#I feel violent cause I’m drawing complicated stuff

[bluehairperson]

I would love to lock Valerius in a basement and force him to clean the dishes or mop the floor. I bet he would cry.

#saw movie style #I feel violent cause I’m drawing complicated stuff #not art

[liquidstar]

I feel as if many people, myself included, have been having problems with the way “critical thinking” is conducted in fandom circles more and more. Which I’d say is a good thing, because it means we’re thinking critically. But still the issues with the faux-critical mentality and with the way we consume media through that fandom group mentality are incredibly widespread at this point, despite being very flawed, and there are still plenty of people who follow it blindly, ironically.

I sort of felt like I had to examine my personal feelings on it and I ended up writing a whole novel, which I’ll put under the cut, and I do welcome other people’s voices in the matter, because while I’m being as nuanced as I can here I obviously am still writing from personal experience and may overlook some things from my limited perspective. But by and large I think I’ve dissected the phenomena as best I can from what I’ve been seeing going on in fandom circles from a safe but observable distance.

Right off the bat I want to say, I think it's incredibly good and necessary to be critical of media and understand when you should stop consuming it, but that line can be a bit circumstantial sometimes for different people. There are a lot of anime that I used to watch as a teenager that I can’t enjoy anymore, because I got more and more uncomfortable overtime with the sexualization of young characters, partly because as I was getting older I was really starting to realize how big of an issue it was, and I certainly think more critically now than I did when I was 14. Of course I don’t assume everyone who still watches certain series is a pedophile, and I do think there are plenty of fans that understand this. However I still stay away from those circles and that’s a personal choice.

I don’t think a person is morally superior based on where they draw the line and their own boundaries with this type of stuff, what’s more important is your understanding of the problem and response to it. There are series I watch that have a lot of the same issues around sexualization of the young characters in the cast, but they’re relatively toned down and I can still enjoy the aspects of the series I actually like without it feeling as uncomfortable and extreme. Others will not be able to, and their issues with it are legitimate and ones that I still ultimately agree with, but they’re still free to dislike the series for it, after all our stance on the issue itself is the same so why would I resent them for it?

Different people are bound to have different lines they draw for how far certain things can go in media before they’re uncomfortable watching it and it doesn’t make it a moral failing of the person who can put up with more if they’re still capable of understanding why it’s bad to begin with and able to not let it effect them. But I don’t think that sentiment necessarily contradicts the idea that some things really are too far gone for this to apply, the above examples aren’t the same thing as a series centered solely around lolicon ecchi and it doesn’t take a lot of deep analysis to understand why. It’s not about a personal line anymore when it comes to things that are outright propaganda or predatory with harmful ideals woven into the message of the story itself. Critical thinking means knowing the difference between these, and no one can hold your hand through it. And simply slapping “I’m critical of my interests” on your bio isn’t a get out of jail free card, it’s always evident when someone isn’t truly thinking about the impact of the media they consume through the way they consume it.

I think the issue is that when people apply “Critical thinking” they don’t actually analyze the story and its intent, messages, themes, morals, and all that. Instead they approach it completely diegetically, it’s basically the thermian argument, the issue stems from thinking about the story and characters as if they’re real people and judging their actions through that perspective, rather than something from a writer trying to deliver a narrative by using the story and characters as tools. Like how people get upset about characters behaving “problematically” without realizing that it’s an intentional aspect of the story, that the character needs to cause problems for there to be conflict. What they should be looking at instead is what their behavior represents in the real world.

You do not need to apply real-world morals to fictional characters, you need to apply them to the narrative. The story exists in the real world, the characters and events within it do not. Fictional murderers themselves do not hurt anyone, no one is actually dying at their hands, but their actions hold weight in the narrative which itself can harm real people. If the character only murders gay people then it reflects on whatever the themes and messages of the story are, and it’s a major issue if it's framed as if they’re morally justified, or as if this is a noble action. And it’s a huge red flag if people stan this character, even if the story itself actually presents their actions as reprehensible. Or cases where the murderers themselves are some kind of awful stereotype, like Buffalo Bill who presents a violent and dangerous stereotype of trans women, making the character a transmisogynistic caricature (Intentional or otherwise) that has caused a lot of harm to the perception of trans women. When people say “Fiction affects reality” this is what they mean. They do not mean “People will see a pretend bad guy and become bad” they mean “Ideals represented in fiction will be pulled from the real world and reflected back onto it.”

However, stories shouldn’t have to spoon-feed you the lesson as if you’re watching a children’s cartoon, stories often have nuances and you have to actively analyze the themes of it all to understand it’s core messages. Oftentimes it can be intentionally murky and hard to parse especially if the subject matter itself is complicated. But you can’t simply read things on the surface and think you understand everything about them, without understanding the symbolism or subtext you can leave a series like Revolutionary Girl Utena thinking the titular Utena is heterosexual and was only ever in love with her prince. Things won’t always be face-value or clear-cut and you will be forced to come to your own conclusions sometimes too.

That’s why the whole fandom-based groupthink mentality about “critical thinking” doesn’t work, because it’s not critical. It’s simply looking into the crowd, seeing people say a show is problematic, and then dropping it without truly understanding why. It’s performative, consuming the best media isn’t activism and it doesn’t make you a better person. Listening to the voices of people whom the issues directly concerns will help you form an opinion, and to understand the issues from a more knowledgeable perspective beyond your own. All that means nothing if you just sweep it under the rug because you want to look infallible in your morality. That’s not being critical, it’s just being scared to analyze yourself, as well as what you engage with. You just don’t want to think about those things and you’re afraid of being less than perfect so you pretend it never happened.

