path to a happy ending, it is worth exploring.

(Obligatory disclaimer the second: BIPOC and other marginalized folks who are only recently getting more opportunities to tell their own stories absolutely get a pass on the whole monarchy thing. I'm very specifically talking about Generic Bland Fantasy that could take the opportunity to shake things up, but don't. Missed opportunities, is all I'm saying.)

[swordgayist]

lord so the lightning scene in atla

the DISCOURSE like i guarantee you no one would so thoroughly analyze the romantic/platonic implications of someone literally fucking taking lightning to the heart for another person if it wasn’t zk

and i also find it awfully funny that to disprove zk atla fans are always bending over backwards telling us how horrible and toxic and manipulative zuko is but when it comes to the lightning scene they bend the other way asserting that he would’ve done it for anyone (which he would) because he’s kind and selfless and perfect and that saying it was for katara undermines his arc !! as if calling him a manipulative colonizer doesn’t

but i digress.

zk shippers’ rebuttals to these claims are also a little ........ weak i guess

so allow me to give some of my thoughts on why this scene only could’ve happened between zuko and katara

i already talked about this on twitter but god forbid i actively associate my tumblr with my twitter

so here’s the thing: zuko and katara have significant interactions in every season finale. and there is a significant parallel between their interactions in the crossroads of destiny and sozin’s comet. i also must add that the lightning scene parallels several other moments on the show which i’ll get to.

zuko’s sibling relationship with azula is pivotal to his character (as well as hers). from book 1 itself we see that a primary motivator for zuko is beating azula and being able to match her, if not become better than her. attaching his values to azula is representative of him as an antagonist and him still desiring his father’s approval and status in the fire nation, and him desiring the throne.

in the crossroads of destiny, zuko is given a choice between attacking azula, and thereby joining katara (let’s be real, if he was joining the good side at that point it would not be attributed to aang at all, it’d be attributed to katara) and betraying the fire nation, and attacking the avatar, thereby solidifying his place at his father’s side as the crown prince. engaging with azula is one choice, and standing by katara is the other.

(look i really don’t know if i’m supposed to italicize episode names or not i never listen to my english teachers when they talk about this shit so bear with me)

and he chooses azula, he chooses his father, and he chooses the throne. so he betrays katara. understandable of course, his father’s manipulated and abused him to the point that he and azula completely attach their worth to him, and he’s a kid who wants to go home to his dad.

but see the lightning scene is where this arc comes full circle. once again, after being accepted by team avatar, after risking himself for them multiple times, after he has earned katara’s forgiveness for his betrayal, he is presented with a choice. engage with azula, by continuing to fight her for the throne, and stand by katara by saving her life.

see the decision is a little more nuanced this time, because if zuko chose to fight azula it would actually be more understandable than before. he’s the crown prince, he’s the only one who can take the throne if his father is defeated. we all know azula can’t take it at this point. it’s the fate of the world on the line, zuko has to be the one to take the throne. and katara, in the end, is just a random girl from the southern water tribe, in the grand scheme of things, she is disposable.

but zuko chooses to stand by katara. that’s how strong their bond has grown. when he has to act on pure instinct rather than on calculated decisions, his instinct is to stand by katara.

and this is where their arc comes full circle. where one book ago zuko betrayed katara and fought against her alongside the fire nation, he’s now risking himself to save her life on instinct. this couldn’t have happened with any other character, because zuko didn’t have those moments from the crossroads of destiny with any other character, he didn’t truly betray any other member of the gaang, because he never developed any sort of trust with them to betray in the first place. it was katara, so the lightning scene had to be katara.

but in terms of this having romantic implications, there are a few scenes that also parallel the lightning scene that imply that a) zuko has a stronger bond with katara than any character on the show other than iroh and b) that this scene was meant to be romantic somehow

the first scene is this one from the chase:

when she makes her surprise attack on iroh, zuko is not quick enough to try and save him because he was too focused on besting azula. he was too fixated on her to realize what she was doing, and because of that his uncle, someone he loves more than anything, was severely injured. even after iroh takes the hit, zuko attacks azula before attending to iroh.

in the lightning scene, we see him focusing himself on azula. before, he was even slightly arrogant, egging azula on by mocking the fact that she hasn’t used lightning. his gaze is fixed on her ...... until .......

this time, he is able to realize that someone he loves is in danger. this time, his instinct is not to attack azula, or to counter her in any way. his instinct is to save katara. he is able to tear his focus away from his ambitions and his grudge against azula to save his friend.

the second scene i wanna talk about is much more straightforward:

a scene like this has literally happened before. where azula knows that zuko will always be willing to risk himself to save his loved ones, and where azula knows exactly what will break zuko’s focus. and guess who it was with?

mai, one of zuko’s love interests.

and this scene, where the stakes are exponentially lower, is worshipped by atla fans as some super adorable romantic scene. but how is the lightning scene any different? other than, you know, zuko nearly dying and risking the world to save katara’s life.

in theory, in its romantic implications, how are they different?

so that’s my spiel: it completed zuko and katara’s arc, and it parallels scene with people who, according to the show, zuko loves very much. no one is undermining zuko or katara by seeing this as a special moment for their bond.

i barely proofread this so if there are any typos sorry lmfao

[commajade]

just some thoughts about race and kpop on a structural level:

i’ve already said this before but kpop is like The best litmus test for looking at the Republic of Korea’s status as a neocolonial territory of the U.S. empire. 

korea is racist because the formation of korean conceptualizations of race were predicated by U.S. imperial influence. of course there was classism and colorism in korea already but the idea of a white race defining itself against the other and then colonized countries having to define themselves within a western nationalist paradigm didn’t exist until colonization. kpop is completely built on the theft of Black artistry because the entirety of commercial music on a global scale is based on theft and appropriation of Black artistry as led by the U.S. and other colonizers. i’m thinking here of how certain latin genres of music are seen as national and represented with white/mestix figures when they specifically came from afrolatinx or afrocaribbean communities and then were nationalized. but anyway it’s barely hyperbole when my friends say that all music is Black. 

but it’s been naturalized to see white appropriation of these marginalized aesthetics and see white artists taking credit for Black sounds. when it’s kpop, it makes it even starker and more uncomfortable because it’s not the status quo but an aspirational kind of racism in which the colonial collaborator is trying to contribute to the project of colonialism in hopes of being more accepted by the colonizing powers. and in turn, white americans get a scapegoat and get to point at kpop and korea as a more racist backwards country that should modernize and catch up the U.S. in terms of progressive racial ideals. 

south korean corporate antiblackness (which then trickles down the cultural landscape as whole which is why you get so many racist hairstyles in seoul) is a method of the colonial collaborator endearing itself to the colonizer. it’s the same thing with that gina rodriguez controversy where people were talking about how nonblack poc cash in antiblackness because the backlash makes white ppl accept them more. but anwyay shinee has been relatively less racist in their concepts partially because they genuinely respect Black art more than the average idol but also because of racism! their romantic soft boyfriend image has lead to less ca because it’s oppositional to Blackness in the colonial eye. it’s no surprise that as soon as they’re being properly backed properly by sm and doing a kind of “fresh new image” promotion campaign the racism came out. i am very very disappointed about those recent teasers but it’s like an inevitable thing, no one is exempt because the whole structure is racist. just like the south korean government! and essentially how the whole world works on a socioeconomic and historic level! 

[tepkunset]

@avatarfandompolice​​​ is a blog that likes to misuse progressive language in attempt to make ignorant, racist posts sound more intelligent than they are. While most of their blog consists of arguing about ‘zutara,’ (which I recently learned is a ship name for Zuko and Katara from an anon), there is also a large number of posts and reblogs under the premise of being “hot takes” on how unfair it is to address racism in fandom and in media.

Avatarfandompolice is very sensitive about people pointing out that Avatar: The Last Airbender is not, in fact, flawless. That a show made by two white men featuring Asian and Indigenous characters and influences is fully capable of getting things wrong. That their western colonial views are influences all on their own, and it shows. Rather than listen to fans of colour point out things like these posts for example: [Link] [Link] [Link], avatarfandompolice has decided that such things must simply be fake, and has made multiple posts complaining it. This is not just regular ignorance, this is wilful ignorance. The dismissal of critique simply because they cannot fathom not everyone being able to handle the amount of issues they are freely educating others on, or people holding the ability to like something overall while also pointing out where it could be better.

It is my firm belief that you should never absorb media with an uncritical eye. If this was the case, if people just accepted everything given to them, then we would never see any progress. We need to be able to look back at something and say here’s what we did right, and here’s what we need to do better with.

The argument that A:TLA was made in 2012 and therefore should not be analyzed with a modern understanding of the world is downright hilarious, too. As if we aren’t taught to write literature analysis on books and plays that are centuries old in school. In particular regards to the whole cop thing... if anyone reading this seriously thinks that hate and fear of the police is just a 2020 trend, you can meet me in the pit. I was four years old when I learned how terrifying cops are. If your experiences differ, let me tell you that does not make them universal. And as for all the 20-somethings talking about it today, well, gentle reminder that as said by avatarfandompolice right here, the show aired in 2012. Little 10-year-old kids don’t have social media, (at least I hope they don’t,) and unless they grew up experiencing first-hand police terror, probably were not aware of it at that age. I do not know why avatarfandompolice insults people's ability to grow and learn. I can only guess it’s jealously from their lack of ability to do so.

Now let’s address their defences of whitewashing, which is easily the most backwards reaching I’ve seen on this issue in a while. Primarily their defence relies on four repetitive “points” —

Fake minuscule percentages to downplay the high prevalence and extremity of whitewashing in the fandom

Deflecting the addressing of whitewashing with rapid-fire fake scenarios and claims of “reverse racism” / “blackwashing”

Claiming whitewashing isn’t real because people only care about it with Katara

Claiming that calling out whitewashing in fandom is wrong because it hurts artists

I have only so much as dipped my toes into the A:TLA fandom, and even I have seen a lot of whitewashed fan art. If you do an image search for fan art, I guarantee within the first couple rows of results, there will be in the absolute least, a few examples. The idea of these artworks not substantially lightening skin is also just plain inaccurate. Just from a quick Google search, this is literally the first result for ‘Avatar The Last Airbender Katara fan art’:

Avatarfandompolice is also hyper-focused on the lightening of skin, and seems to be under the impression that this is the only component of whitewashing. I come to this conclusion because when someone pointed out the equal prevalence of depicting these characters of colour with Western European features instead of their actual eyes, noses, etc., they rip a giant turd out of their ass and scrawl the words “but stereotyping” over it. No, not all Asian peoples and Indigenous peoples look the same. The original poster made no such claim of this at all. Avatarfandompolice jumped to this conclusion all on their own... (which really says a lot in itself). It is entirely unrelated to the point. The point being the erasure of how these characters look, in favour of giving them whiter features. And guess what? This does hurt. But I’ll get to that below.

The lack of understanding of whitewashing is on full display when avatarfandompolice talks about “blackwashing”; the idea that colouring characters with darker skin is just like whitewashing. Firstly, there is no such thing as “blackwashing.” “Blackwashing,” “brownwashing,” etc. does not exist because it is a false equivalency to whitewashing. It is a false equivalency to whitewashing because white people are not even in the slightest loosing representation when a white character is re-imagined as a racial minority, whereas when racial minorities are re-imagined as white people, they are taking away from what is already very little representation for us. If we lived in a world where the statistics of representation were not so drastically disproportionate, then there would be something to talk about. But if you are really wanting to support equality, you should focus on equitably supporting those who actually need it, not white people. As for specifically depicting characters like Sokka and Katara with darker skin than what they have in the show, the same applies, (so long as it’s not racebending them as we really shouldn’t be taking representation away from each other, and the artist avatarfandompolice ridicules above has done no such thing,) because colourism also exists within nonwhite communities as well.

As for the fake questions about cosplaying, the answer is really simple: Cosplay however you want, but don’t make pretending to be a different race part of your cosplay. If you want to cosplay Katara, you can do it without painting your skin darker, aka brownface. If you want to cosplay Zuko, you can do it without editing yourself to look East Asian, aka digital yellowface. The racist history behind this is an internet search away, but I suppose that is too difficult for avatarfandompolice to do.

Avatarfandompolice has made multiple claims that people must not really care about whitewashing if they only call it out for Katara. It is laughable at best, and sad at worst, that this is the conclusion they come to, and not the fact that unfortunately Katara just happens to be subjected to more whitewashing than other characters. I assume this is from a mix of her popularity as well as being a WOC and not MOC. This is not to say that whitewashing does not exist with male characters—not in the slightest. Half the images on this “10 fan art pictures of Sokka that are just the best” list from CBR are whitewashed. Only that across fandoms, whitewashing is more prevalent in female characters, by my observations at least.

Finally—and this one pisses me off the most—avatarfandompolice claims that whitewashing is no big deal, but calling out whitewashing is too harmful to justify. How fucking dare you put the feelings of artists who can’t handle critique of their work (that they publicly share) over fans of colour, who are constantly subjected to seeing our identities and looks not being worth respecting. As if it doesn’t imprint on your mind from a very young age how only villains ever have your facial features, because they’re ugly and I guess that means you’re ugly. As if there is something wrong with you. As if respecting you is regarded as extra effort, and not just common courtesy.

Whitewashing is a form of colourism, which is a form of racism. It is the favouritism, unconscious or not, of white features and the erasure of visible characters of colour. It is not fandom drama. It is not being too lazy to focus on “real issues” because it is part of a real issue. It is yet another part of why fandom spaces are so uninviting to POC. We live in a society that favours lighter skin. Corporations make fortunes from selling products to bleach your skin, products to contour your features away or go as far as surgery, all to meet beauty standards set by and influenced by white colonizers. That does not exist in A:TLA, and that’s called refreshing escapism. But it’s hard to escape that when the fandom constantly reminds you otherwise. It is a perfect example of how the classic “just let people enjoy things” complaint is nothing but disguised racism, because it’s only ever said regarding white fans’ enjoyment, at the expense of fans of colour.

None of the characters in A:TLA are white. Redesigning them and recolouring them as if they are, be it out of accident or intent is wrong. If you get called out for it, apologize, learn from the experience and do better going forward. You’ll also improve your art this way.

Beyond excusing whitewashing, avatarfandompolice has overt racist posts as well. A Black fan said they like to headcanon Katara as being partially Black; “I swear Katara was a sister. Im convinced there ain't no way she didn't have some black in her.” Avatarfandompolice jumps in saying “She's literally an Inuit but ok” as if being an Inuk person means Katara can’t possibly also be Black. The OP never claimed Katara was not Indigenous, simply that they also saw her as Black. Black Indigenous peoples exist. Black Inuk peoples exist. It is overtly anti-Black to say otherwise. But what even is the point of talking to avatarfandompolice about that? You know, you would think in trying to put such a front up of caring about the Inuit, they would do the most basic learning of the proper grammatical use of Inuit and Inuk. (As is the case with a great many Indigenous Nations, Inuit is both the Nation and plural. Inuk is singular. “An Inuit” / “Inuits” as avatarfandompolice has used just makes their dressed-up racism all the more pathetic. It’s similar to as if you said “Chinas” instead of “Chinese”.)

But all this is nothing, nothing compared to the worst post I had the displeasure of seeing. In a single post, avatarfandompolice manages to squeeze in insult against low income people, Mexican people, Jewish people, and Black people in a mockery of financial help posts. Absolutely disgusting, childish behaviour from a place of privilege. As someone who has had no option but to make such a post before, more than once, let me fucking tell you that the embarrassment and desperation when in that situation is unparalleled. It is not done lightly. It is done when you are at the last resort of having nothing but hope that the combined generosity of others will be enough to save you and your family. And what adds a whole other level to the odiousness of avatarfandompolice’s post is that they specifically targeting low income minorities to boot. Because we’re all poor beggars, right?

All in all, for someone who prides themselves in calling others ignorant, avatarfandompolice has to be one of the most obtuse fandom blogs I have ever scrolled through. They are as vile as they are pathetic, and my sincere sympathy for anyone who has been unfortunate enough to interact with them. It has been a while since I so strongly recommend blocking someone.

[lady-griffin]

Avatar both Korra and Aang legends?

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my -- 

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Favorite character: Aang, Katara, Toph, or Zuko (I can’t decide)

Least Favorite character: Pakku (his sexism was only really “solved” by Katarina being the granddaughter of the women he was once betrothed too – it felt forced and weak. I also didn’t like him letting Katara call him grandfather (or a version of that), but not Sokka. 

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Zutara, Kataang, Zuko x Mai, Sokka x Suki, Mai x Ty Lee

Character I find most attractive: Katara, also definitely June

Character I would marry: Sokka or Suki

Character I would be best friends with: Katara or Suki

a random thought: Are the combo animals their own unique species or are the animals in the Avatar world able to reproduce with different animals and just over time, those half babies were able reproduce as well, and thus becoming their own species. 

That would explain the existence of both Solo Animals and Combo Animals. Example: Bears (Solo), Armadillo Bears and Platypus Bears (Combo) 

If that’s the case does that mean, the interspecies mixing happened millions and millions maybe a billion years ago, if so, is that why solo animals (cats, bears) are so rare while combo animals are the majority? 

Solo animals are super rare, which makes me think Bosco was like a super expensive/valuable gift to the King - showing his status as King. 

Turtle Ducks are the greatest thing ever.

An unpopular opinion: I never really thought “The Great Divide” was as awful as people make it out to be. It’s certainly not my favorite, but I was surprised when I learned how much people truly hated it.

My Canon OTP: Kataang

My Non-canon OTP: Zutara

Most Badass Character: Azula, also Kyoshi 

Most Epic Villain: Azula and Ozai

Pairing I am not a fan of: Azula x Ty Lee (I don’t hate it, but given how toxic their relationship was, I can’t say I’m a big fan)

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): 

Not a character, but I thought that having Fire Lord Sozin banned homosexuality (in the comics) felt very weird to me and not in line with the Fire Nation. Out of the three remaining nations, the Fire Nations seemed the most “progressive” in terms of equality for women or more accurately for the goal of world domination they were willing to used everything and everyone they had.

It’s also interesting see how each nation and their relative status in terms of morality and their relation to female warriors/fighters/ 

The Fire Nation (Bad) has the most female fighters. We see actual women in the army, female prison guards, as well as the most individual named fighters/characters – Azula, Ty Lee, Mai, June, Lo and Li. Azula’s teachers must have been on an entirely different level than everyone else, as neither one was a fire-bender, but yet they were charged with being Azula’s mentors and teachers in regards to fighting and fire bending.

The Northern and Southern Tribes (Good) have pretty sexist views. Sokka is pretty sexist in the beginning (he had to learn that from somewhere), in Katara’s introduction all the men left (not all that were capable) and Sokka felt as the only teenaged male it was his duty to be in charge/protect everyone.

We literally have episodes that explored the sexism of The Northern Tribe and it literally takes Katara throwing down with an old man from them to start to change. And to my knowledge, there are only two named female water benders – Katara and Hama, maybe the healer in the northern tribe had a name(?), but the fact that I would have to look up her name, if she has one (proves my point). Her name is Yugoda. We don’t have any non-bender female fighters for the Water Tribes. 

The Earth Kingdom (Neutral) has Suki, Avatar Kyoshi and the Kyoshi warriors (unnamed), June, and the girl from Jet’s gang, but the only living female earth bender we ever see is Toph, aside from her we only ever see male earth benders.

The Air Nomads (Strive For/Good) seem to treat everyone as equals, but women and men lived and were raised separately.

So, it just felt lazy to say oh the fire nation is ruled by an oppressive regime and the regime is bad and banning/outlawing same-sex couple is also bad – so there.

When I think you could’ve had a very interesting story, when the Water Tribes who we’ve seen have the most backwards views on women, being the nation to ban same-sex marriages/relationships.

Avatar was very good on the whole – “It’s not that simple” and “Oh god, it’s so much more complicated -  so, I think it would’ve been a very interesting storyline to have The Water Nations have been the ones to ban same-sex relations, while maybe the Fire Nation maybe took after some ancient (Greece/Roman societies) where some thought a soldier would fight harder if they were fighting and protecting their lover/love.

Also, maybe in the recovery period. The Fire Nation wants to have same-sex be legal, but as they were were literally trying to take over the world and systematically tried to destroy other nations and colonize,  the Water Tribes don’t want their traditions and customs being dictated by those of the Fire Nation. I don’t know, that could’ve been very complicated and nuance story. 

It just seemed lazy to me and sort of ignoring what they’ve already set up in their canon universe, on purpose or not. 

 Favorite Friendship: Momo and Appa, Aang and Sokka, Aang and Zuko, Aang and Toph… Aang with anyone really

Character I most identify with: I don’t think I really identify with anyone, but when it came out, definitely Mai.

Character I wish I could be: Mai or Ty Lee

Avatar: The Legend of Korra

Favorite character: Korra 

Least Favorite character: Varrick, Unalaq (weak villain), Mako (at times)

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Korrasami, Bolin x Opal, Korralin, Kai x Jinora, Makorralin (…I’ve read a lot good smut of these guys, so yeah...)

Character I find most attractive: Asami

Character I would marry: Asami

Character I would be best friends with: Jinora

a random thought: Why did they have Korra sleeping on her bed with shoes on in season one… that will forever bother me.

An unpopular opinion: I’m have no idea if this is unpopular, but I think Bumi getting air-bending was such a copout. There was something very interesting about the child of two of the most powerful benders (literally his dad is the avatar and his mother was the avatar’s water bender teacher) being a non-bender and that really could’ve been explored. It felt “cheap” to give him air-bending…I was never a fan of that

Also, it bothered me that the Tenzin, Kya, and Bumi all had skin tones that matched perfectly with their respected powers/lack of powers and also they all dress with that same mind set. As one of the first mixed families we really get to see, It would’ve been nice, if their styles of clothing were different or combos of Air Nomad, Water Nation and Earth Kingdom (given where they lived). 

Having only Tenzin be the only we see dress as an Air Nomad and later Bumi (when he gets air-bending) definitely gives credence to the idea that Bumi definitely had a reason for thinking he didn’t truly belong in the Air Nation.

I think Legend of Korra loss a good opportunity of introducing the first mixed families/kids, but still had them dress in regards to their respected element 

It felt weird that Bolin and Mako, dressed with their specific element color. 

Especially since Republic City was this huge diverse city, with influences and people from across the four nations. 

My Canon OTP: Korrasami

My Non-canon OTP: Korralin/Gender-Reverse Korralin

Most Badass Character: Korra

Most Epic Villain: The Red Lotus

Pairing I am not a fan of: Makorra, I was a huge fan of them when it started, but honestly as the show continued and looking back at it, their chemistry was off after the second episode. They had such a great set-up with the gazing end and music, but after that it was downhill.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Not so much a character, but Aang and Katara and their relationship with their children never felt right to me. 

In general, though, I think the creators struggled in finding the right groove for many of the characters if not all of them, at one point or another. 

Favorite Friendship: Korra and Asami, Korra and the Airbending Kids

Character I most identify with: Jinora and Ikki

Character I wish I could be: Asami

[crystalldragon]

proving it

"“Hey, Vetra,” Elly takes her hands in Vetra’s, two fingers pressing against five, and smiles up at her. “I’m always here for you, both of you. As I’ve said. I really care. I mean it.”

A collection of moments telling the story of Elly Ryder and Vetra Nyx, a human and a turian falling in love inmidst a new and unknown galaxy.”

here's how elly ryder looks like in case you're interested

8 chapters (6,128 words)

ao3 link | or read it down below ↓

—1—

Finding a new home in the Andromeda galaxy and building a civilization. That was their original mission. No one had expected to find all their so called “golden worlds” to be inhabitable. Much less to get thrown onto one of these worlds and have their Pathfinder Alec Ryder dying to save his daughter, Elly Ryder.

Simply waking up after 600 years of deep sleep was difficult enough. But then dealing with the loss of their expected home and her dad? That’s too much for Elly. The worst part of it all: she’s supposed to be the new Pathfinder. She’s supposed to deal with everything – exploring new worlds, setting up outposts and leading the Initiative project to its original goal. This new kind of responsibility is crushing, and it will take a lot of time to get used to it.  

And this isn’t the only thing she’ll have to get used to. Now, she also has her own ship with her own crew. A crew that fully believes in her and her abilities. It’s more than she could’ve ever come up with in her wildest daydreams. Sure, she’d dreamt of having her own ship, just sailing around in space and discovering new things. But this is bigger than all of that – and at what price did it come? Was all the pain this journey had brought so far really worth it?

This is no time for doubt or weakness though. She has to be strong. For her crew. For the sleeping humans on the Hyperion. For her brother. For her father. He had done so much for this project and she knows how much he wanted it. After several fights in their family, in the end, all of them had agreed to it and had even looked forward to this new start in a faraway galaxy. Even though it meant leaving everything they’ve ever known behind. Their home, their friends, the view outside of their favorite café, the visits to the National Space Museum and so on. They would never see the Earth again, nor would they see the Citadel or Eden Prime or anything of the Milky Way ever again. And since communication between the two galaxies would take very long, they also wouldn’t hear anything from the Milky Way, at least not in their lives. Their only hope concerning that is to raise a new generation in Andromeda which can someday, hopefully receive a message from the Milky Way.

She’s so lost in thought she barely registers Cora’s voice behind her. “This is it, Ryder. The Tempest is yours. Unless you’ve got something to say for the log?”

There is a whole galaxy of currently inhabitable planets, a mysterious thing called “the Scourge” and other possible dangers ahead. But as she stares out the windows at the bridge, she can’t help but believe there is still hope out there. Of all these possible worlds they could discover, there has to be one for them to live on. The Miky Way has them. Earth. Thessia. Palaven. Sur’Kesh. Now it’s on her and her crew to find their counterparts in the Andromeda galaxy. The following words coming out of her only feel natural.

“We were all expecting a golden world. A home where we could start over and fullfill our dreams. Now there’s just a long road ahead. But hold on to those dreams. We will get there.”

 —2—

Vetra Nyx has been on the run all her life. Home always felt like hell – well, what had she’d called “home” in the beginning. Her parents fought all day long, not giving a care about her, much less her newborn sister, Sidera. One day, while feeding Sid, she’d overheard them screaming at each other again and after hearing a loud thud, she’d looked out the window to see her mother running away. Whatever it was her father did… her mother and all the others erased their existence from their minds. Her dad snatched her and Sid, and they left Palaven together. Time passed and soon enough, their dad became increasingly overwhelmed by the task of taking care of them. It all went downhill until… even he left and never came back. She and Sid were completely left alone, no guidance, no money, no family but each other. It was time the two left just the same – and so it came she and her sister sneaked into the next ship leaving not too far away from their settlement. It was a risky endeavor of course, she had no idea where they were going, but at that time everywhere was better than where they currently were. For the following few years, Vetra kept the only family left to her alive by doing all sorts of jobs. Kesh, one of her clients, hired Vetra a handful of times to retrieve things for her. The tasks got bigger one after the other, and after Vetra gingerly asked her what she was doing with all this, Kesh introduced her to the Initiative.

Up to that, her whole life had been anything but easy. She never had room to think much about what she wanted – everything was about getting money for food and shelter and taking care of her sister. It was surviving, not living. Even though their time at the Nexus wasn’t exactly easy either, it was closer to living than what was before.

And now her life is the closest it has ever been to living instead of surviving. She has a stable home – the Tempest. She has a place and a job here and she has people around her she can (somewhat) trust. And most importantly: her little sister is safe and sound on the Nexus. Sure, things are pretty messy right now and looking somewhat grim, but at least her only family is with her in this chaotic new galaxy. It’ll take months, probably even years or decades, to get this project fully working. Lots of heated discussions and unnecessary fights will happen before the first planet is ready to be colonized. Even more than anticipated, since now it’s not only a lot of red tape but there’s also the question of how to repair the damage the Scourge has caused. If there’s one person who can manage all of that, it’s gonna be Elly Ryder. Vetra isn’t one to quickly trust people, but this woman is an exception, and the turian will make sure she knows just how important she is.

―

“We’ve been failing for months, Ryder. Now that we have you, we have a chance out here.” It’s the truth. The Nexus is a giant mess. Three lazy ass diplomats sitting around and arguing isn’t going to change a single thing. No, it’s about time someone takes action. Now they’ve got a Pathfinder, maybe not the one they wanted, but probably the one they need. The people on the Nexus can complain all they want, Vetra is already convinced the Pathfinder’s, no, Ryder’s arrival means the return of what they’ve had lost so long ago: hope.

“Wow, that’s some laser focus,” Ryder answers, smirking and leaning against the boxes taking up most of the space in her small room.

Vetra takes a step back. Is that meant to be a joke or is she serious?

“Yeah… Was it too much? Some people get intimidated.”

Ryder walks up to her, the smirk never leaving her face, instead growing even more prominent. “I’m not just some people. I really like the intensity.”

Oh. Now that’s new. She already figured out Ryder is a very… honest person but this is… unexpected, still. She isn’t used to someone complimenting her ambitions so earnestly. The people she used to work for were always rather ungrateful to her. Even on the Nexus, where she had done much work for the Tempest, no one was really that nice to her. People were much more focused on themselves.

“That’s good. It’s nice to feel… appreciated.”

Vetra mentally slaps herself. That’s about the lamest answer she could’ve given to something so huge. Or maybe it isn’t huge. Maybe she isn’t special at all, and it’s just that Ryder is fascinated by people in general. Yeah, it’s probably that. Better let this all go. She turns around and walks over to her desk, where her datapad is still lying with her mails open.

“I should track down a lead for Gil’s actuators. Back channels, you know?”

Ryder nods and slowly walks backwards in the direction of the door while still looking at the tall, slender woman sitting down at the desk.

“We’ll chat later, then,” she says, leaving the room with a slight blush appearing on her face.

 —3—

“Hey Ryder, what’s up?” Vetra contacts Ryder over the comms. No answer. With a sigh, she hops out of the Nomad and walks towards the cliff Ryder is standing on. They’d been searching through the Remnant caves of Havarl and for the last few minutes, Ryder has gotten awfully quiet while driving the Nomad to their next destination. Usually, Ryder would have something to say about everything. During their travels with the vehicle she commented on so many things, it was almost like she was moderating her own show. Sometimes the squad was annoyed by this, but Vetra found it cute nonetheless. Ryder has to endure so much, and yet she radiates delight and curiosity. Vetra still wonders how she manages to do that.

“Ryder?” she calls again. There’s a chasm before them, made out of Remnant technology. They’ve been here before, cleaned up some enemies, but they haven’t done anything further. “Are you okay?” she asks, coming to a halt beside her. The red-haired woman turns her head and looks at her with a blank face.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Vetra reassures her, not knowing what else to say.

Ryder nods and a few seconds pass before she quietly sighs and answers.

“Sometimes it hurts, you know. The… thing with my dad, I mean. I’ve always looked up to him. Sure, he was rough but he was… still is my dad and I love him. But the more I realize he’s gone now, the more I also realize how much I didn’t know about him. He never really told me about his work. Not even about the parts that were not classified. SAM told me there are still many memory fragments left to discover. He feels like my dad but at the same time like a total stranger. And I don’t want to be mad at him, but I am mad at him for leaving us behind. I know it’s not his fault but…” her voice cracks and the tears that have built up in her eyes spill over. This is so unlike her usual calm and happy composure, and Vetra is not quite sure how to deal with it. She had to calm down a sad or angry Sid a couple of times, but never a crying Elly Ryder.

“But… it still hurts,” Ryder finishes, the tears still rolling down her cheeks. “God, I’m so sorry, Vetra.” She shakes her head, as if to tell herself to stop crying. Neither of them say anything as Vetra searches for the right words and the silence becomes more and more uncomfortable. Eventually, Ryder excuses herself again and wants to go back to the Nomad, but Vetra grasps her hip with her large hand.

“Ryder…” she takes a deep breath in and looks down, not daring to look into her glistering eyes. “I know how you feel. I felt the same way about my dad. To this day I don’t know why he left, only that he did and we weren’t ready for it. So…” she looks into her eyes now and holds on tight to her with both of her hands. “You are not alone.”

Ryder says nothing and just nods instead, and Vetra can see a slight smile making its way onto her lovely face. How could she be so vulnerable and so beautiful at the same time?

“Thank you,” is the only thing Ryder does say in the end. Vetra feels a gloved hand touching her cheek softly and this time she can clearly see the bittersweet smile beneath her many freckles.

They stand there for a few moments until Ryder gets out of her embrace and slowly walks back to where they came from. She turns around and calls after the tall woman. “You coming, Vetra?”

“I’m right behind you, Ryder,” Vetra says, even though she’s standing right where Ryder left her, the tingling sensation on her cheek still present. A quiet rumble leaves her throat and with big steps she follows her into the Nomad again.

—4—

The Nexus, though a place full of bureaucracy, is probably the safest place to be for the Milky Way species in Andromeda.

One can spend a lot of time watching Ryder dashing through the Nexus, running from place to place and handling one task after another. Sometimes she’d stop for a second, get lost in her thoughts, and then utter a small “oh!” and quickly walk towards her next destination. She is always on and about. It’d be almost sweet if it weren’t so worrisome. If Vetra were to be a little more bold and brave, she’d just grab Ryder, give her a proper meal and make sure she gets enough sleep. That’s what she’d do to Sid. But Ryder is not her little sister. She has to take care of herself, and as much as Vetra wants to help, she also doesn’t want to be a bother to her.

“Hey, my favorite turian,” Ryder’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts about said person.

“Hey, Ryder,” she answers, and gets greeted by a pout on the humans face. “What?”

“Y’know, you could… call me Elly. Since I call you by your first name, too.”

“Everybody calls me by my first name,” Vetra says, ignoring her request. Sure, she isn’t a good turian, but she isn’t gonna be that respectful and speak to her commander so… casually.

“So what?” She furrows her eyebrows and puts on something Vetra interprets as a pleading face, one Vetra has trouble not to give in to. “Please?”

“All right, Ryder… uh… Elly.”

The human woman squeals in delight and hugs her forcefully.