And though I’m making this post, it’s not mine or anyone else’s job to hold your hand through all this and tell you “Oh this show is okay, but this show isn't, and this book is bad etc etc etc”. Because you actually have to think for yourself, you know, critically. Examples I’ve listed aren’t rules of thumb, they’re just examples and things will vary depending on the story and circumstance. You have to look at shit on a case-by-case basis instead of relying on spotting tropes without thinking about how they’re implemented and what they mean. That’s why it’s analysis, you have to use it to understand what the narrative is communicating to its audience, explicitly or implicitly, intentionally or incidentally, and understand how this reflects the real world and what kind of impact it can have on it. 

A big problem with fandom is it has made interests synonymous with personality traits, as if every series we consume is a core part of our being, and everything we see in it reflects our viewpoints as well. So when people are told that a show they watched is problematic, they react very extremely, because they see it as basically the same thing as saying they themselves are problematic (It’s not). Everyone sees themselves as good people, they don’t want to be bad people, so this scares them and they either start hiding any evidence that they ever liked it, or they double down and start defending it despite all its flaws, often providing those aforementioned thermian arguments (“She dresses that way because of her powers!”).

That’s how you get people who call children’s cartoons “irredeemable media” and people who plaster “fiction=/= reality!” all over their blogs, both are basically trying to save face either by denying that they could ever consume anything problematic or denying that the problematic aspects exist all together. And absolutely no one is actually addressing the core issues anymore, save for those affected by them who pointed them out to begin with, only for their original point to become muffled in the discourse. No one is thinking critically because they’re more concerned with us-vs-them group mentality, both sides try to out-perform the other while the actual issue gets ignored or is used as nothing more than a gacha with no true understanding or sympathy behind it.

One of the other issues that comes from this is the fact that pretty much everyone thinks they’re the only person capable of being critical of their interests. That’s how you get those interactions where one person goes “OK [Media] fan” and another person replies “Bro you literally like [Other Media]”, because both parties think they’re the only ones capable of consuming a problematic piece of media and not becoming problematic themselves, anyone else who enjoys it is clearly incapable of being as big brained as them. It’s understandable because we know ourselves and trust ourselves more than strangers, and I’m not saying there can’t be certain fandoms who’s fans you don’t wanna interact with, but when we presume that we know better than everyone else we stop listening to other people all together. It’s good to trust your own judgement, it’s bad to assume no one else has the capacity to think for themselves either though.

The insistence that all media that you personally like is without moral failing and completely pure comes with the belief that all media that you personally dislike has to be morally bad in some way. As if you can’t just dislike a series because you find it annoying or it just doesn’t appeal to you, it has to be problematic, and you have to justify your dislike of it through that perspective. You have to believe that your view on whatever media it is is the objectively correct one, so you’ll likely pick apart all it’s flaws to prove you’re on the right side, but there’s no analysis of context or intent. Keep in mind this doesn’t necessarily mean those critiques are unfounded or invalid, but in cases like this they’re often skewed in one direction based on personal opinion. It’s just as flawed as ignoring all the faults in the stuff you like, it’s biased and subjective analysis that misses a lot of context in both cases, it’s not a good mindset to have about consuming media. It’s just another result of tying media consumption with identity and personal morals. The faux-critical mentality is an attempt to separate the two in a way that implies they’re a packaged deal to begin with, making it sort of impossible to truly do so in any meaningful way.

As far as I know this whole phenomena started with “Steven Universe Critical” in, like, 2016, and that’s where this mentality around “critical thinking” originated. It started out with just a few people correctly pointing out very legitimate issues with the series, but over time it grew into just a trend where people would make cutesy kin blogs with urls like critical-[character] or [character]crit to go with the fad as it divulged into Nostalgia Critic level critique. Of course there was backlash to this and criticism of the criticism, but no actual conversation to be had. Just people trying to out-do each other by acting as the most virtuous one in the room, and soon enough the fad became a huge echo-chamber that encouraged more and more outrageous takes for every little thing. The series itself was a children’s cartoon so it stands to reason that a lot of the fans were young teens, so this behavior isn’t too surprising and I do believe a lot of them did think they were doing the right thing, especially since it was encouraged. But that doesn’t erase the fact that there were actual real issues and concerns brought up about the series that got treated with very little sympathy and were instead drowning out people’s voices. Though those from a few years back may have grown up since and know better (Hopefully), the mentality stuck around and influenced the norm for how fandoms and fandom people conduct any sort of critique on media. 

That’s a shame to me, because the pedestal people place fandom onto has completely disrupted our perception on how to engage with media in a normal way. Not everything should be consumed with fandom in mind, not everything is a coffee-shop au with no conflict, not everything is a children’s cartoon with the morals spoon-fed to you. Fandom has grown past the years of uncritical praise of a series, it’s much more mainstream now with a lot more voices in it beyond your small community on some forum, and people are allowed to use those voices. Just because it may not be as pleasant for you now because you don’t get to just turn your brain off and ignore all the flaws doesn’t mean you can put on your rose-tinted nostalgia goggles and pretend that fandom is actually all that is good in the world, to the point where you place it above the comfort and safety of others (Oftentimes children). Being uncritical of fandom itself is just as bad as being uncritical of what you consume to begin with. 

At the end of the day it all just boils down to the ability to truly think for yourself but with sympathy and compassion for other people in mind, while also understanding that not everyone will come to the same conclusion as you and people are allowed to resent your interests. That doesn’t necessarily mean they hate you personally, you should be acknowledging the same issues after all. You can’t ignore aspects of it that aren’t convenient to your conclusion, you have to actually be critical and understand the issues to be able to form it. 

I think that all we need is to not rely on fandom to tell us what to do, but still listen to the voices of others, take them into account to form our opinion too, boost their voices instead of drowning them out in the minutiae of internet discourse about which character is too much of an asshole to like. Think about what the characters and story represent non-diegetically instead of treating them like real people and events, rather a story with an intent and message to share through its story and characters, and whatever those reflect from the real world. That’s how fiction affects reality, because it exists in reality and reflects reality through its own lens. The story itself is real, with a real impact on you and many others, so think about the impact and why it all matters. Just… Think. Listen to others but think for yourself, that’s all.

#see i told you guys id find that essay and post it for real. i wasnt kidding. #good luck inbox of mine :praying:

[averykedavra]

Dance Until the Dawn

Hey, guys! I just finished one fic event, so clearly it’s time to start another! Seriously though, this looked like fun and it might help me transition into working on smaller projects again. So I’m trying some prompts for Soulmate September! Who knows how many I’ll complete, but I’ve got little plans for all of them, so you might get a lot of content this September!

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Song title from Willow Tree by Rival, Cadmium, and Rosendale. You can find this story on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: Day 1. Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm.


Pairing: QPR Royality.

Words: 9913

Warnings: referring to a trans character by their past name and pronouns during the time period when they used those identifiers, some internalized transphobia, internalized harmful beliefs about soulmates, rabies mention, crying, some self-deprecation, vaguely implied gender dysphoria? it’s more on the gender euphoria end.

Patton was eight when he got his heart broken, and he barely even realized it’d happened. Afterwards, he’d look back at that afternoon and wince--or, if he was having a really bad day, cry. It was sad, really. The whole day had been great, and it would have been a nice memory, if not for the soulmates.

They’d been lying on the treehouse floor, the two of them, Patton falling off the side of a large squishy beanbag and Ro drumming her feet on the windowsill. They’d spent a good few hours playing teatime with Patton’s stuffed frog and Ro’s committee of plush puppies. Every time things got boring, Ro would say “oh no, here comes the dragon” and teatime would turn into Rescue the Princess time. But eventually Ro had run out of places to hide the princess because the treehouse was only so big.

The treehouse was their favorite place. It had red walls and a corrugated roof that went ping-ping-ping when it rained and a scratchy rope ladder and a small window with a bucket hanging out of it for Secret Important Messages. In other words, it was perfect.

So after one last daring rescue mission, the stuffed animals were piled in a corner under Patton’s drawing of a dinosaur, and Ro pulled out the storybooks she’d gotten at the library. Patton grabbed his own as well. They were only allowed to check out five at a time, but five plus five was ten, and ten was plenty to keep them busy.

Patton liked books with animals on the cover. He didn’t really care about the story as long as there were animals. And Ro liked adventures. Today she’d brought a whole stack of books, each of the covers sporting dragons and pirates and damsels in distress and brave knights who got them out of distress. Patton thought they could be a little scary. And violent. But Ro always stopped if Patton got nervous, and anyway, it was hard to be scared on a warm spring afternoon with carpet tickling his toes and a lollipop stuck in his mouth.

“Me first!” Ro opened a book with a princess on the front. “We’ll do you next, promise!”

“Okay!” Patton said. He didn’t mind much. Animals were great, but Ro’s stories got interesting.

Because Ro liked to rewrite the stories afterwards.

That was Patton’s favorite part of the afternoon. They’d done it for almost a year, ever since Patton moved here and was greeted by a huge grin and a long black braid and an impressive amount of sparkly hair clips. Being friends with Ro was simple--Patton didn’t know how he’d ever been friends with anyone else, because nobody was like Ro. Nobody understood Patton like Ro did, always knowing when he was upset. Nobody made Patton smile like Ro did, with her endless stories and boundless excitement. Nobody completed Patton like Ro did. They fit together so neatly, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. They were eight and together and the world was wide, exciting and full of new things to read.

“So,” Ro said in her storyteller voice, flipping her hair over her shoulder. And Patton shuffled over to Ro and peered at the book, careful to keep his sticky fingers away from the pages. He wiggled with anticipation.

It was a good story. It was about a lonely princes who was born with no name on her wrist. No soulmate. Her family despaired and she herself mourned, because she would never have a true love. Then a handsome knight saved her from a vicious dragon--this was the part Ro liked the most, dipping her voice to read the knight’s part, Patton playing the princess because all she did was cry a lot. The princess and the knight fell in love, but she knew they weren’t soulmates, so they couldn’t be together. Then they learned the knight hadn’t been given a name at birth, so it hadn’t shown up on the princess’ wrist, and they were soulmates after all. They kissed--“Ew,” Patton said as he finished up his lollipop, and Ro nodded in agreement--and got married and lived happily ever after, the end.