“Hey…” Vetra protests, surprised by the feeling of Elly’s body pressed against hers. “The others…”

A disinterested grunt comes out of Elly as response and she stands there for some time, hugging her quietly before stepping back and looking at her. “So how are you?”

“That’s what I should be asking you,” Vetra retorts, the worries from ealier entering her mind again.

“No talking about me, I want to know about you.”

You can’t get Elly to talk about herself when she doesn’t want to, so Vetra tries to make her feel good otherwise.

“Well… I wanted to thank you again. For helping me with Sid.”

Elly gives her a puzzled look. They’ve talked about this before, but at that time, Vetra was somewhat angry with Sid. She still is, to be honest, but by far not as much as she was before. Sid is still a kid, and Vetra raised her like her own child, but she has to let her do her own things, step by step. At least, now they’re not alone anymore. They have lots of people by their side, helping and supporting them, especially Elly. And they have lots of things to do to get to the goals of the Andromeda initiative. Everyone can and should play their part in that. Even her sister.

“I thought about it some more and…” she tries to explain, “I’m just… thankful. You’re here for us. And you care.”

“Hey, Vetra,” Elly takes her hands in Vetra’s, two fingers pressing against five, and smiles up at her. “I’m always here for you, both of you. As I’ve said. I really care. I mean it.”

“Elly…” Her voice has grown somewhat frantic, and she’s so embarrassed, but tries to not let it show. Just as she tries to not show the surprise at the sudden constraining feeling in her heart. It feels like falling and flying at the same time. She’s speechless. Once again. How can this woman say and do such things to her?

“We’ll, uh, meet on the ship, then,” Elly says, letting go of her hands and slowly walking away towards the ship docks. Vetra already misses the warmth of their hands pressed together and wonders, just for a brief moment, if Elly might feel the same.

—5—

According to SAM, it is the only thing they can do to get them out of the Archon’s grip – killing Ryder. The Archon had put stasis fields around them, which would only respond to living signals. And SAM couldn't find any other solutions besides the most horrible one to exist.

Vetra can barely manage any fitting words for the anger and disbelief she feels right now. “Ryder... you’re crazy.”

“Um… just in case: It was nice, knowing you all.” Peebee, the young adventurous asari, sounds so casual, just like most times, but Vetra can hear the slight tremble in her voice betraying her poise. Peebee is probably just as bad as she is with feelings, though right now Vetra's sure they are both crushed by the sudden fear overwhelming them.

“All right… Do it,” Elly’s voice holds the same amount of fear in it.

The two look up at her and all of Vetra's blood seems to freeze in her veins at those words. Elly is absolutely unbelievable, facing death with a readiness unlike anyone else. She and her brother were the only ones left of her family, she has once told her. Vetra knew that feeling all too well, given that it's only her and her sister left. Despite that fact, Elly is prone to jumping into danger at first hand. And Vetra would be lying if she said it didn’t bug her. Too many times she had to stifle an upset or worried comment after Elly had stormed recklessly into a group of Kett or driven the Nomad too close to the edge of a deep abyss. But this outdoes everything.

“Stopping your heart now.” The immobilizing field around her disappears, and her limbless body drops before them. Vetra is convinced her heart has just stopped beating together with Ryder's heart. Maybe SAM is an enemy after all and just got them here to kill them altogether. No, no, no, no… Everything that's left to her is the image of Ryder lying there, and she shuts her eyes, trying to burn the image away. Being trapped in a stasis field until her death suddenly feels like an easier option than to see Ryder dead right in front of her without her being able to do something.

“Stimulating the cardiovascular system…” SAM’s usually soothing voice rings in her ears, and she would love to punch it for doing this to Ryder, which is of course impossible given that SAM has no body to begin with and she is immobilized anyway.

“Zero activity.”

“SAM…” she just says instead in the most threatening manner she could. If this doesn’t work… she’s either gonna die too or travel to the edge of the galaxy and live there alone for the rest of her life.

The same announcement from before comes again. “Stimulating the cardiovascular system…”

The next few seconds that pass are filled with silence which seems to stretch endlessly long, so long that Vetra swears she could feel every atom of her body slowly deceasing. Not even the most intense and life-threatening fights she has been in have anything on the soul-crushing fear she feels right now. Her mind is replaying her life in a flash, as if she’s dying herself, but it all gets stuck at Elly Ryder. She’d do anything to hear her laugh, see her cute face with the many freckles and touch her smooth red hair, just one more time…

And then, suddenly, one deep breath is what it takes to restore all the life inside her. She opens her eyes, which she had closed unintentionally because she couldn’t bear to look at the lifeless body of her commander, her friend, of … whatever they were. Ryder is laying there with open eyes, coughing wildly. After she’s catched her breath, she picks up her assault rifle and gets up on wobbly legs.

“Ryder…” The only word that's left to Vetra. Her subharmonics are filled with fear, and she's glad the other two can’t hear it – though they probably know how smitten she is anyway.

“I'm okay. I'm okay,” Ryder repeats, mostly to herself and walks over to the console to free her teammates, seeming a little more like a lost soul than a living being. She taps some buttons and looks at her squad mates with a weary smile and a thumbs up. Vetra can’t remember what the gesture is for – is it something positive or negative? The thought leaves her mind as soon as it entered because now she and Peebee are freed as well.

She opens her mouth to ask if Elly really is okay, but leaves it be. Now is not the time for talking. They have an Archon to hunt down.

—6—

“I think I've had enough of dying for one lifetime.” Elly sinks her hands into her bedsheets, imagining they were her brain and she could sink her flesh like claws into her memories and erase parts of them – between her practically dying twice, the Exaltation, the Jaardan – it’s too much.

“Pathfinder, I want to remind you I would have done anything else had there been another possibility available. We may be both aware there was not anything else left for me to do, but even so I am sorry. This situation was just another proof that my powers are not unlimited,” SAM said in private.

“Thank you, but I don't need any condolences. Especially not from you, a machine without real feelings.”

“Though I do not have any real feelings as you may have, I have spent a long time among humans and other species, long enough so I can roughly understand the concept of these feelings, Pathfinder,” SAM replies.

“Fuck – Look, SAM, I do not want to talk about it right now, okay?!”

“Understood, Pathfinder.”

She buries her head in one of the pillows. SAM calling her Pathfinder after every sentence just makes everything worse. But she is right, isn't she? SAM isn’t capable of feeling what she is currently feeling, so its understanding words were just empty words. She lays down flat on her bed and feels her eyes water. Shit. Thinking about this was just the last straw. There's so much – too much – on her mind and the Archon and his army are still alive and there are no habitable planets for their people – well she has activated the Monoliths on Eos, Voeld and Havarl and the conditions there have gotten better, but this victory was only temporary with the Kett still at large.

“Pathfinder?” SAM’s voice pops up again.

Elly groans loudly to voice her disapproval, letting out a “What?!” in the most annoyed tone she could manage.

“Vetra Nyx is requesting access to your quarters.”

She rolls around on her bed. Is adding Vetra to the mush that is her negative thoughts right now a good idea? The only thing she is capable of right now is complaining about how bad her situation is. Everything in her screams to let her go, but even so the opposite leaves her mouth.

“Okay.”

The doors open to reveal the brown-beige face and the purple markings she has grown to love. Vetra isn't wearing her armor – she is wearing something that resembles a turian pyjama.

“Hey, Elly,” she sits down on the bed and Elly feels her weight pushing down the mattress. Not daring to say anything or even look at her, Elly just stays unmoving on the bed.

“Are you okay?” She's slowly gotten accustomed to the subharmonics in Vetra's voice, and right now she's sure there's worry resonating in them. It’s a honest question, though Vetra isn’t one to push someone into answering.

“No,” she says at last. “Vetra… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” the turian woman takes off her boots and lays down next to Elly. Her copper hair is sprawled all across the pillow and she runs a talon through the soft strads. Upon this, a small smile appears on Elly’s face and she turns around, facing the other. Vetra notices her swollen eyes and begins to grow more worried. Simultaneously, Elly’s smile disappears again and she opens her mouth.

“How do you deal with all the bad memories?”

Vetra stops her movements and looks her dead in the eyes. That question is so vague and difficult to answer… nothing she’ll say will be of help, probably. But she’ll try anyway.

“Uh… first: making new, good memories. Second: talking about the bad ones and third: try to resolve them if possible. I guess that about sums it up?”

Elly hums. “Well, I don’t see you doing the latter two.”

“Hmpf. Doesn’t make my advice any less helpful, does it?”

“Probably not.” There’s that grin again. The one that lights up her face and makes her cute freckles stand out even more inmidst her puffy cheeks. The one that Vetra has grown to love. She’d like to say something about how beautiful she thinks Elly is, but is sure it’d be inappropiate right now, especially considering she still doesn’t know… what they actually are. By now, she’s sure Elly has been flirting with her on one or two occassions. But Vetra is the last one to believe Elly actually likes her, of all people. Everyone loves Elly, and Elly loves everyone. She’s a sweetheart to almost everyone (except for her enemies, of course) and she might as well has found another person she’d rather be with.

“Vetra?” Elly’s quiet voice pulls her out of her thought process. It sounds so… foreign. Fragile. “Can you… stay here, for a while?”

“Of course. Anything for you,” she answers and she means it. Vetra has done many things for other people before, but only for money. But for Elly, she’d gladly do anything for free. She could give and give and give simply because this woman deserves that much. She has seen so much, but has never given up, always getting up and continuing the fight. Though she can be fierce, she still has a soft heart. Shit, Vetra thinks, and feels her heart tighten in her chest.

“In that case… can you hold me… just for a bit?” Her voice is still nothing more than a whisper. Vetra isn’t sure if her mind is playing games or if there’s really a blush adorning her cheeks. In any case, she’s quick to oblige and puts her arms around the much smaller body of Elly Ryder. With a content sigh, the human buries her head into her chest and through the thin fabric, Vetra can feel her nose, cheeks and lips press into her chest plates. It’s more than anything she could’ve hoped for. A two-fingered hand reaches up and strokes her hair, continuing until she hears a quiet snore.

Vetra isn’t sure if she’s allowed to stay, but she isn’t going to wake up a sleeping Elly Ryder either, so she decides to stay right where she is.

—7—

Vetra hears a small giggle coming from Elly and before she can turn her attention to her, she hears the loud poof of her jump-jet and more giggling as she dashes up to the top of the mountain.

“Hey!” Vetra calls after her. “I said no jump jets!”

She grins to herself as she hears Elly laughing freely, a sound she hasn’t heard from her in a while, and she can’t help but laugh with her. If she could get Elly to let loose for just one second, then the trip was already worth it. Though she also has another card up her sleeve.

“Looks like you’re having fun,” Vetra says as she reaches the top, taking a second to look around and admire the view herself. Of course, she’d taken Elly here to show her the amazing view, but also to talk to her. The knowledge that Elly is trusting her so much to let her worries go gives her an extra amount of hope for what is about to happen.

She walks over to where Elly is flat on the ground and lays down beside her, both still out of breath from climbing and laughing.

“Hey… Is this real?” she asks, not clarifying what she means on purpose. Vetra wants to know if Elly already knows. They have been flirting pretty regularly by now, but she still isn’t sure if Elly means any of it. Vetra is somewhat used to people flirting with her, but not because they like her. No, because they only want to use something of her, whether it’s her gun skills, her persuading manner, or her craftsmanship. People never want her, as a person. So when the compassionate and understanding Elly Ryder started flirting with her, of all people, she got… confused. Did she care that much for her? If she really did, it would change everything. Not only had Vetra found a new purpose on the Tempest, she had also found a home, and maybe now, a home in another person. Turians were taught to just accept the flow of life, but for the past weeks she kept wondering – what would it be like, having a quiet home with a loving partner? After spending all her life running, not daring to think upon the possibility of a home, much less a person to share it with besides her sister, now she considered if this was actually something she’d want.

And if Elly doesn’t reciprocate her feelings… then she is fine with that too. She is fine for as long as she can stay by her side. No matter what the answer is, she will respect it.

“Hmmm… I think the sky looks real. Could be, no, should be real,” Elly answers, still out of breath.

“Haha,” Vetra utters a fake laugh. From the corner of her eyes, Vetra could see Elly turning her head to her direction.

“I mean… this. How you are towards me. It's like you… care.” And for emphasis she nudges the back of her hand against Elly’s in the lightest of touches.

“… More than a friend.” Only now does she notice how deep she's breathing and she's not sure if it's left over exhaustion from the climbing or from how close they are right now, alone, out here in the messed up but perfect world.

“I don't mind if it's ‘no'. I just want to make sure. It gets messy otherwise,” she adds hastily. The last thing she wants is to assault Elly with this. Although she has to admit, she would actually mind it a little. Now that she has had a first taste of what could be – just the two of them, fooling around, making life in Andromeda a little bit brighter, filling each other's hearts – it's a sweet little thought. One she's growing more fond of than she'd like to admit.

But all these thoughts are put to stop by what follows. Elly takes her hand, which had been laying flat open like an invitation, into her own, entwining their fingers in a firm but pleasant grip. The next words coming out of Elly sound so delicate, so vulnerable, as if she's telling the universe’s biggest secret only for her ears to hear.

“I do care about you. A lot. More than a friend.”

It comes off as so simple, but it throws Vetra off, so much she doesn't know how to answer, so she chooses to just voice her surprise.

“Really? I didn't want to assume. It seemed so unlikely...”

She doesn’t even get to finish her babbling because suddenly, something absolutely miraculous happens.

Elly leans over her, cups her face and presses their lips together, like that ‘kissing’ thing humans do. The kiss is just like her – soft but with a fierceness beneath. Something that leaves Vetra aching for more.

“And how’s that for proving it?” She asks and her voice sounds sweeter than the sweetest wine Vetra has ever tasted.

“I’m convinced,” she answers, not trusting herself to say more, instead leaning in to kiss her again. Of course, she has heard several things about kissing, but she never really spared it a thought. Turians don’t usually kiss – their hard mouth plates would turn that into a rather difficult task. But with Elly… she could get use to this kissing thing.

—8—

“Hey, Vetra.”

Elly kisses her in the space between her mandibles and her carapace, tasting the supple leather-like skin. Vetra grumbles, her subharmonics signaling that she's listening. The Tempest hasn’t gone on as many adventures as before, leaving them with plenty of time to fool around in the lounge – or in Ryder’s private quarters.

“You’re preetty,” Elly traces her purple marks and places several kisses along them. The hand that’s resting on her hip grips her a little bit tighter at that, and she can hear another faint rumble coming from the turian. It’s cute how all it takes to get a strong woman like Vetra flustered is to call her pretty, Elly thinks. Vetra isn’t one to give up so easily, though.

“Uh huh,” she chuckles. “How about you say something more meaningful, babe?”

“That was meaningful!” Elly complains and lets her hands roam over the others carapace and even further along her body. Some minutes continue like this until Vetra grips her hips and pins Elly under her with a loud creak of their bed. As they look into each others eyes, her mandibles flutter and she leans in to kiss her but Elly stops her, placing her hand against her chestplate.

“Wait! I do have an important question!”

Vetra grumbles but stays silent, waiting for her to continue.

“Since the bad guy is defeated now… when do I get my magic sword?”

“I told you I don’t have one,” she chuckles darkly and leans further in, practically speaking into her ear, “And besides, you didn’t even win. You cheated, remember?”

“Oh, even so,” Elly replies, “You should have enough contacts to get hold of one, right?”

Vetra moves away from her side and looks at her face again. Her hands trace the soft skin on her cheeks, relishing the warm feeling on her fingers. “Why exactly would you like to have this ‘magic sword’ and what is it anyway?”

“A sword is an ancient weapon humans once used. It’s like this very long piece of metal and you can stab your enemies with it. And if it’s magic, well… it’s magic.”

Vetra looks at her in confusion, not quite sure of what use this weapon would be. She isn’t too informed about human history, so she doesn’t know how exactly it was supposed to be used.

“Well, nowadays they’re mostly used in ceremonials or plays,” Elly tries to expand on the meaning of swords. Laughing, she adds, “We could play princess and uh… princess. Or use it on our wedding ceremony. As a symbol, the proof of our love.”

“You’re crazy,” Vetra says, still not unterstanding what was up with this ‘sword’. Elly grins in return and places a quick kiss on her lip plates.

“So, are you gonna prove it or not? That you love me.”

Vetra lets out a deep rumble through her subharmonics, pressing Elly harder on the bedsheets. Her nails scratch along her chin, digging into her skin. “I’m sure there are… other ways to prove that.”

“Hmm,” Elly presses longing kisses on her lips, pulling her closer to her body until the turian is laying on top of her. “I’m not aversed to that.”

Her hands tug on the thin, grey fabric on Vetra’s body, as she does the same to her. In between kisses, Elly starts giggling loudly, making Vetra pause and look at her.

“You’re surely good at proving. I still want that sword, though.”

“You little minx,” Vetra laughs with her, and together, they fall into oblivion once more, finding the warmth in each other.

Maybe there is someone with a magic sword in the Andromeda galaxy after all. Who knows? And if there is, Vetra will do anything to get to them. Because she is good at proving her love for Elly Ryder, just as it is the same the other way around.

[nobodyownsland]

What is the problem with Trotsky? Would the USSR have been better off with him instead of Stalin?