“The thing is,” Ro said, closing the book slowly with her nose wrinkled in concentration. “The thing is.”

“What’s the thing?” Patton asked. Here it was. The fun part.

“The thing is, I think his name should have shown up anyhow.”

“Really? Why?”

“I think it’s cheating!” Ro declared. “Why’d his name not show up ‘cause he didn’t get one when he was a baby? I don’t remember anything from when I was a baby! It’s stupid!”

“It’s not,” Patton said, more out of a desire to get Ro talking than any kind of real belief. “That’s just how soulmates work. It’s your true name, the name on your birth cert-if-i-cate.”

“Your what?” Ro asked, momentarily distracted.

“It’s a piece of paper,” Patton explained, feeling a little proud to know something Ro didn’t. Ro knew almost everything, and the stuff she didn’t, she was good at making up. “They give it to you when you’re born. It proves you got born.”

“Of course I got born!” Ro said, waving a hand at her chest. She was wearing a faded Cinderella t-shirt and there was a hole in the side from the time they played Hide and Seek next to a wire fence. “I don’t see why anyone’s gotta have some paper. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t born, right?”

Patton shrugged. “It’s just the rule.”

By now, he understood that some things were Just the Rule. That was code for something he wasn’t supposed to argue with. There was also That’s How It Is, and sometimes You’ll Understand When You’re Older, and once in a while Because I Said So, Patton Mbow.

“Soulmates have rules,” Patton added, “because they gotta! You hafta have them or else the world goes ker-splooey.”

“But soulmates are magic!” Ro looked deeply offended. She clapped her hands together. “Unity! Two people are magic and they find each other and it’s magic. Magic shouldn’t have rules. That’s no fun!”

Patton shrugged and fiddled with his bracelet. It covered his left wrist and was sprinkled with liberal amounts of glitter. People liked to cover the names on their wrists because it was kinda private and you didn’t want people peeking at them sometimes. Patton didn’t mind. He’d have a chance to find his soulmate later. Magic could help him out and he’d meet his soulmate like Mom and Mami and he’d live happily ever after, the end.

Not now, though. Now he had books and a treehouse and Ro, who was glowing the way she always did when an idea caught her attention. Her eyes glittered like stars and her hands flew like they were birds and sometimes she ran out of breath but she’d barrel ahead anyway with barely a pause.

Gosh, Ro was amazing.

“It’s just too complicated,” Ro was saying when Patton shook himself and focused. “True names are your birth name but also not really? So many rules! It’s like math. Magic shouldn’t be like math.”

“I like math,” Patton said. “Sometimes our math teacher gives us cookies.”

“I like math too,” Ro said. Which wasn’t true, but Patton appreciated it anyway. “But magic and math aren’t the same!”

“They have some of the same letters!”

“Well, they’re kind of the same, then.” Ro waved a hand. “But magic shouldn’t be like math, it should be like...like...”

Patton waited as Ro fought for a word. She’d find it. She always did.

“Like singing!” Ro exclaimed. “Everyone knows how to sing ‘cause it’s simple! No rules!”

“I’m not sure,” said Patton, who’d gotten several comments when he sang a song from Sesame Street during the school concert about butterflies. “I think singing has rules, too.”

“No it doesn’t! You just sing the notes at the right times!” As an example, Ro sang the first few words of Hakuna Matata, but she’d forgotten the rest of them, so she trailed off with a “something something problem-free.” Patton clapped anyway. Ro was a good singer.

“Like that,” Ro said triumphantly. “If you have the words and the tune and the beat, it’s all set!”

Patton giggled. “Those kinda sound like rules.”

“They do?” Ro scrunched up her nose. “Oh, come on! Why does everything fun have to have all these rules attached? If I was in charge, I’d stop with the name thing altogether!” She nodded triumphantly. “Who cares about names anyway? They’re just words! I’d rather get something interesting, like...favorite foods! Or pets! Or--Disney movies! Names are so short and boring.”

“People have the same pets,” Patton pointed out.

“People have the same names, too! Like there are two Emmas in the grade up!” Ro shrugged. “I think it should be more interesting than names, is all I’m saying.”

“I think,” Patton said slowly, to make sure Ro wasn’t going to keep talking. Ro had gone silent and watched Patton with interest, chin in her hands.

“I think,” Patton said again, “that people should use whole names instead. They’d be easier to find if there were whole names.”

“There’s no room,” Ro said.

“You could write it real small!”

Ro looked at her wrist, the one not covered with a strip of ribbon. “Good point!”

Patton beamed.

“I still think names are boring, though.” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not even nicknames! I’d rather it be nicknames.”

“You don’t like your name?” Patton asked.

Ro scrunched up her nose again.

Ro’s full name was Aarohi. Her last name was even longer. Patton called her Ro when they’d first met and he didn’t really know how to say Aarohi--he had trouble with words sometimes and it helped to keep them short. He was better now, but Ro had stuck so Ro was what Ro remained.

“Your soulmate can call you whatever,” Patton reassured Ro. “Darling or stuff like that. That’s what my moms say.”

“I want my soulmate to call me Ro,” Ro said decisively. “Just Ro. I like Ro.”

Patton scrunched up his eyebrows. “I call you Ro.”

“Yeah, and I like it.”