I was asked this recently on another website, and wrote a whole-ass wall of text addressing it. I figure it might be a good idea to post it here too, for all you comrades out there (and Trots who are hopefully willing to listen):

So, for starters, Stalin wasn't authoritarian. Lets get that out of the way right now. Democracy very much existed in the Soviet Union and would have been even more expansive if Stalin had his way. I'd go so far as to argue that the Soviet Union was more Democratic, even during its decline after Brezhnev, than the United States has ever been. If you doubt this, then I encourage you to read the literature I just linked, because if you want to debunk me, you’ll have to debunk them.

When it comes to Trotsky, the problems with him and his ideas run a lot deeper than being simply "domineering" or “aggressive”. He had a nasty tendency to hold no real solid positions on anything, with Lenin once exclaiming:

"The obliging Trotsky is more dangerous than an enemy! ... Trotsky has never yet held a firm opinion on any important question of Marxism. He always contrives to worm his way into the cracks of any given difference of opinion, and desert one side for the other. At the present moment he is in the company of the Bundists and the liquidators."

One moment Trotsky would be calling Social Democrats "fascist" allies of the Communist International, and then next he would be criticizing the Comintern for not forming a united front with them. One moment he'd say "Comrade Lenin has not left any “Testament”... All talk with regard to a concealed or mutilated “Testament” is nothing but a despicable lie, directed against the real will of Comrade Lenin" and the next he'd be saying "Stalinist censorship had placed a ban on Lenin’s Testament as well as upon hundreds of his other works". The dude was all over the place, to put it mildly, and really couldn’t be said to be a trustworthy ally of any revolutionary group.

But wait, it gets worse. In his book Black Bolshevik, Harry Haywood sums up the issues with Trotsky's theories themselves, from the perspective of someone who was physically present to witness the power struggle between him and Stalin:

"Trotsky's theories were thoroughly defeatist and class-collaborationist...

At the base of this defeatism was Trotsky's view that the peasantry would be hostile to socialism, since the proletariat would "have to make extremely deep inroads not only into feudal but also into bourgeois property relations." Thus Trotksy contended that the working class would:

"... come into hostile collision not only with all the bourgeois groupings which supported the proletariat during the first stages of its revolutionary struggle, but also with the broad masses of the peasantry with whose assistance it came into power. The contradictions in the position of a workers' government in a backward country with an overwhelmingly peasant population could be solved only ...in the arena of the world proletarian revolution."

Therefore, it would not be possible to build socialism in a backward, peasant country like Russia. The mass of peasants would exhaust their revolutionary potential even before the revolution had completed its bourgeois democratic tasks-the breakup of the feudal landed estates and the redistribution of the land among the peasantry. This line, which underestimated the role of the peasantry, had been put forward by Trotsky as early as l 915 in his article "The Struggle for Power." There he claimed that imperialism was causing the revolutionary role of the peasantry to decline and downgraded the importance of the slogan "Confiscate the Landed Estates."

Trotsky portrayed the peasantry as an undifferentiated mass. He made no distinction between the masses of peasants who worked their own land (the muzhiks) and the exploiting strata who hired labor (the kulaks). His conclusions openly contradicted the strategy of the Bolsheviks, developed by Lenin, of building the worker-peasant alliance as the basis for the dictatorship of the proletariat. Further, they were at complete variance with any realistic economic or social analysis.

Trotsky's entire position reflected a lack of faith in the strength and resources of the Soviet people, the vast majority of whom were peasants. Since it denied the revolutionary potential of the peasantry, the success of the revolution could not come from internal forces, but had to depend on the success of proletarian revolutions in the advanced nations of Western Europe. In the absence of such revolutions, the revolutionary process within the Soviet Union itself would have to be held in abeyance, and the proletariat, which had seized power with the help of the peasantry, would have to hold state power in conflict, with all other classes.

Behind Trotsky's revolutionary rhetoric was a simplistic social democratic view which regarded the class struggle for socialism as solely labor against capital. This concept of class struggle did not regard the struggle of peasant against landlord, or peasant against the Czar, as a constituent part of the struggle for socialism. This was reflected as early as 1905, in Trotsky's slogan, "No Czar, but a Workers' Government" which, as Stalin had said, was "the slogan of revolution without the peasantry."

So basically, Trotsky believed that it would be impossible for socialism to be achieved in a "backwards" nation and instead it had to arise specifically within Western Europe or the United States before spreading to other "less developed" nations. As Haywood states this is inherently defeatist, as he's literally saying that the entire revolution that the Soviet people had just fought for was essentially for nothing so long as western Europeans remained capitalist and didn't come to fight their battles for them. This idea of "We need white developed nations to come fight the revolution for us and give us socialism" is especially problematic when applied to colonized nations and oppressed peoples. It's dangerously close to the "white man's burden" ideology that dominated western Europe and North America at the time. As Haywood later says in this chapter:

"Trotsky's scheme of permanent revolution downgraded not only the peasantry as a revolutionary force, but also the national liberation movements of oppressed peoples"

Knowing this, it's not surprising to learn that Trotsky was a massive racist, looking down on Stalin as "of Mongolian blood", basically calling him the equivalent of "white trash" in his 1940 biography of Stalin. Like seriously, the first thing he does in that book is go out of his way to paint Stalin as anything but white, or at least not European. Thing is, he considered all of Europe to be a unified "nation", both racially and culturally, similarly to today's European "identitarians". Yet, despite this, he mysteriously doesn't consider Black people in the Americas or Africa to have the same nationhood, expecting Black people in the United States to develop leaders for Africa:

"The Negroes are a race and not a nation. Nations grow out of racial material under definite conditions. The Negroes in Africa are not yet a nation but they are in the process of forming a nation. The American Negroes are on a higher cultural level. But since they are under the pressure of the Americans they become interested in the development of the Negroes in Africa. The American Negro will develop leaders for Africa, that one can say with certainty, and that in turn will influence the development of political consciousness in America."

This is an incredibly eurocentric (or at least ignorant) view of Africa, as there are and have been countless African nations that were all either destroyed or attacked by Europeans. Many parts of Africa had established cultural identities that were systematically destroyed. His view completely lacks any kind of consideration for Africans as historical actors, instead clearly seeing them as a people for whom "civilization" is just beginning, and who aren't ready to have their own indigenous leadership, instead having to import it from the more “culturally advanced” Black people in the US. Also "Nations grow out of racial material under definite conditions" seems to imply that national and cultural identities cannot cross racial lines, and I hope I don't have to explain why that's a really scary and problematic view.

Now, to be clear, that last quote is the view of Trotsky himself, and not all Trotskyists. So I am not calling all Trotskyists racist, I'm simply saying that Trotsky was a racist, chauvinistic ass-hat, and his supporters need to be doubly vigilant of that attitude persisting within their ranks. Trotskyists do have a history of promoting problematic people and views (See: Marcyism), and had Trotsky and Trotskyists risen to power in the USSR instead of Stalin, it's doubtful that the USSR would have remained socialist for so long. Trotsky's thinly-veiled bourgeois and social democratic ideas, and the contradictions therein, would have inevitably led to a capitalist resurgence and the eventual collapse of the entire Soviet bloc. Should it really be any surprise then, that this is exactly what happened when Soviet leaders such as Brezhnev, Gorbachev, and to a lesser extent Khrushchev started parroting his ideas again? (See: Khrushchev Lied)

[thecorteztwins]

A Poot of Roos

[Context: A the board I play at, portals from the Savage Land have opened up in NYC, spilling out dragons, dinosaurs, woolly mammoths, etc. Since potoroos actually pre-date the Ice Age, they count very much as prehistoric creatures, and the admin allowed me to bring in two. I decided to use them for a cute drabble.]

The fact disasters kept happening in NYC only made Haven more determined to stay in it. There were funds and help already for earthquakes, famine, and fires---but not enough, she knew, never enough---but there was nothing in place to help for victims of vampires and dragons and dinosaurs. She could, she knew, have simply sent aid from afar, but...as when she was eighteen and ran away from home to practice what her parents preached, she had to be there if she could. To share in the suffering---and its alleviation---directly, not from on-high in comfort like some distant queen.  Though...that was what she was doing now, wasn’t it? She could be on the streets, grabbing those who had no place to go and herding them towards her hotel room. She could be telling everyone she could that she had paid for buses to help evacuate the city, urging them to get on one post-haste. She could be doing any number of things. She knew this. It was screaming in her head. Yet, all she was doing was sitting very quietly, with the blinds drawn, with a cup of tea she wasn’t drinking, just holding, in its beautiful Arabic tea cup. Perhaps this was very callous of her. She thought perhaps it was. Yet she couldn’t seem to get up and do otherwise. She just...she needed a moment. And she didn’t know how long that moment was going to last. It seemed out of her hands. She accepted this with dignified submission. Everyone, she so often told others when they felt guilty for taking a break, needed rest sometimes. She would take hers. And then...then she would be ready again. At some point, when the tea had passed to the point of lukewarm but not truly cooled, a portal opened across the room. Likely due to Haven, like Fabian Cortez, being in @[MENAGERIE]’s phone. But unlike in Fabian’s case, it was not giant serpents that emerged, nor any other sort of fantastic monster against which she would have no defense. It was two small, dull-colored, furry little creatures with polite, mild expressions. They looked like large rats, to Haven’s untrained, unknowledgable eyes. But in fact, these were something even more majestic, and far more rare. These...were POTOROOS. A creature native to Australia...and, deep in its most secret and secure scrublands, the Savage Land. In both places, it had reigned in its little kingdom of under-brush for over 10 million years. And while in Australia it it had been pushed to the brink of extinction by the onslaught of feral cats and foxes brought by the colonizers, in the Savage Land it had suffered no such setback. This pair were but a miniscule percentage of a thriving population.  Yet, they were humble creatures. Haven might not even have realized they were in the room at first without the presence of the portal to alert her. They did not charge, nor announce themselves with noise. They did not even sniff around at first, but looked at her with a sort of confused curiosity, as if waiting to ask permission. She looked back. Their gaze held in the air like something tangible. “Hello there,” she said, stumped for any other reaction. She was afraid of dogs, and monkeys must be treated with caution, but rats were not bad. She had walked through the temple of Karni Mata many times to feed the goddess’s multitudinous rodents. These were much LARGER than those, but she had heard New York rats were very, very big. But they did not seem hostile. “How did you...what was that?” she said, asking about the portal, though not expecting a response. The potoroos expression seemed to say that they were not sure, that they were as confused as she was, and very sorry about the intrusion ma’am hope it’s not any trouble.  “I suppose whatever that was is how everything else is getting in,” she said aloud,  “I am QUITE glad you are not dragons. I suppose you must be...storybook rats? Prehistoric giant rats, perhaps? I’m very sorry, I do not know much about...about that sort of thing. I wish some of my---some of the children I know were here. I’m quite certain they would be able to identify your exact family and I could address you properly.” The potoroos looked at her, their expressions seeming to say it was quite fine ma’am. In fact, they were assessing her for a threat, being timid prey animals. This large, brightly-colored creature with its great black mane had obviously spotted them, and it was making sounds, but there was nothing aggressive happening. So in the typical fashion of prey animals, they remained still, but on high alert, ready to bolt if they had to. “I would get up,” she continued, “But I’m rather afraid of scaring you. I should be very scared, if I were a small animal, and all of a sudden in a strange place with a great big person looming over me, trapped in a room with them. Have you ever BEEN in a room, little rats? Do you know what it is? I hope it is not too claustrophobic for you.” She was rambling, speaking to creatures that of course couldn’t understand her, but as with just sitting there, she couldn’t seem to stop. And...it was making them both feel better, she thought. “I imagine you’re used to lush tropical jungles, aren’t you? That’s always what the illustrations depict in the dinosaur books the children show me. Ferns and tall trees everywhere, ferns and ferns and ferns. There are GREAT jungles in Maharashtra, where I come from, so many national parks filled with acres and acres of greenery and flowers and wild things. You might like it there. Oh, but not in the tiger reserves!” She continued to chat amicably with the potoroos, who eventually decided she was not a threat---probably just a big herbivore, like one of the many that would graze near them harmlessly at times in their homeland-- and they began to poke around the lovely hotel suite, like inquisitive guests admiring everything. Though, actually, what they were really doing was inspecting it for hidey-holes they could use, and any sign of fruits or fungus to be dug up. Haven didn’t know this, but it did occur to her after a time that they might be hungry. “I apologize,” she said, “It’s terribly rude of me not to offer you anything. You’re guests, after all. Now, I am going to get up. Please don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you. I hope you know I won’t hurt you.” Slowly, slowly, indeed in the manner of the huge ponderously graceful herbivores of which she so reminded them, she rose from her seat. They were far enough away from her that they did not feel they needed to flee immediately---so spacious this cave was, for that was what they had concluded they were inside---but they kept their eyes rapt on her, just in case. She moved away from them at first, which was good, but they tensed all over again when she returned with a lovely sterling tea tray upon which was balanced two saucers of water alongside a smorgasbord of things she thought that these “rats” might possibly eat. She had heard it said that rats would eat anything, but perhaps prehistoric rats had a more discerning palate. The selection presented to the potoroos consisted of cooked chicken, leftover mutton and goat curry, tea cakes, some of the sorts of South Asian sweets that were typically offered to the rats at the Karni Mata temple as prasad, plain rice, and a salad of freshly chopped fruits and vegetables, all in little thali cup-dishes arranged around a small stack of warm roti bread. She kneeled down, placed the platter upon the floor, scootched it as far towards the creatures as she could, then sort of knee-walked her way backwards away from it so that they could inspect it without fear that she would pounce upon them after all. It took some time for the potoroos to dare approach the tray---25 minutes, in fact---but Haven was quite good at sitting very, very still for longer times than that. After they had perused the offerings with stately sniffs of their long snouts, they daintily set upon the chopped fruit, holding it in their paws and nibbling in a really most polite manner. Haven found herself impressed by their refined table manners. And that is how, for the duration of this latest disaster in Manhattan and NYC as a whole, Haven found herself with two very quiet, discreet new roommates. 

[starsbegantofall]

just thoughts, no judgement

I have been clicking through several twitter/tumblr accounts from English-speaking but non-Western users about various topics after the pandemic/protests/general 2020 disasters began that I personally have found to be a clear and humbling reminder of what the world is like outside of my country (America). The strongest condemnations I’ve seen are passed on young-ish Westerners who try to spread activism through social media and fandom but are (rightfully sometimes) being met with resistance from non-Western cultures.

First of all, I am not equating these as equally important as basic human rights for all, I’m just paraphrasing a few easy to parse examples for my reference and hopefully to help enlighten others (?)

1. cultural appropriation of indigenous/native cultures - not just in America but around the world, in which people who are not native speak on what counts as appropriation or appreciation on behalf of the native cultures. They mean well!  They did their research!  But logically, only an indigenous person can really tell you how they feel regarding outsider approach on their culture, and that is just one person out of many different perspectives.

2. patronizing people in “poorer” countries, expecting them to stay on top of US-centric issues while acting condescending towards their culture/lifestyles/food whatever, essentially modern-day colonizing. Some Westerners even mean well out of honest ignorance. But a lot of countries have been colonized for the worse, and their current situation that seems bad to you is oftena direct result of Western war and invasion and interference. Better to know your own country’s history before you try to fix another country’s history, that doesn’t even need that much “fixing” or is being worked on from within where you can’t see because guess what, you didn’t bother to learn their language but hahah, they know yours. And as BLM has shown, a whole lotta Americans don’t even know basic events in their own history. Glass house!

3. subset of 2, the assumption that media in other countries aren’t as “progressive” as America’s, which is a laughably hypocritical thought as many LGBT and other minorities live in dread all their lives in America, but is held up as irrefutable proof that the country is backwards and needs Western activism to save their souls. Yaoi/BL in Japan is the most popular example, because it’s so “tropey” and “cringey” that clearly means Asians need white ppl to explain to them about homophobia and activism and such... When many Asian cultures already have a diverse and tolerant history, much more so than any European nation, and often only recently became intolerant to fall in line with Western superpowers. Also, perhaps due to their government, family lives or various other factors, they can only work on their activism underground, away from Western gaze. To them, yaoi/bl is a source of comfort and motivation, despite its alleged lack of progressiveness in Western eyes.

4. the use of Western values on Eastern cultures for just about anything. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad. In fact, a lot of Western cultures could use Eastern values, like ahem, wearing a mask to protect others from your diseased saliva and snot!!!!  Another one I’ve seen is how Filipinos do not agree to use Filipinx as a gender neutral term when their own language is already gender neutral, they don’t make that sound in their language, and they’re trying to distance themselves from their Spanish and American colonizers. So many things that seem valuable to the American citizen are actually symbols of oppression to people outside, vice versa.

Again, we in America tend to believe that after all of our oppression Olympics regarding race and gender and sexuality and immigration and religion and disability and so on and so forth, we must surely have gotten it right by now. But just because it suits Americans doesn’t mean it works for other people, and trying to push our extremely specific values while steamrolling over easy-to-google circumstances within different countries should be avoided. I hope everyone in western cultures (namely America, Canada, Australia, England) take a moment to think before lauding themselves as examples of activism and enlightenment all while at the same time screaming at people in other countries for not being aware of the latest race-related petitions or not working harder for gay rights or not speaking up loudly on cultural oppression and colorism and sexism.