Patton couldn’t really explain the weird feeling in his stomach. He felt vaguely that a designation like that for a nickname--that it was for soulmates--meant Patton was no longer meant to use it. “I can call you something else,” he suggested. “If you wanna.”

“What?” Ro frowned. “I just said I liked it!”

Patton sunk into himself a bit. This wasn’t an argument, but it was getting kinda emotional, and he hadn’t expected this. He didn’t know what to say next. Soulmates always made him feel a little icky and strange, like he’d missed a step going downstairs and his stomach had swooped a bit. Today it felt even worse. He tried looking at Ro, found Ro was even harder to look at, and decided to look at the floor instead.

There was a long silence. Well, long for Patton and Ro, which meant maybe three seconds.

“Pat?” Ro asked.

Ro rarely called Patton nicknames, unlike everyone else they knew. Ro wasn’t always great with names so nicknames helped him remember. But he said he never needed to with Patton because Patton was unforgettable. Now, the use of that nickname made Patton’s stomach do another funny swoop.

“Yeah, Ro?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Patton thought about it. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On the secret,” Patton said. “And if it involves lying or something else bad. I don’t like lying.”

“There’s no lying.” Ro paused. Her voice was weirdly hesitant. “And it might not have to be a secret for long, if--if you--you’ll see. I just wanna show you something, and you gotta promise you’ll be nice about it, and you’ll keep it a secret unless we agree it ought not to be.”

We. Patton shifted. This secret involved him. Had he done something wrong? He really hoped not. Ro was his bestest friend and Patton didn’t want her to be mad at him.

“I’ll keep a secret,” Patton said.

“Pinky promise?”

Patton extended a pinky. Ro wrapped it around her own and shook their hands up and down.

“On your honor?” she asked.

Patton thumped his chest in what he hoped was an honorable fashion. “On my honor.”

“By your sword?”

Patton didn’t have a sword. He thought about pointing this out, but then they’d have to go find a sword, and he was curious now. And a little scared.

“On my sword,” he said, his voice small.

He’d made promises like this before. But usually Ro was excited, eyes sparkling, pulling him towards someplace they were Not Really Supposed to Enter to do things they Shouldn’t Be Doing. Ro wasn’t smiling now. She was worrying her bottom lip and tugging at the ribbon over her soulmark.

“I--” Ro hesitated and let out a long breath. “I’ve got something to show you. Maybe I should have sooner, but--yeah. Here.”

She grabbed the ribbon around her wrist and untied it, letting it fall to the treehouse floor. Her wrist was dark and smooth. She turned it over.

Scribbled across the veins in neat blue ink was the name Patton.

Bubbly, round, just a little bit sparkly.

Patton.

“I should have showed you,” Ro said apologetically, “but I couldn’t think of when and I didn’t know if I should and I don’t really know what to do with a soulmate--”

Something that had loosened in Patton’s chest, becoming all gooey and mushy and soft, hardened again.

“We’re not,” he interrupted.

“We’re--” Ro stared at Patton. “What?”

“We’re not,” Patton repeated. He realized he sounded sort of sad. He didn’t know why.

“Of course we are,” Ro said. “I’ve got your name. We’re soulmates.”

She sounded absolutely certain about it. And Patton wanted to believe her. It surprised him, how much he wanted to. Ro knew all sorts of things--she was smart and passionate and funny and amazing. And she spoke like she controlled soulmates herself, like she could see the jagged edges of each soul and pinpoint exactly where they fit together.

Patton wanted Ro to be right.

But.

He pulled off his bracelet.

The name on there was curly and fancy and he’d forced his moms to read it for him. Red glittering ink, a curving line that ran under it and curled dramatically off into nothing. Little loops inside the curves and flourishes at the end of each line.

Roman.

“See?” he said quietly. “Not you.”

Ro stared at the letters, frowning. “Could be me. It’s kinda close to Ro.”

“Your name isn’t Roman,” Patton said, grabbing his bracelet and pulling it back on. He didn’t want to look at the name anymore.

“But--” Ro looked upset. “I thought--I’ve got your name.”

“It’s prob’ly another Patton,” Patton said, the words sticking in his throat. “I bet there are loads of Pattons. You’ll find another one soon.”

“I don’t want another Patton!” Ro was clearly close to tears. Her wrist lay on the boards of the treehouse, bearing the right name for the wrong person. “I want you!”

“We’re not soulmates!” Patton shook his head. “It’s the rules.”

“I hate the rules!”

Patton reached out and touched Ro’s hand. “We can still be friends! You can find your Patton and I can find my soulmate and we can be friends anyway!”

Ro sniffed. “But all the stories say soulmates are s’pposed to be everything.”

“We’ll make space.” Patton jutted his chin out. “You don’t like the rules, so--so we won’t follow them! Names are stupid and true names don’t make sense and soulmates are...soulmates are stupid! And anyway, there’s nothing in the rules about friends. You’ll find your knight, and I’ll--I’ll be your sidekick!”

Ro smiled a little. “We’ll stay friends?”

“Always!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise!”

“Swear it on the treehouse?”

Patton looked around at the treehouse, full to bursting with ideas and crannies and things to do.

Always was a long time.

But he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

“I swear,” Patton said, and Ro’s eyes shone like diamonds.

And they went on their way, reading another book, all talk of soulmates behind them. It was a nice long afternoon and there was no point in wasting it.