Especially when we clearly have so far to go in achieving equality for everyone in our own so-called enlightened countries.

Just be logical and respectful. Do your research, actually talk to people from other countries, read articles or watch media from outside of the US with both a critical and appreciative heart. If you don’t have time, then don’t say anything disparaging in public, as much as you want to.  Work on your own self first, there’s always work to be done there, and be open to change. If someone asks you, then feel free to offer your perspective and advice. But until then, listen.

[booksneedcaffeinetoo]

BOOK REVIEW: The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi

The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi My rating: 5 of 5 stars

He taught him how to eat and how to hunger for things out of reach and how to steal without ever looking like you lack for something.

So Roshani originally said she wanted to write a book that was essentially National Treasure but with hotter people and all of the glamorous catastrophes of The Mummy.

THE GILDED WOLVES has the puzzle solving of National Treasure with the charming characters of The Mummy but this book is something else entirely.

I fucking adored it.

So what's this book about?

Basically, everyone is obsessed with rings.

Just kidding. Sort of.

Really it's a book about a group of teens who are on the hunt for artifacts and steal them. It's a ragtag team of misfits who already have an established group dynamic (which is rare in these types of group-themed adventure books) which was cool. They all have known each other for at least a year (besides Hypnos, buts he's special, okay), so the working dynamic, preferences, etc. are established. Some have know each other for many years. Any ways, I loved that aspect. But yeah, basically they steal stuff, do magic, solve puzzles, do treasure hunts, commit heists, investigate conspiracies, bake a lot of pastries, feed a tarantula, and try to win back one dude's title.

I have no idea ow to even shelve this book because it is historical fiction but also has magic but they call it science but it is hidden from society (sort of). Whatever the hell it is, it works.

Also this book has IMAGES. SO COOL. Mostly nerdy. But very cool.

So we are blessed with 4 main POVs:

Séverin:

My boy steals back objects that the rich stole from others?!? He finds treasure?! Damn. He really is a sexy, more charming Nicholas Cage. Also, the dude has purple eyes. What's not to love?! He steals stuff. Sometimes because it use to be his. Sometimes to give it back to its rightful owner, sometimes just for the thrill of it.

Acquiring was what he called his particular hobby. It sounded … aristocratic. Wholesome, even.

But also this:

“I don’t want to be their equal. I don’t want them to look us in the eye. I want them to look away, to blink harshly, as if they’ve stared at the sun itself. I don’t want them standing across from us. I want them kneeling.”

He's my favorite character of the book. I just want my boy to be happy.

Laila:

She can read the objects around her. I know that particular skill has a fancy name, I can't remember it. Regardless of what it is called, she does it. And it is cool AF. Also, my girl can BAKE. I'm jealous. I burn everything. Or someone manage to make cookies both burnt and underdone. Clearly Laila is a wizard.

Being loud in one life allowed her to be quiet in others.

My girl has a secret. Trust me, it's not what you're thinking. Also she's the total mom of the friend group. I love her.

Enrique:

What a nerd. A funny, attractive, bisexual nerd.

Enrique had always imagined what it would feel like to be a hero. This was not how he imagined it.

His relationship with Zofia and his banter with Hypnos gives me life. I love my nerdy boys.

Zofia:

A math wizard, loves fire and sugar cookies. I think she's written to be on the autism spectrum. I love my math geek.

When it came to socializing, Zofia had difficulty knowing the right moves. But fighting was different. It was all patterns, anticipation of the movement of muscle. That she could do.

Also, she's super smart and loves to set things on fire. Heh heh. I really like this chick.

With amazing supporting characters like:

Tristan:

Dude has a scary spider. When Roshani said on TwitterTristan is a gardener extraordinaire & also that little brother who says "LOOK WHAT I FOUND" and thrusts a bunch of writhing insects in your face while cooing at them. She wasn't kidding...

Tristan barged into the room, his hands outstretched. “Look! I thought Goliath was dying, but he’s fine. He just molted!” Enrique screamed. Laila scuttled backward on her chaise. Zofia leaned forward, inspecting the enormous tarantula in Tristan’s hands.

He loves plants and bugs and is an adorable child. The baby of the fam.

Hypnos:

Technically has a POV. But it's only one, so does that really count? Idk. My boy is funny. Charming. Not above blackmail.

"You’ll like working with me, I promise! I’m fabulous at parties, have excellent taste in menswear, et cetera, et cetera."

He's mostly drunk, very funny, and I love my gay fave.

What else do I love about this book?!?

The b a n t e r.

Exhibit A:

“Still waiting on my thanks, you know,” huffed Enrique. “It took me ages to research and assemble that.” “It would have taken less time if you didn’t antagonize Zofia.” “It’s inevitable. If I breathe, your engineer is prepared to launch warships.” “Then hold your breath.”

Exhibit B:

“You’re doing it again,” said Enrique. “What?” “That whole nefarious-whilst-looking-into-the-distance thing. What are you hiding, Séverin?” “Nothing.” “You and your secrets.” “Secrets keep my hair lustrous,” said Séverin, running his hand through his curls.

Exhibit C:

Enrique scowled as he held apart the bear’s jaws. “Remember when you said, ‘This will be fun’?” “Can this wait?” Séverin grunted through clenched teeth. “I suppose.”

Exhibit D:

Enrique being a total nerd geeking out about an artifact

“No need to seduce the thing,” cut in Séverin. “I’m appreciating it.” “You’re fondling it.” Enrique rolled his eyes. “It’s an authentic piece of history and should be savored.” “You might at least buy it dinner first,” said Séverin.

Exhibit E:

“Must you creep up on us like that? I didn’t even hear you come into the room!” “It’s part of my aesthetic.”

Exhibit F:

“What is taking that security guard so long?” Enrique grumbled. “He was supposed to be out by eight o’clock. It’s nearly nine.” “Maybe he doesn’t have a clock.” He stared at her. “Are you finally making a joke?” “I’m pointing out a gap in your observation.”

Exhibit G:

Zofia sat up straight, held his gaze, then did what she’d seen Laila do many times when she looked at Séverin—lift one corner of her mouth ever so slightly, but tilt her head down at the same time … wait, now she couldn’t see anything, oh, and Laila would sometimes lift up one shoulder— “What on earth are you doing?” “I am imitating patterns of flirtation.” “Wait. You’re flirting. With … me?” Zofia frowned. Why would he think that? She just said she was imitating the general strategy of others. “Maybe I have the methodology wrong. I also saw women do this. Better?” She relaxed her body. Then pretended there was something on her upper lip and licked it off with a slow swipe of her tongue. Enrique blinked rapidly then shook his head. Shaking one’s head meant no. Zofia shrugged and waved her hand. “I’ll practice later.” “You … don’t need much,” said Enrique, his voice pitched lower than usual. He wasn’t looking at her. She must have been terrible.

Honestly, the dialogue in this book is great. And the sexual tension between Laila and Séverin has me dead. I've never wanted two characters to be end game so badly before.

Also, shout out to Roshani for mixing the good and the bad parts of history. She mentions it in her Author's Note too, but this book doesn't shy away from our less savory parts of history.

Basically this book is amazing and deserves ALL THE STARS.

I am thirsting for the sequel.

Content Warnings:

violence, anti-Jewish remarks/bullying (towards main character, includes hate crime), mention of suicide (part two intro + chapter 38), slavery, colonization, child abuse, racism, murder, mentions of house fire that ended in death, torture, self-harm (mentioned earlier in book, shown briefly chapter 26), people zoo (because racism), drugging person without their consent, implied rape (via "sex" with slaves which result in children)

View all my reviews

[vcxnihilli]

jungle love

Four-forty-five and his arms are already aching. His legs burn, his lungs struggle and puff inside his chest. Sweat falls into his eyes, makes his hair so heavy he can’t see a damn thing. He pushes it back. Tries, and fails. As per usual.

But Harvey’s smiling. Laughing. He loves every minute of pain. Because it’s all for football. Maybe that’s a fucking colonized train of thought, but Red Cloud be damned if it’s not the best fucking feeling in the world. Even when they lose a game, it’s still fun, it’s still everything he thought it was when he was six years old.

(Back then, he was three-foot-nothing with his head shaved almost bald. Mom left him with one of her brothers while she was working in town and he’d take Harvey to his son’s games. The lights, the sounds, the feel of every touchdown. Harvey was obsessed.)

His breath catches. He pauses in his sprints, hand on his side. But he pushes on. His chest burns, his throat goes tight and slick, his hands get that swollen feeling. But he’s fucking flying. A second faster than Hernandes, he finishes. Rolls forward, lies on his back, smiles up at the sky.

“C’mon, Day! Give me a mile!”

He sighs. Smiles. “Yes, coach!”

When he’s running, he’s laughing. Jefferson, Hernandes, Maclaurin; they all ignore him. They’re used to it by. The exuberance. None of them even notice as he runs right past Tantoo without his usual display. No running backwards, no flexing, no big juicy kisses blown across the field separating the football boys from the cheerleader girls.

He doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t even break his stride or miss a chance to poke fun at someone’s form. There’s nothing he wants to talk about less than how he dumped her last weekend, right after the first game of the season. How she cried in Don’s Bronco and called him a cunt. For what? She didn’t say. Just told him to drive her home, so he did.

Why? she asked.

She didn’t wait for an answer. But he thinks she already knew. Or maybe he’s paranoid. That his life’s written across him sure as the freckles on his face. Maybe she looked close enough and saw that spot, right by his nose, isn’t even a freckle, but a fucking love letter to Chuck god damn Midthunder.

Why else would she have hated him so much? If not because she knew Harvey was in love with him.

But it’s thirty minutes until game time now and they’re doing their stretches, getting in some water and orange slices because that’s what the football moms like to bring. (Susie brought frybread once and almost got lambasted because of the carbs, Susan!)

Then they file into the locker room. They put on their padding, their jerseys. Crack jokes about someone’s small dick. The usual. Coach stands at the front of the locker room and draws lines on a whiteboard, tells them how they’re gonna go after the ball’s thrown. Who’s catching, throwing, running to the end zone. No one’s really paying attention, except the bushy-tailed few fresh off of JV.

“Let’s have a good game, boys!” says coach.

They go out on the tail end of the national anthem. The bleachers erupt. Shake and smash under stomping feet. Echoing, echoing, echoing from end of the field to the other. Harvey, ever the show-off, raises his fists in the air. Eggs them on. God, he really missed his calling as the romantic lead in one of those brat pack flicks.

“Cool it, Day.”

He joins the rest of his team on the field. They watch while the captains meet for the coin toss. Up, down, the Spartans kick off. Some groans, some sighs. But Harvey just claps his hands, whoops because he can.

They line up, twos and threes. Harvey stands in the middle, watching the other team’s quarterback. He crouches, hand touching turf. The ball’s kicked and Harvey’s gone.

The next hour, hour and a half, pass in a blur of pushing himself faster, harder. Of focusing on his grip, the torque of the throw, the spin. They play like an orchestra; beautiful, rehearsed. They fumble once, score eight touchdowns. Riley manages three perfect field goals. The Spartans get one. And it’s shaky, hits the post and bounces right off.

In the end, it’s close. Fifty-seven-fifty-one, Eagles. It’s their first win of the season. Harvey makes sure to dump nice, cold gatorade all over coach, to show their appreciation. And with one last hurrah they return to the locker rooms.

He doesn’t even look at Tantoo as he walks past her, shoving Washington out of his way. He doesn’t think she’s looking at him either. He wonders if this time, someone will notice when he doesn’t stop to say something to her. If they’ll notice he doesn’t try and drench her with his sweaty hair. You’re not a fucking dog!

No one does. Maybe god is real.

When they get inside, it’s deafening. Laughing, shouting, hooting, hollering; it all bounces again and again off the tile walls, until it’s not just a team but an army in there. Harvey’s the loudest of all as he pulls his jersey over his head, ditches his padding on the ground, pulls his pants down off his legs. He sits.

“Damn, Day.”

“What?”

“When’d you get that fucking snake?”

A snort.

“You’re packing, right?”

He’s done this whole kit and kaboodle a million different times, and yet, it always seems to go this way. Is that why it took him so long to realize he’s gay? Because guys have been talking about his dick before he even had pubes?

And, as usual, he plays along. Because that’s more fun than not. He stands, puts one foot up on the bench.

“This?” he asks, one hand framing his cloth-encased junk. “You mean this? Right here?”

He’s smiling. He doesn’t even care that his whole ass is hanging out. He just cares that Jefferson’s face is right at crotch level. Because that’s the joke.

“All natural.”

And god damn if Jefferson’s not desperately trying to make contact with the family jewels. With his other hand, Harvey makes a V, points at his eyes.

“My eyes are up here, bud.”

[samhanepublishing]

Prologue Terran Lunar Colony - 2471.08.22

Near the end of the twenty-first century, mankind’s greed and lust for comfort took its final toll on the Earth. Despite countless scientific papers being published and warnings from top scientists, the Global Conservative Group (GCG) took it upon themselves to control most countries’ governments and persuade the general population into complacency. Their followers, mostly fanatics, had given up on transgender and gay rights decades before that, but regarding the impending issues that faced planet Earth, they were adamant that it was their “gods’ plans at work.” No one thought that any plan of any god would include mass flooding and by association, an equal amount of death.

Millions died as the tsunamis swept across the globe instantly putting coastal cities underwater. If the water didn’t kill you, the eventual increase in heat did. The leaders continued their tirade about Noah, Deucalions, Nata and Nena as well as differing prophets who had survived the same but eventually, the GCG fell from power. Nations across the globe struggled to survive, relocating millions from coastal cities further inland. The light that came from all this? Intelligent leaders, men of science, began running countries. Where did they look to to survive mankind’s population boom and the inevitable lack of resources like land, food, and water? Space.

The Clever or CVs as we normies refer to them as, terraformed and colonized Mars and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. At first, it was believed that Mars could not be transformed from it’s desert-like scenery into a bastion to save Terran-kind, but it became a habitable planet that now hosts three billion people. Great ships were cast off from Earth after robots had finally set up a sustainable living area around 2200. Mars became an oasis, a cure to the ails of the Earth and humanity; it became a paradise that many yearned for. Those that could afford to, made the initial year-long journey in cryosleep to their paradise while those that couldn’t were left behind.

I’m one of those people.

Takeoff

Terran Lunar Colony - Year 2471.08.22

My name’s Max. I’m thirty two, and I’m going to get to Dione, Saturn’s moon. People say I should have a reason why, and I just tell them, “why not?” You see, Dione is where a newer colony was established quickly after Mars was completely terraformed. The elites- the Clever, the men of science live there in a bubble far away from the rest of society. I may have also lost my best friend to Dione. No no, the moon itself didn’t kill her, but she was born with a gifted mind. As such, she was sequestered away to live with the elites, pompous pricks that they are.

Why do I need to see my best friend? Something on Earth is going wrong. People are dying daily to an unknown and obscure virus. I am actually afraid that the twelve billion people on Earth won’t survive; that I  won’t survive. I need to get to my best friend and ask her to take care of the issue literally plaguing Earth. More importantly though, I want to make sure she’s ok. When she was sixteen, she was screened by one of the lower ranks of the CV and when finished, she vanished without a trace. I knew at that moment that I would have to find her. I was eighteen at the time, I would not let these supposed saviours of humanity take her and destroy the fun loving, carefree girl that she is. That’s why, right now, I’m in a wire cage on a ship destined for Mars. From there, I will likely jump to another ship that should take me to Dione. Luckily, the flight should only be six months and everyone else will be in cryosleep which means I will get the ship all to mysel-

“Hi.” I just about jumped out of my skin at that ‘hi.’ I quickly craned my head backwards towards the sound and found a younger girl laying flat behind me.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my hiding spot?” My voice was monotone, something that I had become accustomed to from a young age. The girl looked at me in an oblivious way in the dim space that was apparently now occupied by both of us. She pointed a finger to her face and gave a slight frown while pursing her lips. “Well,” I said a little more forcefully.

“I...I’m Calcera.” I could tell by her darker skin that she was likely a descendant of some Aboriginal tribe or from somewhere in South Asia. “I’m from South America, Brazil to be exact.” Well I was wrong. “Are you going to Mars?” Seeing as how it looked like I would now be sharing the ship with someone, I decided to be polite.

“No, I’m going to Dione,” I said in my flat voice. Calcera gave a look of shock, as if I had slapped her or told her to die in a dumpster fire. I quickly followed, “my best friend is there, I want to ask for her help to cure whatever is plaguing our planet, and to make sure she’s ok.”

“You know going to Dione is forbidden for normies right? You’ll likely get killed if you go,” this would-be ‘friend’ said matter-of-factly, “besides, Earth is a shit show. There’s war everywhere, the plague, corruption thanks to governments, untold death...You really think Mars, let alone Dione will be concerned? Ha, you’re a fool...I didn’t catch your name.” I couldn't figure out how to react to her statement. I knew my friend, I knew she would want to help Earth. I knew she would want to fix what was going on to her homeworld, our homeworld. “But, far be it from me to tell you how to live your life,” the girl sighed, “so, there’s bound to be like eight or nine other people stowing away on this ship. When the stasis cells start up, we’ll likely run into each other. Wanna work with me to square away a territory to hold out in?”

Her statement along with the followup question were inane at best. Why would I want to help her? I was here for one reason and one reason only: to find my friend and bring her back to Earth. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to talk to during the six months of space travel. “How old are you? Why are you going to Mars?” These were the only questions I could barely mutter to the stranger named Callcera.

She smiled at the questions, “my family is living on Mars, the remaining survivors at least…” The girl looked, something but she didn’t stop either, “my mom didn’t take the ship she was supposed to go on because she was in labor with me; she died while giving birth to me.” The girl’s mood seemed to deepen, but she continued, “so now, nineteen years later, I’m going to go find my grandparents who took a ride about thirty years ago. So your friend is really that important to you huh? Must be some kind of friend. Are you in love or something?” This girl is brash, something I admire in other Terrans. That said, her question caused some pangs of confusion in me. Do I love Alexandria? Does she love me like that? Only finding her would help answer these questions. “Hello?” The girl was waving a hand near my face, “anyone in there? You’re freaking me out a little dude-who’s-name-I-don’t-know.”

“Sorry,” the apology was almost automatic, “I’m Max. I don’t know if love in a romantic way is there between Alex and myself, but I do know I care about her a lot. We grew up together in the neighborhood of D.C. We scavenged together for our families, played together and were slated to graduate high school together despite her being two years behind me. All I know is she’s the only person I trust to fix Earth, fix the plague and maybe come and be an emissary to Earth from the CVs.” My answer seemed to satisfy Calcera for the time being. “Do you know how long we have to wait to come out?”

“Three days is what I’ve heard. You made sure to pack some food right?” I hadn’t thought to do that. I thought that most people would be put to sleep right after they board. “Ha, you didn’t,” Calcera seemed almost gleeful. “Seems like you may need me afterall. I brought some food that I can share with you, no worries. So Max, What do you plan to do for the six month journey to Mars?”

“Read, mostly.” I shuffled my pack around and pulled out a tome that I had been meaning to read for about a year. It is several inches thick and I thought that reading it would ease the pang of loneliness that I thought I would have to deal with. I quickly estimated I would probably get a good two thirds of the book done given the apparent future distractions dealing with Calcera and other delinquents.

“You don’t look so happy,” she said, as if reading my mind, “I take it you realizing that it’s not just going to be you stowing away has changed your plans for the six months in space eh?” She had a sly grin on her face which actually made her both prettier and more detestful at the same time. My foot was near her head, I could threaten to kick it, but something told me she’s too cunning and I would miss. Instead, I gave in to defeat.

“You’re right. My plans, at the appearance of yourself and the news of other stowaways, has changed my plans for the ride to Mars,” I said with a venomous spit, “albeit a small amount. I still want to read this book though so don’t expect me to talk a lot during the six months.” I gave her a grim look as if to say, ‘bother me while I’m reading and I’ll likely slit your throat.’ She didn’t shy away though. God, she was going to try befriending me wasn’t she? Let’s get one thing clear here, I’m not good with people, which is why I missed Alex so much. She made things easier for me to accept; people, places, things, life? They were all more bearable with her at my side I guess you could say.

Calcera continued to stare at me, or at least my ass I assumed. I should have been embarrassed but I was more concerned about a mutiny on the ship and someone getting killed. I didn’t want to be responsible for other people. I decided to shuffle myself around so she could stop looking at my back side. “So…” I said curtly.

“So…” God this was going to be agonizing. Suddenly, I had a brat to take care of and I didn’t want- “Don’t think you have to watch over me. I’ve taken care of myself for most of my life. Growing up on the streets prepared me to do so,” she exclaimed proudly; more unnecessary information, “I escaped an abusive foster family when I was nine. I dropped out of school and just made my way on the streets. I’m a true hustl-”

“Look, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the backstory but I honestly don’t care.” God that was harsh and seeing her eyes tear up didn’t help the situation. “Look, I’m sorry I just, I’m not good with people. I get frig-”

“You’re autistic.” How did she know?! I mean, it’s only a mild form of autism but it affected me in most of the ways autism does; lack of understanding human emotions, introvertedness, a desire to do only specific things (eg. the reading) at great lengths, a lack of desire to speak… I wanted to question her but I also didn’t want to keep the conversation going. “I had a friend who was autistic. I took him under my wing about three years ago. He died of the plague...” Her face contorted to something else , some other emotion I still didn’t quite grasp...

“I…” I couldn’t say anything. I felt bad for her but at the same time, I didn’t. Everyone loses people along the road of life, you just have to deal with it. I resolved myself, “listen...that’s the reason I’m going to Dione. If you’d like, you could maybe come with me?” I knew I was going to regret this decision, but I did, deep down, feel bad for her. “Don’t think that you have to come, but if you want, you can tag along I guess.” There’s the indifference that I was looking for.

Her face seemed to glow, “I have to see my grandparents first. If you want, we can stop there, rest for a few days maybe.” Fuck I knew I would regret inviting her to Dione. She must have seen the anger in my face, “or not. The shuttles from Mars to Dione only run like ten a Mars year so, at least that’s what I heard. We’re going to have to find a place to stay, or at least you will.” She was right, I would need a place to stay. Shit I hadn’t even thought about all this. God I really did plan this haphazardly didn’t I?

“Your, was it your grandparent?” She nodded, “your grandparents’ place might be ok. Just make sure they know what’s going on with me; tell them about my autism. Tell them I’m not meaning to be rude to them, yeah?” She nodded again. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s not a problem. So, takeoff should be pretty soon. Have you ever been on one of these cruisers?” I shook my head no. “This is my second time hopping ship, my first time was only to the moon though. These next six months should be a doozy eh?” I stared at her face blankly, “or not? Well, get ready for a wild ride buddy.” She postured a sly grin that told me I may have been in over my head, but then again, I can’t remember a time that I wasn’t. I returned the grin and she became visibly shaken; I had a habit of doing that when I smile.

“Yeah...a doozy.” I rolled my eyes and sat back against the wall behind me, my arm hugging my legs closer to me. My life had already been a doozy, now I was breaking government law to try to save everyone else’s lives…

The small compartment the two of us occupied began to shake slightly. “That’s the engines starting up. The CVs really didn’t think about comfort when designing these ships. Doesn’t help that the world leaders on Earth don’t really think of comfort for the masses either.” It was as if she had forgotten that we were stowaways. “These ships are supposedly the same design as the first ones sent to Mars hundreds of years ago but with better engines.” I glanced up from my standing fetal position at Calcera and changed my face to a disgruntled smirk.  “Sorry, didn’t know if you wanted to know how bumpy the first five minutes are going to be.”

She piqued my interest somewhat, “how bumpy are we talking exactly?”

“Let’s just say that floating and knocking into the walls and each other are all possibilities.” She smiled a little at the joke, but I was stone cold. “Eh heh heh. So uh, my grandparents are really nice. I’m sure they’ll understand your autism; they’re old but not stupid.” She smiled at me again as the compartment began to shake around us. “I hope you enjoy being bumped around Max, because this is going to be one helluva ride.” I looked into her eyes and I could see, I was already forming a bond that I didn’t want, but I couldn’t afford to lose.

[thebrokenblackman]

The Nubian,the Colonizer,the Rastafari, and the “mixed”  women caught in between.

Yesterday I awoke at 4:00 am to make salaah. After doing so I decided to check twitter. When I did I learned that the grandson of the romanticized British monarchy and the son of late Princess Dianna, Prince Harry, was getting married. Nearly half of the black women in my timeline were genuinely emotionally invested into the wedding as if it was their own. I saw hundreds of supportive tweets for a “Black” woman marrying the European prince. This bothered me, but this is also the reaction I would have expected knowing that abundance of the Nubian people here in America have been successfully white-washed and have now began the process of perpetuating self-hatred so deep that they don’t notice they hate themselves.So, I just stated my general opinion of disapproval of black people supporting this, retweeted others with similar views, and engaged in a few healthy philosophical debates. In my mind the issue of black people celebrating this marriage was something that I knew was too far embedded in us for my opinion to change anyones thought. So, I didn’t plan to make this blog nor even talk about the subject any more. That is until my girlfriend,who is bi-racial, came home from a day at the Chicago’s Art Institute with her best-friend. She does not identify with black people nor our struggles. She like Meghan Merkel, identifies as mixed due to what I sum up to a lack awareness,but I respect her decision to take her image and “being” into her own hands even if it is at the expense of empathy for half of her that is oppressed historically by the other half. She like many mixed women have have taken the power back from society by defining and promoting self-image and individualism. This is something you must applaud, but even this accomplishment is not without its flaws. The major issue with in my standpoint is by defining yourself as individual you remove yourself from a community. In doing so, like my girlfriend the bi-racial woman who identifies as mixed becomes desensitized to the pain of the people she came from.She makes decisions based on what is best for her and her pleasure as oppose to what is best for either of her racial denominations.

With that being said, she decided to make small talk with me about the wedding even though she knows my politics are afrocentric and marxist. She looked through pictures of the wedding with a glimmer in her eye and clearly the royal wedding incited something within her. She was so happy for Harry to be getting married, how beautiful the features of the ceremony was, and how Meghan was making history being a black woman in the Royal Family. I just listened. When it was finally time for me to talk I said, “Baby, she doesn’t Identify as black”. She Argued that Meghan Merkel did identify as black, but after research she simply said “O” and became rather quiet. Her quietness was not from being proven wrong, but from realization- Realization that Meghan Merkel was just like herself.  In order to avoid argument that could be harmful to our relationship I avoided going into the complexities of the psychological mind state of the mixed dutchess and how it effects the Afrikan diaspora and just simply said, “ She- wether she identifies as “Black” or not is marrying into a White Supremacist Family who still colonizes the afrikan continent and exploits afrikan people. They won’t even give us (Ethiopian) the artifacts they stole 150 years ago through imperialism back ( https://bit.ly/2GzQ1us). The point is they have way too much of my people’s blood on their hands to care about the wedding and If Meghan Identified as “Black” it would be worse because she is selling us out. That’s like you marrying the grand wizard of the KKK.” As, I have come to expect of my girl she just ignored what I was saying and continued to scroll through the pictures of the wedding in complete flattery. Even as disheartening of an experience as this was. I treated my girl just like the women of twitter. I had the same expectations for them both,so it did not bother me nor did it inspire me to write this blog. 

What inspired me and filled me with uncontrollable emotions somewhere in between pity and disdain was what happened a hour or so later. While I was sitting in the family room my girl and her two friends-one whom is white and one whom my girl says identifies as mixed - began to speak of the royal wedding. Her white friend said, “I just don’t understand people. You just can’t be happy for someone?”. I felt my blood pressure rise. What was the knock out for me was when from the corner of my eye I saw my girl point at me (she says they had changed the conversation in sign language but if so the timing was awfully quick and awfully bad timing) in what was supposed to be humor ,but was not funny to me. I got up and removed myself from the environment which had become toxic to me by ONE STATEMENT, One rhetorical question. “You just can’t be happy for someone?”. What was probably so simple to her hit my mind with the depth of the Atlantic ocean.  It was complex. It was puzzling. But most of all it was inadvertently racist. These few words totally dismissed the concerns, thoughts, pain, and history of a whole people.

The lack of empathy for the concerns of my people who don’t support the wedding was angering. I can understand why you would be happy or why others would be happy, but you cant understand why some may not? Well allow me to explain to the white women, black women, and mixed women alike who share these sentiments. To do so I must give a brief history lesson;

The relationship between the Afrikan continent specifically Ethiopia and Britain is Infamous. It  is not one of free trade, glorious alliance, and equality. It is lopsided like a teeter-toter with a fat white kid on one side and an anorexic black kid on the other. This relationship is one of a virus or plague that sweeps through a land causing complete famine and leaving nothing but air and space. Worst of all it has been glamorized and romanticized as “just” due to what the europeans of latter day called “civilizing” or what they call today “humanitarianism/anthropology” . Since the 1600s when William the Orange took the british throne from James II after their so called “Glorious Revolution”Britain has been invading Afrika as an Imperial power pushing a supremacist agenda and believing that a white God has Ordained them to do so.By 1690 the British were the leading slave traders passing the Dutch. Britain went on to seize the land and resources of Gambia,Sierra Leone,Gold Coast/Togoland,Nigeria, Tanganyika, Angol-Egyptian-Sudan,Zanzibar,South Africa, Kenya, Uganda,Somilia land, and Zimbabwe by brute force.They had come raping our women, cutting off the penises of our men, cutting the tongues of both so that they wouldn’t speak tribal language, taking our drums, and pushing their christianity on us.

In 1867 Emperor Tewodros Of Ethiopia had written Queen Elizabeth in search of alliance, but in her arrogance and totally disregard for Afrikan Royalty and holy lineage she didn’t respond. Not until His Majesty Ras Tafari Aka Haile Selassie took the throne did an Africa Nation ,a sovereign one at that, have an alliance with Britain. Or at least what they thought to be an Alliance. When Benito Mussolini ,prior to the world war, invaded Ethiopia with intention of (in his own words) “Conquering a backwards people” and “Building a new Roman empire” H.I.M. Selassie I went to Britain for military aid against the fascist leader. They gave nothing more than a cold shoulder. They would not dare help an afrikan nation fight a white nation. Oh No! Haile Selassie then went to the french colony of Somoliland in exile. Surely Mussolini and Italy were to conquer Ethiopia. Not until Mussolini and Hitler started invading parts of Africa that Europeans “owned” and european countries themselves did Britain apply pressure to Mussolini which allowed his majesty to come back to Ethiopia and retake his throne. 

On September 9, 2017 his Great-grandson tied the knot with a “Bi-racial” Harvard grad named Ariana Austin whom he met while he was attending The Mecca aka Howard. The Royalty’s wedding received minimal media coverage which is a shame because this is real royalty. A royalty indigenous to the land it rules not one who took their land and keeps it by mass murder and oppression. Ariana is a rare type of mixed woman, the best type of mixed woman who let’s the world know she is mixed and appreciates both cultures she comes from ,but identifies as black because she knows what features dominate her DNA, how society classifies her, and most importantly that one half of her ancestry has put the other half through genocide. So when it comes to how to identify herself she takes the side of the oppressed rather than the tyrannical. She didn’t know her husband was royalty until after they had been together for multiple years,so this means she had embraced the black man whole-heartedly already and was willing to commit herself to one long time. She understands that the mixed black woman is nothing more than a light skinned BLACK WOMAN. She does not differentiate herself from her fellow lighter skinned sisters as if her struggle is somehow different. Black women were not so quick to embrace this royalty but have whole heartedly embraced Meghan. But why is that....

Meghan is who they want to be. She has the best of the all the worlds to them. She can be black when it is enjoyable & profitable to be and mixed when she wants to avoid the negatives that comes with being black. She is married to a white man also and not just any white man an insanely rich and influential white man. This is the deepest fantasy of the majority of our sisters whom suffer from subconscious self-hate. The American Society has propagated Anti-Afrikan imagery to the black woman since she has arrived on on the shores in ball and chain. From the Mammie (Above) in the reconstruction era to the White Washing of our historical figures (Sheba,Nefertiri,Etc) to The Barbie doll to the idolization of the Kardashians. This vigorous agenda to make the black woman and girl think their natural features are ugly and Marilyn Monroe and Kim K are beautiful has done its job effectively. If you do not believe me click this link (https://bit.ly/2bxEGAH ) and prepare to be amazed. Do you think this programmed Afrikan hate disappears with age? No, It merely gets masked with excuses like “I do it for myself” or “I just want to look pretty” that contradict the message of Self-love they are intending to get across. Meghan may or not hate herself. Who knows? Mixed Women like here may or may not hate themselves. Who knows? But, these were not the women on social media showing support in the mass for Meghan. It was the BLACK women. The same black woman who have through outcry brought to the forefront the depths of colorism and society’s perception of beauty that holds the WHITE WOMAN above all. The repressed black women is now eager to claim any and everyone as one of her own that has achieved status in the White world. Like Meghan- even if she herself says “Don’t call me black”.

Once again this is as I expected because America is good at what it does, which is oppressing Afrikan being. Sad enough no matter how hard the european attempts to wipe our existence and/or being off the face of the map they have not. There were Black women/men speaking in protest to this wedding! But why? Because of you all! You all have attached Meghan to the black community when we don’t want her nor does she wants to be apart of such. In addition to that she is joining a monarchy who has gained its power off the blood of all things black. This is possibly the most racist family on earth and she has married into it.She has not taken it over nor infiltrated it. She has joined it. Is this who we want our daughters to idolize? To aspire to be? A woman who put the history of her blood aside to get a spot in the bed and a seat at the table with the white man? She stands as a symbol that is recognized by the Black Nationalist Diaspora as a “FUCK YOU” to both us and our ancestors. The Imperial conglomerate that is The Royal Family is still today very much white supremacist. Apart from Prince Harry dressing as a nazi for halloween while one of his friends was a Klansman and the other was in Black Face like an old Mickey Rooney Movie, out of Britain’s Unemployment Rate Blacks make up 45%, Black men are nearly three times more likely to be arrested than white men, and black children three times more likely to be excluded from school. With that being said Britain is also still colonizing and exploiting over 37 sub-saharan Afrikan countries through high interest loans and mining companies. 