And if Patton felt weirdly sad when he thought about things too hard, that was okay. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

He kept his soulmark covered after that, even when nobody told him to.

It made him feel just a little bit lonely.

---

Patton grew up, and Ro grew up, and whenever Patton’s mind wandered to that day, he tried to put it out of his head. Ro, for her part, barely seemed to remember at all. Patton wished he was the same. He wished he knew why he thought about it so much, soulmarks scrawled against bare skin, sunlight creeping through the edges of the wood.

He realized what it meant when he was thirteen.

Ro was also thirteen, and Ro had decided they were going swimming.

Ro did that. She had a tendency to simply decide on how things were going to be, craft a narrative in her own head, and then expect everyone else to fall in line. Patton usually did so. Ro’s ideas were good, and she always made room for Patton, right there by her side.

Some well-meaning adults--who could really be the worst kind of adults, in Patton’s opinion, though he’d never say so out loud--said that they’d outgrow their friendship soon enough. They weren’t soulmates, after all. It was a good thing that Ro didn’t like to listen to adults, and that growing up only seemed to bring them closer together, joined at the hip and two peas in a pod with the same sense of humor, the same excitement over new stories and fascination with small animals.

Ro was growing up tall and rounded with chubby cheeks and a squishy tummy and thick legs and eyes a little too big for her head and dreams too big for anyone’s head. And Patton was all bones with black hair that refused to untangle itself without three hours of brushing, and allergies that prevented him from eating basically anything, and a chipped front tooth from where he’d fallen out of a tree, and a left foot a little longer than his right. Ro liked acting and singing and writing and drawing. Patton liked cooking and hiking and sculpting and babysitting. They had enough friends to have nice big birthday parties and good enough grads to be on the honor roll. Ro could dance. Patton couldn’t. They both liked to read, they both liked to wear costumes and makeup, and they both could jump-rope past a hundred.

They were friends.

And as friends, they spent a lot of the summer together, so when Patton’s moms finally let him stay somewhere overnight because he was a Teenager, Ro immediately got Patton an invitation to stay with Ro’s family by the lake. For a whole week. With Ro.

Patton spent most of the summer, and a good bit of the spring, being ridiculously excited.

And after an eternity of waiting, it happened, and it was everything Patton had hoped.

They crawled their way to the shore in a minivan packed Tetris-style with everything they’d need and some things they wouldn’t. Patton forgot his alarm clock so he slept in late and stayed up later, leeching every moment of sunlight he could. They spent hours in the lake until their hair was limp and their fingers were pruny. They hiked up mountains just small enough to be relaxing and just tall enough to see the ridges around them, blue and sheer and endless like the world had been crumpled up and spread flat under the sky. They lit a bonfire or two on starry evenings when the sun sank between the hills with golden fanfare and the trees looked like cardboard cutouts against the sky, and Patton would eat the marshmallows and chocolate raw because he was allergic to graham crackers and toasting them just made them all burned. Ro, on the other hand, stacked four marshmallows on one stick and did her darn best to make them all catch fire at once.

Patton and Ro already spent most of their time together. They went to the same school and ate lunch at the same table, swapping Ro’s chips for Patton’s cookies. But now they were living together every moment of every day, swapping stories and watching each other smile and sitting on the dock as the sunset burned. Patton woke each day to Ro throwing open the door and beaming and saying “Get up, get up, it’s already ten and I just found a new tree to climb!” And she’d pull Patton off the pullout couch and toss a sweatshirt at Patton’s face and Patton would pull it over his pajamas and they’d start the day together with big smiles and bigger hopes.

No day had disappointed them yet.

He’d worried, at first, that they’d rub each other the wrong way when stuck together 24/7. Familiarity breeds contempt, that was one of Patton’s Mami’s many sayings. But it turned out to be the opposite. Patton felt happier and more comfortable than he ever had before. He’d be perfectly fine, he realized, with waking up to Ro’s face forever.

That meant something, and he wasn’t really sure what.

And he figured it out suddenly.

It was a sunny afternoon and Ro and Patton were going swimming.

The whole thing was Ro’s idea, of course. She’d tugged Patton down to the lakeside and threw on her swimsuit, and Patton did the same, and now they were splashing about in the water. It was a little cold and the sun was a little warm and the bottom of the lake was squelchy. But with the trees hanging over the water and the mountains cresting in the distance like the waves around them, Patton didn’t mind.

Ro could swim. Patton couldn’t, not much. He could doggy paddle, but asking him for athletics was barking up the wrong tree. Still, when Ro dipped beneath the surface and swam easily to the floating dock, Patton did his best to follow. He grabbed the ladder and hauled himself up, swim trunks dripping. The dock was hot under his feet and drifted slowly in the current.

“Pattycake!” Ro called from near the edge. “Check this out!”

Patton ran over. Ro was staring into the water, a smile playing across her face.

“What?” Patton asked.

“Lean over and you’ll see.”

Patton scooted up to the edge, curled his toes around it, and leaned over. Nothing but a water strider and a tuft of grass--

A small push in the center of his back.

Not even a push. It was too gentle for that. It was a little tap, a warm wet hand on the small of Patton’s back, an invitation. If Patton wanted, he could easily stay upright. It wasn’t a prank but a question--Ro was wondering if Patton wanted to play along. If Patton was in the mood for a game.