So i ask you “why should we just be happy?”. If you got raped and later in life you found out your rapist was getting married or better yet getting married to you family member would you be happy? Harry’s Crimson hairs reminds us of the Asante and Xhosa blood spilled in the Afrikan grasslands.The wrinkles on his father’s Face look like the waves of the oceans that our people were thrown in from the Slave ships. Meghan is nothing but a light-skinned Omarosa. To you that wedding symbolized integrationist-based accomplishment ,but to the awoken, the 5%, the hoteps, the pan-afrikans, the vanguard that wedding was just another step further away from the  New-Afrikan civilization we’ve dedicated our mind, body, and souls to.

We understand there are black people who the european has made incapable of thinking like us. We understand that europeans will not think like us. We accept this. And we need you to accept that we can not think like you because to do so would be to discard all that is important to us just to applaud two people making a public spectacle of a ceremony that is supposed to be sacred. So instead of asking us “Why we just cant be happy” ask yourself “Why cant I understand why they aren’t happy?”. 

With Love for the Sake of Allah (swt)

-Hakeem Ture.

[breathingfiredragons]

Stick Around, Kid

“It ain’t like that, Jack!” Bruiser said, more forcefully this time. “Don’t shout about things you don’t understand. It ain’t just ’bout some kid who beat you up. Brooklyn’s one of the most powerful cities in the world. We need to be on Colon’s good side. If he wants the kid, he can have the kid. We ain’t gonna stand in his way.” “Colon’s got no claim to the kid! The kid ain’t a newsie, and he ain’t from Brooklyn,” spat Jack. “Colon don’t even need to know he exists!” ~~ Where Jack brings a sick beggar boy back with him, and is unprepared to deal with the consequences that has. Prequel to 'In Sickness and in Doubt'. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/11965272 ) (to clarify, as his name is never mentioned, the 'kid' is Crutchie, and this is before he got his limp).

“Christmas mobs cause massive fight in department store! Vicious fightin’!” shouted Jack, waving his paper high in the air. “You heard it here, folks!” an elderly woman bought from him, dropping an extra coin in his hand and murmuring something about the holidays.

People were always more generous during this time of year. Something about the guilt and temporary bout of religion made them give more. Not that he minded - it was nice to have a treat now and then. Besides just getting a treat, now that he was older he’d have to contribute to the Christmas dinner that Bruiser and the rest of the guys put together for the little kids. A few extra coins here and there piling up for a month, and sometimes they could even afford a goosegoose.

Of course, people’s occasional kindness was balanced out by the horrible weather. It was cold and dreary, wet and miserable. Jack could barely feel his fingers, even in the oversized jacket that he’d dug out of some rich person’s trash. It had stopped snowing for a bit, but the roads were still covered a few feet deep. He could barely walk without dragging his feet and taking comically large footsteps.

By sheer luck, he managed to sell all of his papers before dark. God was real after all. Less lucky was the fact that he’d nearly managed to wander into Brooklyn while selling. He technically was still in Manhattan, but only for a few more blocks. Any further and Bruiser would somehow find out and have Jack’s head (Bruiser was real big on territories and who could sell where, for reasons that Jack didn’t quite understand yet).

Unsure of how he’d even ended up as far as almost-Brooklyn, Jack grudgingly made his way towards the bunks. He needed to stop wandering and find a specific spot to sell. Or at least that’s what Bruiser kept saying. Bruiser was really fond of giving Jack advice that Jack was less fond of following. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to follow it so much as he just forgot. Often.

It had started to snow again, and Jack swore. With his luck, there would be a blizzard and he’d be trapped outside again. Bruiser had told him not to go so far away, so he wouldn’t look for very long. It would be entirely Jack’s fault.

Not that he’d get lost. He was fully capable of ignoring a little snow.

“Penny for change?” a small voice croaked out from what had seemed to be a large pile of snow at the corner of an alleyway. “Can anyone spare a penny?”

As he turned around the corner, he found the source of the voice. A small boy, all skin and bones jutting out at odd angles, with blond hair and a dirt covered face. He was shaking, and a large purple bruise covered his left eye. “How old are you, kid?” Jack asked.

The kid looked relieved that Jack was actually talking to him. “Thirteen.”

Oh. So not as young as Jack thought. Only a year younger than him, if he was telling the truth. The kid could pass as ten if they put him in bigger clothes, maybe he could take him back…

Before Jack could say another word, he felt his feet be ripped out from under him as he fell backwards into the snow. “Wha-” a sharp pain bloomed in his jaw, while something else dug into his chest. Before he could so much as raise his hands in defense, he’d been robbed of his hat and the coins in his pocket, and the kid was running down the street.

“Come back here!” launching to his feet, he darted after the boy.

The kid wasn’t very fast, but he clearly knew the area well. He’d dart down an alley and appear twenty feet further.

He took a turn down the block, and then they were in Brooklyn. Jack stuttered to a stop for a moment, before shaking his head and continuing. He’d get his earnings back, boundaries be damned.

The kid dove into another alley, and this time he didn’t emerge.

Swearing, Jack kicked the wall before heading back home.

“You got robbed?” Bruiser repeated. “Who did it?” Jack mumbled a response and Bruiser grabbed his chin, twisting it so he could better look at the already bruised skin. “Can’t understand you, kid, speak up. Who hit ya?”

“Some beggar kid,” spat Jack. “I woulda caught him, but he went into Brooklyn. Knew the land well enough to lose me.”

Bruiser paced back and forth for a while, taking his hat off and twisting it between his hands. “Was he a newsie?”

“I don’ think so. Looked like he was near dead, freezin’ to death on the streets,” said Jack.

“You lost to a near dead beggar on the streets?”

Jack flushed with embarrassment, and dug his shoe into the ground. “He was a damn good fighter. Had me pinned down and robbed before I could even blink.”

Bruiser was silent for a while, leaning up against the wall. “Listen, kid, here’s what you’re going to do. You hearin’ me? Gotta listen carefully. Don’ tell anyone about this. I’ll lend you money for tonight’s rent, but ’side from that you gotta tell everyone you sold today. Got it?”

Jack nodded silently, holding back the burning question on his tongue: why?

“I ain’t gonna find you a new hat. Ask ’round, see if anyone has extra. Maybe Kloppmann does. That’s your problem,” again, Bruiser paused. Jack wondered if maybe he was done, maybe he’d get off without a scolding, when Bruiser spoke again. “The Brooklyn kid who robbed you...if you see him again, let him be. Don’ go lookin’ for a fight. But if he tries to steal from you again…don’t let him take anything. I don’t wanna hear about you losin’ to anymore street rats, you understand?”

Jack nodded silently. Tell people he sold. Get his own hat. Leave the Brooklyn kid alone. Don’t lose any more fights. Easy enough.

Except.

“You don’t want me fightin’ the Brooklyn kid ’cus of Colon, right? But we don’t know he’s a newsie. So what does it matter?”

Sighing, Bruiser ran his hands through his hair. “Just in case. Colon ain’t taken to kindly to other people who rough up his own. If the kid’s one of Colon’s, we don’ want anything that happens to him on our hands. Get it?”

Mind whirring, Jack nodded. “I got it.”

The next day when he went out to sell, Jack tried to backtrack to where he’d sold the day before. It was even colder now, and barely anyone was on the streets. The people on the streets weren’t likely to stop and buy the paper. At least he had a purpose, something to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t feel his toes or his fingers, and that the new kid, Race, had lent him an extra hat that was a few sizes too small.

“Pape! Government scandal shakes the nation! Read it here, folks!” the actual story was about some secretary who’d had an affair with another woman, and was on the back page, but they didn’t need to know that.

The day drug on. It only seemed to get colder. Barely anyone bought from him, and those that did tipped lousily. The possibly Brooklyn kid didn’t show, and he didn’t have any of his few regulars over here. All in all, it was an epic failure.

Deciding to call it quits early, Jack stuffed his last few papers into his shoes for extra warmth and shoved his hands into his pocket. He’d heard a story once about a girl who had to sell matches in the cold, and she died after lighting them all in an effort to preserve her warmth. Still, before she died she was transported to the most wonderful places, full of food and heat.

Jack felt a little bit like that. But instead of fantastical feasts, he got newspapers in his shoes.

Suddenly pausing, Jack rotated to face an alleyway. Maybe he’d heard something, or maybe it was something he saw in the corner of his eye. But all he knew was now he was walking into the shady alleyway with his hands squeezed into fists, praying he wasn’t about to get jumped. “Hello?”

Something mumbled to his right, but all he could see was snow.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Is someone there?”

Underneath a decent amount of snow, completely still save for his fluttering eyelids, was the boy from yesterday.

If possible, he looked even worse. His lips were chapped and bloody, and his skin had taken on a translucent tone. He looked like Jack could easily snap him in half.

“Jesus Christ!” Jack quickly bent down so he was at level with him, and brushed off the snow that had accumulated. “Are you alive? Can you hear me?”

When the kid didn’t respond, Jack pulled him out from the drift. He was disturbingly light.

Bruiser said to leave well enough alone, but if he left him out here in the cold like this, he’d probably die…

Scooping him up with ease, Jack stood up and made for the lodging house. He’d barely made it ten feet before the boy’s eyes opened. “No!” he was probably trying to scream, but his voice was so hoarse it barely made any noise. He wrestled his way out of Jack’s grasp and fell to the ground.

“Kid! What the hell! I’s trying to help you!” Jack grabbed at the kid, only for him to take a swing at Jack.

“I ain’t goin’ back! You can’t make me!” the kid crawled as quick as he could, but he wasn’t getting far.

“I’s not taking you back to...where ever you’s running from!” Jack didn’t try to grab the kid again, instead bending down to his level. “You’s gotta trust me, or you’ll freeze out here tonight. You ain’t lookin’ too well.”

“You...Snyder didn’t send you?” said the kid apprehensively.

Jack felt his blood run cold. “Snyder? As in the Refuge? Never. Look, kid, I don’t wanna hurt you. You’s sick, and all I’s gonna do is take you back to the other newsies. Can you tell me your name?” the kid remained silent, staring at the ground. “Look, kid, I need something to call you.”

“No, you don’t. What’s your name?” asked the kid.

“Jack. Jack Kelly,” Jack offered a hand, which the kid took with wide eyes.

“Jack Kelly? You’re the Jack Kelly? Holy shit! I-I’s heard all about you!” the kid seemed to be filled with a whole new energy. “You’s the one who escaped from the Refuge on Teddy Roosevelt's carriage!”

Jack felt his face burn, and he self consciously rubbed the back of his neck. “You’s...you’s heard about that? Is they still talkin’ about that at the Refuge?”

“Is they still talkin’ about that? Of course they’s still talkin’ about that! You’s a livin’ legend!” suddenly the kid doubled over in a fit of coughing, and Jack noticed red spots on his shirt when he finished.

“How about you come back with me to the lodgin’ house. We can talk more there,” Jack tugged at the kid’s arm, and he followed reluctantly. They walked a bit in silence until he finally said: “So how did you escape the refuge? Don’t tell me the spider just let you go.”

The kid seemed to be a lot more tired now. His burst of energy was over, and he was just trudging alongside Jack again. “Tied a sheet to the bed, tossed the end out the window, and took off like a shot. He ain’t even noticed I was missin’ until I reached Brooklyn,” he paused, looking back up at Jack. “I know it ain’t as epic as your story but...I’s not there anymore.”

“Place is awful. Damn it straight to hell,” muttered Jack.

“One day Snyder’s gonna get what’s comin’ to him. One day Snyder’s gonna die, and he’s gonna go to hell and pay his dues,” the kid was nodding eagerly, like it was the most exciting thing in the world.

How the kid could so quickly bounce from grey and tired to eager and hopeful was beyond Jack. It almost hurt him to have to set him straight.

“You’s so sure about that? Hate to be the one to break it to you…” Jack bit his lip, trailing off. “Ah, never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“What? You gotta tell me. Can’t just start a conversation like that without finishing!” the kid pulled on Jack’s jacket.

“It ain’t a good thing, kid. I was just gonna say that bad people don’ usually get what they deserve. Nah, they get fancy parties and all the food they’d ever eat,” Jack put an arm around the kid, pulling him closer as he tried to ignore the waves of heat he could feel coming off the kid in spite of the cold. “Bad people usually end up with happily ever after. But at least we can make a penny off of them!” he tried to end with a smile, but the kid didn’t share it. Rather, he looked like he was deep in thought.

They walked in silence again for a while, until Jack turned a corner and could see the lodging house in the distance. By this point, the kid had returned to a more reclusive mood, barely responding to Jack’s attempts at starting conversation. Now and then he’d flash Jack a smile, and by God if it wasn’t the brightest smile that Jack had ever seen. He looked like he had sunshine itself trapped in there. It was hard to tell that the sick boy who he was taking back with him was the same boy who’d beaten Jack up the other day and given him the shiner that had developed on his eye.

“We’re almost there, kiddo, hang on,” Jack murmured.

“I’s fine! It’s nothin’. I’s walked twice this distance before, and didn’t even break a sweat!” he bragged.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” nodded Jack.

Race must’ve seen him coming, basically dragging the kid at this point, because he ran out to meet them halfway. “What’s goin’ on? Who’s the kid?”

“I ain’t a kid! I’s thirteen!” protested the kid. Race looked back and forth from him and Jack, looking excited.

“Is he gonna die? He looks like he’s gonna die,” Race said all too eagerly.

“Jesus Christ, Race, he ain’t gonna die. If y’wanna help so bad, go get Bruiser,” Jack waved his free hand. Race scrambled back to the lodging house, yelling a ‘sure thing’ behind him.

“Didn’t realize you had so much authority here,” the kid commented.

“Not really,” said Jack. “Just more than Race. I’s been here longer than him.”

“How long has y’been here?” asked the kid.

“Since I left the Refuge. So what, maybe...I dunno, four years? I came here when I was ten, and them older guys like Bruiser were all over me. Little kids sell better. I’s been trained since then to be the best at what I do,” Jack puffed out his chest proudly, smirking towards the younger boy.

“Yeah, right,” he laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough. They stopped walking entirely as he hacked up what seemed to be his lungs into his sleeves, spotting red again.

“Jesus, kid, you’s really sick,” noted Jack. “You aren’t contagious, are you?”

The kid shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. I’s-I’s always sick like this. Ain’t ever died before.”

Not that Jack wanted this kid to die, but he kind of hoped he hadn’t done all this work practically carrying him here for nothing.

Bruiser was waiting for them right outside the lodging house. He studied the kid carefully, trying to place him. He could be one of Colon’s, and if he was they’d need to send him back as soon as he was well.

The kid flashed a smile towards Bruiser, the same award winning smile from earlier, but it’s marred by the fact that blood stains his teeth. “This is the guy?” confirmed Bruiser, all business.

“Yes, sir,” Jack nodded. Old habits die hard.

“Take him to Poet, she’ll fix him up quick enough. Then come meet me in my office,” Bruiser said.

Poet was one of the only girls who stuck around. Sure, there were always a few here and there that would stay with them for a few months, but none of them were eager to live with boys permanently. Except Poet. With mousy brown hair, copper eyes, and dull freckles, Jack didn’t personally think she was much of a looker. But who knows, Bruiser certainly did.

“So you’re the homeless bum who managed to beat up our Jack,” Poet said as she looked over the kid.

“Poet!” Jack flushed. “You can’t-”

“Oh, shush,” she stuck a hand out to the kid’s forehead. “Shit, you’s hot as hell. How long you been sick?”

“Sometimes I think that I’s never not sick,” he grumbled. Poet raised her eyebrows, so he continued on: “Maybe a week or so? I’s been coughing for a lot longer than that, though.”

“How long you’ve been coughing? Do you remember?” he shook his head. “Alright. I’m gonna go find my book,” Poet had a book full of medical advice that she loved to flip through whenever she was ‘treating’ somebody. Always kept it hidden in her bunk so nobody else could look at it. Said that it made her feel important. “You stay here.”

Which left Jack alone with the kid again.

The kid was covered in grime and soot. He’d clearly been living on the streets for a while, and been in a few fights. He had faded bruises all over his arms and his face. Which is probably why he knew how to fight so well, and how he took Jack out so quickly.

“Here,” said Jack suddenly, grabbing a pail of water and a cloth from Poet’s station. “Clean yourself off, you look like death.”

“Thanks.”

Jack stood there again for another moment, until he remembered Bruiser’s orders to meet him after dropping the kid off with Poet. “You good here? Bruiser wants to see me…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Go ahead. Do whatever you need,” said the kid.

“Of course. Thanks,” Jack internally cursed a bit. Why did he thank the kid? The kid needed to thank him. He saved that kid’s life!

Maybe.

“So I says leave well enough alone, and you brings him back to the lodgin’ house,” summed up Bruiser. “That sound about right?”

Jack nodded sheepishly.

“Glad we got that cleared up. Lemme know if you need another reminder of you’s bein’ stupid. Next is what we’s gonna do with him. Has he told y’if he’s from Brooklyn?” Bruiser asked.

“He ’scaped from the Refuge, that’s all I got outta him. Dunno if it was Brooklyn before that, or…” he trailed off.

“It’d look pretty good for us if he was Brooklyn. We send him back to Colon all healed up and he owes us one,” Bruiser looked pretty proud of himself for thinking that one up. “Yeah. It’d be pretty great to have Colon owe us one for once.”

“Sure would, but I don’t think he’s a newsie,” said Jack.

Bruiser’s face dropped. “Oh. That’s shit. Still, I’ll send word to Colon, see if he wants to claim him.”

“Claim him? What, like he’s some item being bartered away?” Jack said ferociously.

“It ain’t like that, kid-”

“Like hell it ain’t like that! You can’t treat him like he’s just-just an item!”

“It ain’t like that, Jack!” Bruiser said, more forcefully this time. “Don’t shout about things you don’t understand. It ain’t just ’bout some kid who beat you up. Brooklyn’s one of the most powerful cities in the world. We need to be on Colon’s good side. If he wants the kid, he can have the kid. We ain’t gonna stand in his way.”

“Colon’s got no claim to the kid! The kid ain’t a newsie, and he ain’t from Brooklyn,” spat Jack. “Colon don’t even need to know he exists!” with that, Jack stormed out of the room, ignoring Bruiser’s shouts and the fact that he may have just lost everything he’d taken so long to gain.

So stuck in his head, Jack didn’t notice as he ran straight into the kid in question. “Sorry!” the kid shouted as he fell to the floor. “I’s just-” he swallowed. “I’s just trying to find you. And I found ya. Hello,” he gave an awkward wave.

Jack studied him carefully. He was probably eavesdropping, knowing they were talking about him.

There was no reason for him to be treated any differently than any of their other recruits. Except for the fact that he was possibly from Brooklyn. If he was from the Bronx, or Woodstock, it wouldn’t be an issue.

It’s like the kid read his mind. “I ain’t from Brooklyn, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just happened to-” he broke off, coughing viciously into his arm. He was still spotting blood. “Happened to be in the area. Like you.”

Jack didn’t respond to that. Instead, he just said: “You should get some rest. Don’t want to go through all of this trouble to have you dying on me.”

The kid nodded, and started making his way back to where Poet was.

“So what’s the deal with the new guy?” Race asked, appearing from out of the blue as soon as Jack entered the room. “Is he gonna die?”

“Why don’t you ask Poet?” replied Jack dryly.

“Can’t find her anywhere. If you ask me, that’s a sure sign that he ain’t doin’ so hot. Not if she ain’t leavin’ his bedside,” reasoned Race.

“Why you so obsessed with death, kid?”

“I ain’t obsessed. But it’s interestin’. I overheard Bruiser talkin’ to someone about sending a letter over to Colon,” Jack’s eyes narrowed, with Race clearly noticed, as he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “We’s startin’ a game of poker, wanna join?”

“That depends, you improved your poker face anymore?” Jack smiled.

“Hey! I tell ya, I gotta list of who owes me money a half mile long!” insisted Race, punching Jack in the arm.

“Yeah, and a list of who you owe three times that,” said Jack. The pair made their way to the table, and he tried his best to put the new kid out of his mind. Most likely he’d go to Colon, and they’d part ways as unlikely friends.

“Colon doesn’t want him,” Bruiser said, lighting his cigarette. “Says he ain’t one of his. Poet says he’s gonna be better real soon. You need to talk to him, see if he’s gonna stay with us.”

“Why me?” asked Jack.

“You’s the one who brought him in. You’s gotta take responsibility for what’s yours,” Bruiser shrugged. “You think I got to where I am by lettin’ other people do my work for me? Nah. Jack, you ain’t an idiot. You gotta know that I want you in charge of Manhattan when I’s gone,” Jack hadn’t dared to hope that that’s why Bruiser liked him so much. Why he wanted to spend so much time with him. “And when it comes to shit like this? You’s gotta take life by the balls and do things yourself. That kid out there beat the shit outta you, Jackie. Trust me when I say he’s someone you want with you.”

Jack nodded, his heart swelling. Bruiser thought that he would make a good leader. That he could handle Manhattan.

Here’s the thing - when Jack showed up at the newsies’ door demanding a job and rent to last him the night, Bruiser was the one who covered for him then. It was Bruiser who trusted him enough to give him some of his pay without barely speaking to him. It was Bruiser who taught Jack everything that he knew. It was Bruiser that Jack sold with until he was good enough to sell on his own. The first time that Jack got into a fist fight with the Delanceys, Bruiser was the one who patted him on the back and stitched him up, telling him where to aim next time.

Bruiser was the closest thing that Jack had to family, and his believing in Jack meant the world to him.

Jack ran through the lodging house at top speed, not stopping to answer questions, opting to instead just shout “I’s in a good mood, that’s all” behind him as he ran. By the time he reached the room where the kid was staying, he was out of breath with the biggest smile on his face.

“Hey, kid-” he stopped. The kid was asleep on a cot, buried under a few measly excuses for blankets.

“Don’t bother him,” Poet whispered from the doorway. “He hasn’t been doing so hot. Just now starting to make his way to recovery,” Poet always sounded different than others when she talked. Jack had always chalked it up to her being a girl - the newsies were mostly guys - but now that he thought about it, she sounded more like the richer folks they sold to. Her accent had always been different, but right now she sounded like she was talking slower, carefully choosing how her words would sound. “Why don’t you come out here with me, Jackie?”

Poet and Bruiser had always had a bit of a thing. They’d flirt on and off, hang out together. They’d even kissed a few times, maybe done more than that. They were best friends. When Bruiser got stabbed by some asshole on the streets (who was never identified) Poet stayed by his side until he made a complete recovery. It was the only time Jack had seen her yell at the younger kids. She usually reserved that anger for the bums on the street who made lewd comments and groped her.

“What’s with ya, Poet? You seem upset,” said Jack.

“I ain’t - I’m not upset. Just thinking, that’s all,” she corrected. “What’s got you so excited to speak to the kid?”

“Bruiser sent me. Told me to ask if the kid’s plannin’ on staying with us or goin’ back to the streets,” Jack said.

“Well, I hope he’s planning on staying longer. He’ll be up and moving soon, but if he goes back out there he’ll probably die,” Poet said it so nonchalantly, Jack had to do a double take to process what she said.

“Die? He ain’t just - just gotta cold or somethin’?” well, he was coughing up blood.

Poet almost looked excited. “I figure it’s either Bronchitis or Pneumonia. They’re very similar, you know. Hard to differentiate with my book. But either way, he’s likely to die if he goes out in the cold again so soon. Add onto the fact that he’s extremely underweight and starving...let’s just say it would be best for him to stay here.”

Jack smiled. The kid seemed pretty cool, when he wasn’t beating Jack up. Had some sense of humor, and despite his going to the Refuge the kid had the brightest smile Jack’d ever seen. Bright enough to light up an entire room. Sure, he beat the crap out of him when they met, but could Jack really blame him for that? He’d do the same, in that position. “Good. I’s glad to hear that.”

“I can tell,” Poet replied, twisting the ends of her hair.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Hm?”

“You’s all distracted. Staring at nothin’, twistin’ your hair,” Jack motioned with his hands. “Is it a girly thing I ain’t gonna understand?”

Poet chuckled. “No, no, it’s just-” she was interrupted by a groaning in the kid’s room. “Shit, I should-”

“Nah, it’s alright. I’s gotta talk to him, anyways. Go find Bruiser and tell him what’s eating you,” Jack liked to pride himself on knowing his friends well. If Poet was upset about something, she wasn’t going to talk to Jack about it. No, the only person she’d even consider discussing it with would be Bruiser.

And off she went.

The kid was sitting up on his cot. “Jack!”

“Kid! Good to see you’re not dead!” that was always a pleasant start to a conversation.

“Yeah, I’d like to think so,” the kid smirked.

“You feelin’ better?”

“Yeah! Ain’t coughed up any blood today, so...that’s a bonus. Poet tells me that I’s gonna make a full recovery.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. She says it’s best you stay here for a few days and then...it’s up to you.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“You think...you think you’s gonna stay here?”

“Is I allowed? I’d hate to be the one to intrude on your living situation, and I ain’t got no money to pay for rent. I ain’t got a job.”

“Well you wanna live here, you gotta be a newsie.”

“A newsie?”

“Yeah. Y’know, we sell the papes. Screamin’ on every corner of the street-”

“Yeah, I know what a newsie is.”

“Ah. So how about it? Trade you’s life of crime for a hat and a stack of papes just itchin’ to be sold?” Jack had sat down on the cot beside the kid. There was half a foot between them, close enough where he could feel the kid’s still lingering body heat coming off him in waves.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Jack spit into his hand, and stuck it out. Without hesitation, the kid did the same.

“We’s gotta call you somethin’. What’s your name, kid?” the kid was silent, messing with the end of his shirt again. “Don’t wanna tell me? That’s fine. We could come up with a nickname for you. Like Race. His nickname’s Racetrack, because he’s always betting on the races. It’s like he’s gotta nickname for a nickname!” Jack laughed, and the kid let out a weak chuckle. “So how’s ’bout it? Got any ideas?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t worry, I’s got plenty,” Jack scooted back a bit so he could get full view of the kid’s appearance. His hair was sticking up in a thousand different ways, and his arms had indentations from the blankets. His collarbones were jutting out sharply, and his legs were wrapped around each other. “How’s...Scruffy?”

“Scruffy?!”

“Yeah! You look’s kind of scruffy. With you’s hair, and...I dunno, it just fits.”

“There’s no way you’re calling me Scruffy.”

“Fine. What’re your hobbies?” asked Jack.

“Excuse me?”

“Hobbies! What are they? Like...Poet likes to write, so we call her Poet. Bruiser likes to fight, so we call him Bruiser. You’ve got any hobbies?” Jack poked the kid’s arm.

“Not really. Unless lying on the street and starvin’ is a hobby,” the kid joked.

“Nah. Maybe...Scrappy?” he shook his head. “Scabber?” nope. “Burner?” nope. “Jesus, kid, why you gotta be so damn picky?”

“We’s talkin’ about more than just a name,” the kid wrapped an arm around Jack and stretched another in front of them like there was a magnificent view. “We’s talkin’ about my legacy. When they tell stories about me, I don’t want them talkin’ about no Scrappy! Nah, it has to be something epic. Something that fits.”

“Well you ain’t got any hobbies, you ain’t got any particularly defining physical features, except them ears,” the kid laughed. “Unless you got a better idea, I guess we’s gonna have to keep callin’ you kid, for now.”

“Kid’ll have to do.”

“I’s not upset, Poet,” Bruiser was saying.

“You look upset. I was just telling you because-” Poet sounded strained.

“I gets it, Poet. I’s-I’s happy for you,” Bruiser did not sound happy.

Jack and the kid were sitting on their bunk bed, trying very much to not eavesdrop on the loud conversation that was happening through the door by them. The kid was on the top bunk, almost folded in on himself. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and his arms were wrapped tightly around him. Jack was on the bottom, hugging his pillow.

“Thanks. I just...I’m leaving tomorrow night. I won’t be back,” she said.

“Never?” Bruiser asked.

“They live in California, it’s not like I could come back for a day,” there was a decent amount of silence now. Enough for Jack to wonder if the conversation was over, or if they’d moved on to...other activities.

“I’s...I’s tryin’ to understand, but I can’t get it. You ain’t-you ain’t gonna be able to get an education! Sorry, Poet, it ain’t gonna happen!”

“What the hell, Bruiser?”

“You ever hear ’bout a woman doctor?”

“Bruiser, maybe if you ever read the papes you sell so well you’d know we’ve got one right here in New York. Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell,” said Poet. “I didn’t come here to ask your permission. I came here to say goodbye. If this is how you’s gonna be, I’s just gonna leave,” Poet sounded like she was crying.

Bruiser sighed. There was more silence.

“Maybe it’s just time. I’s been thinkin’ as well...I’s 23. That’s pretty damn old to still be sellin’ papes. I could goes with you, get a job out west...how hard could it be?” Jack felt his heart all but stop. He had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep his cries from escaping. Bruiser was leaving? Like it was nothing, he’d just drop everything and go to California.

He’d talked about Jack being in charge one day. Jack didn’t think that it would be so soon. There were so many people who were older than him, more experienced.

If Bruiser left, if Poet left...Jack would be all on his own.

“Bruiser...I can’t ask you to give this up, to leave all of your family behind,” Poet said.

“Poet...you’s my family. I ain’t need anything else but that,” tears were streaming down Jack’s face. He couldn’t breathe. He needed air, space, something.

Scrambling up from his bed, Jack raced to the window, tossing it open. The fresh air wasn’t enough, he need more. He needed to escape.

There was a fire escape outside the window. Jack looked behind him to make sure nobody was following him, and then climbed out the window onto the landing of the fire escape.

The cold was bitter, numbing Jack’s skin already. He was regretting his decision a bit, but adrenaline was pumping and he couldn’t stop now. The ladder to the roof was icy, and he kept having to brush off snow with his bare hands. By the time he got to the top, he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

It was dusk. The sun cast an orange hue throughout the city, and illuminated the silhouettes of nearby buildings. Snow dusted everything, shaping the world around him. It glistened like diamonds, covering all the darkness and dirt that Jack knew what there. Despite the freezing temperature, it looked soft enough to the point where Jack could just fall into it and be safe. Like it could embrace and surround him, and never leave him.

“Jack?” a voice called from the ladder, startling Jack from his thoughts. It was the kid. He was struggling up, both due to the snow as well as the blankets filling his arms. “Jack, it’s pretty cold up here. You could use one of these.”

Jack silently took the blanket from the kid, wrapping it around himself and trying to massage some warmth back into his hands.

“It’s a lovely view, ain’t it?” commented the kid. “I’s never gonna get tired of it. The skyline, with the sun and the snow…”

Yeah, it was beautiful. Another day he might’ve drawn it from the window. Maybe one day he’d come up to the roof himself to paint it.

“When I’s…when I’s a kid, way younger, I used to have a roof like this. Small apartment, barely ’nough room for the three of us. But it hadda roof that put everything else to shame. I’s go up there, and sit. Like a-a penthouse. A penthouse in the sky,” the kid sighed. “Course it ain’t gonna last forever, nothin’ does. Soon enough my ma she-she died alongside what was gonna be my little sister. Things kept changin’ and-and soon enough I never see that roof again,” Jack could feel his sideways glance.

“You shouldn’t be up here, you’ll catch your death,” muttered Jack. “Last thing we need is you’s getting sick again.”

“I feels fine, Jack,” the kid scooted closer to him. “Do you wanna...wanna talk about anything?”

Jack was silent.

“I don’t wanna push or nothin’, but you seemed awful upset about what Bruiser said. You seem awful upset. You says...you says you’ve been here a while?”

“Yeah,” that’s one way to put it. “They’s my family. Only family I got that eva’ gave a damn. And now they’s just-they’s just up and leavin’ like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like I don’t matter at all to them. Not enough to keep them here,” Jack scoffed. “Y’know, Bruiser talked to me ’bout maybe having me be in his shoes one day. I thought-I thought he’s meaning in a year or so. Turns out he’s talkin’ around a week.”

“Y’know what, Jack, lemme tell you something. You’s gonna be just fine. You’s gonna do a great job, no matter what. I just gotta feelin’,” smiled the kid.

“It ain’t just that. Bruiser, Poet...they’s my family. They picked me up when I was nothin’, and took me to where I am now. I loves them more than I loves my own flesh and blood. How’s I supposed to live without them? How’s I supposed to go on knowing they ain’t cared enough to stay with me? I hate them,” Jack spat.

“No, you don’t. You’s angry at them for leaving you. For movin’ on. I can’t say I’s blamin’ you, Jack-” the kid coughed into his elbow, struggling for breath. Jack pulled him a bit closer.

“Kid, they’s the only family I got,” whispered Jack.

“You’s gonna make more family. Besides, you got all’a these boys here who’s your family. You says that you loves them. Prove it. Let ’em move on,” the kid squeezed Jack’s hand.

“You thinks you could do the same thing, if it was someone you cared about? If your family wanted to leave you behind and never see you again, would you let ’em?” asked Jack.

“I hope I could. But I’s pretty selfish. I think you’s better at lettin’ people go than I am,” he shrugged.

“I gotta be,” Jack looked over to where the kid was huddled. Now that he’d started to calm down a bit, he realized just how excruciatingly cold it was. And the kid was still skin and bones, just barely at the point of recovery. Feeling that familiar maternal instinct that was buried somewhere deep inside him kick in, Jack said, “C’mon, kid, let’s get you inside before I’m haulin’ your body around again.”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “I’s meaning it, though. You’s gotta family here. You’s not gonna be alone when Bruiser and Poet leave.”

“Yeah, alright kid.”

“Charlie.”

“Hm?”

“My name’s...I’s Charlie.”

“Oh. Well...it’s nice to meetcha, Charlie.”

Jack smiled.