Patton was. Always.

He let himself fall forward and hit the lake with a splash.

When he surfaced, bubbles all around him, he turned to face Ro and tried to think of a complaint. But he was laughing already, and his face was soaking wet, and Ro was laughing too.

Patton rubbed the water from his eyes and looked up. “Ro--”

And the words died on his throat.

Because Ro was laughing. Ro was cupping her hands to her mouth and laughing, bright and bubbly and proud. She stood firmly on the dock, feet planted, swimsuit a bright red against her tan skin, her newly short hair--time for a change, she’d explained, hacking off the braid and gaining a dark wave that curled over her forehead and clipped short at the sides. Water dripped down her arms and pooled by her feet. Glowing in the sun, triumphant in her mischief, she looked magnificent.

She looked beautiful.

Oh.

Oh, that was new.

Except it wasn’t. Not really. It had all been there before. But now it was in the sunlight, exposed and gleaming and so, so real.

Ro.

Aarohi.

Beautiful and bold and the best thing in Patton’s life.

And not his soulmate.

The sun went behind a cloud. Suddenly, Ro wasn’t glowing anymore. Suddenly, Patton was cold and wet and tired and didn’t know why he’d agreed to come out here in the first place.

“Pattycake?” Ro asked, smile falling. “Everything okay? Did I push you too hard?”

Pattycake. The latest in a long string of nicknames. Ro’s nicknames for Patton weren’t like any of her others. They weren’t little teases or stuff to help her remember. They were soft and sweet and nice.

Ro was so, so nice.

Too nice.

Too nice for Patton, because she didn’t know what Patton really wanted.

Patton didn’t know what Patton really wanted. He just knew he wasn’t supposed to want anything at all. They weren’t soulmates. The letters gleaming red in the lake water made that clear enough.

Roman.

Not Ro. Never Ro, no matter how much Patton realized he wanted that.

It wouldn’t be fair to Ro to try and break the rules.

But oh, how he wanted to.

“Pat?” Ro asked again, stepping forward, concerned. So concerned. Such a good friend. They had such a good friendship and Patton was so selfish as to want more. He’d ruin it. He’d ruin everything they had and he’d be left without the one person he loved more than anything.

“I’m fine,” Patton forced out. “I’m, um, I’m tired. I’m gonna go inside.”

He didn’t wait for Ro to answer. He paddled into the shadows and pulled himself up the stairs. The stones were damp and pine needles stuck to his feet. He shivered. Getting out of the water was always the worst part. Patton grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around himself, taking a deep breath.

“Wait up!” Patton heard a splash. He turned around to see Ro swimming towards him.

“What are you doing?” Patton asked, pulling on his flip-flops.

“Coming with you! Duh!” Ro stood up in the water and adjusted her swimsuit. “Maybe we can practice some archery, I saw a bow and arrow in the barn--”

“You don’t have to,” Patton said weakly. “I don’t want to--you were having fun.”

“It’s no fun without you!” Ro looked around at the lake rimmed with trees and scoffed. “Do you see another Patton? I don’t think so!”

Patton’s heart went cold and he turned away.

“Pat? Hey, Pat!” More splashes and Ro was appearing behind him, eyes wide, mouth tight with concern. “Earth to Pat. You’re acting weird. Are you sick? Did that puddle yesterday give you rabies after all?”

Patton laughed despite himself. “Ro, a puddle can’t give you rabies.”

“It’s still a possibility.” Ro looked Patton over, grabbed another towel, and wrapped it around Patton’s shoulders. “Are you okay, though? You seem upset. We can go back to the house, watch a movie--”

“I’m okay. But actually,” Patton added, seeing an escape, “I might do that.”

“Great!” Ro clapped his hands. “Maybe we can do Mulan, or Princess and the Frog--”

“Um.” Patton shifted, staring at his flip-flops. “I meant...alone. I’ll go back to the house. You can stay out here.”

“What?” Ro didn’t sound offended, just worried. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” Patton tried to laugh. “I just...need a break for a bit, okay? I’ll hang out later!”

“Of course,” Ro said slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton didn’t take Ro’s extended pinky. “I’m really tired, Ro. I’m just gonna go.”

“Okay. Okay.” Ro squeezed Patton’s hand. “I’ll be here if you need me, okay?”

Patton nodded. “Okay.”

Ro flashed Patton a smile.

And then she disappeared back into the lake, sinking beneath the surface, swimming much farther than she had before. She’d only been sticking around at the dock because Patton was there, and Patton couldn’t swim.

Patton pulled the towels tighter around him, but he still felt too cold.

He watched Ro a second longer before turning away.

---

Patton gave in when they were fifteen.

It had been two years. Two years of furtive glances and awkward blushes and late-night monologues about how Patton was terrible for even wanting this. That he was getting in Ro’s way. That Ro was going to find her soulmate and not need Patton and his stupid feelings ever again.

However, what Patton learned as they grew up was that a) he hadn’t stopped liking Ro. B) Ro hadn’t stopped being his friend. C) Ro hadn’t found her soulmate, and neither had Patton.

And d). Despite how much Patton berated himself for wanting Ro, he still did. So clearly, something wasn’t working.

Ro was still Ro. Kind and supportive and too good for Patton, and Patton desperately wanted to hold her hand and kiss her cheek and cuddle up next to her. Although they kind of did some of those things already, but Patton always pulled away first, because his face burned and he was scared Ro would notice and figure everything out.

Patton wanted to do those and not be afraid of showing how much he liked it.

Patton wanted to be Ro’s partner.

Patton was pining, and it was miserable.

He’d tried to look for his soulmate in a futile bid to get his mind off Ro. No luck. There were no Romans in his school and too many online. His moms told him to be patient. Patton didn’t have time for patience. He needed to find his soulmate and fix everything!

He’d find them, and he’d love them, and Ro would find her soulmate too, and everything would be like it was supposed to be, and they’d live happily ever after, the end.

That hadn’t worked out. Or at least it hadn’t yet, and it would eventually, but that wasn’t now.

So...Patton gave in.

Because Ro was beautiful. Ro liked to wear red nail polish and short shorts and denim jackets and bright red t-shirts. Ro was an actress--she sang and she acted and she could bring characters to life onstage. Ro made friends with everyone she met. Ro cried every time they watched Lion King. Ro was wonderful and so amazing and Patton ached every time he slipped Ro’s hand from his own.

At the very least, he needed to be honest. Patton didn’t like lying. And Ro was starting to realize something was wrong, spending less and less time with Patton, no longer hugging them in greeting but simply waving and smiling.

It was courteous, and it hurt even more, and Patton couldn’t be mad at her because she was trying, she’d seen that Patton was uncomfortable and done the best she could. Patton couldn’t blame Ro. It was Patton who was making things weird, Patton who was feeling things he shouldn’t be, Patton who needed to communicate,

So he invited Ro over to his house to talk.

They sat on the bed together, Patton fluffing the pillows and avoiding Ro’s eyes, Ro pulling off her jacket and setting it on the bed.

“Um.” Patton bit his lip. “I...I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Ro said. “Is...it a bad something? That’s a little worrisome of an opening line, Pat.”

“It’s not bad.” Patton stared at his hands and his wrists. Roman, covered by a bracelet but still burning into him, reminding him that he shouldn’t be doing this.

Rules were rules sometimes.

Patton closed his eyes and held back his tears.

“I like you.”

Simple. Quiet. Filling his bedroom until Patton was sure it would burst.

He’d chosen his bedroom as a safe place, filled with old science projects and peeling drawings, air rustling the blue pawprint curtains and a little mural over the bed. Ro and Patton had painted that the summer before middle school. It had their handprints at the bottom, two little signatures, Ro’s bright red and Patton’s pale blue. He’d thought his room would settle him.

Now he just thought of all the afternoons they’d spent together here, a pile on the carpet, talking or singing or reading or just sitting in silence. They’d done their homework by the door, and had pillow fights with these pillows, and jumped on this bed, and tossed paper airplanes out of those windows.

So many memories, and Patton was jeopardizing them all.

“I like you,” he repeated, keeping his eyes closed. “As--as more than--no, it’s not more than, I love being friends, but...I. I want--it would be nice if--would you ever be interested in being...partners?”

Patton cracked one eye open. Ro was silent. Her face was slack like Patton had slapped her.

Bad sign.

“We wouldn’t have to kiss or anything,” Patton said. “I don’t really want to, and I know you don’t either, and I found this word and it’s called queerplatonic partners and I’d really like that with you, if it’s alright, and I totally get if you say no, but I needed to be honest and we can just forget this ever happened, I promise--”

Ro opened her mouth and closed it again.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispered. “I’m sorry, Ro.”

“You--” Ro swallowed. “You’re not my soulmate.”

“I’m not.” Patton shook his head. “I--I know, Ro, I know.”

“We’re not meant to be together.”

“I know!” Patton threw out his wrist. “Believe me, Ro, I know. I’m sorry.”

Ro’s eyes were sparkling with tears. “Pat, I’m sorry, I wish--”

“I know.” Patton pressed his hand to his eyes and scrubbed at the drops leaking from them. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ro said softly.

And Patton hated his heart for leaping in hope.

“We could...anyway,” he ventured, knowing he was setting himself up for a fall, but unable to stop himself. “You’re the one who hates the rules.”

“Patton,” Ro said, even softer. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do!” Patton almost sobbed. “Ro, I do, I really do!”

Because he did. He’d never meant anything more in his life.

And Ro looked so sad, like Patton was breaking his heart.

A small part of Patton felt viciously satisfied. There. Now Ro knew how it felt. Now Ro knew how it felt to be shattered by the one person you cared the most about.

“I’m sorry,” Ro said, his voice breaking. “I really am. I wish--we’re not, though. We’re not meant to be together, you know that--”

“That’s not you talking.” Something hot and angry swept Patton’s chest. “That’s what everyone says. Why are you listening to them?”

“Why aren’t you?” Ro threw up his hands. “Look, Pat, I like defying the ruels as much as the next person, but the universe doesn’t make mistakes. We’re. Not. Soulmates.”

“So what?”

Dead silence.

“So what?” Patton repeated. “Soulmates die. Soulmates hurt each other. Soulmates are platonic or soulmates date other people. Soulmates are just names on wrists. They don’t mean anything, Ro.”

He was crying now, openly, tears dripping onto his quilt. Ro looked about to cry as well. A cold wind swept over both of them. Patton had forgotten to close the windows.

“All the stories,” Ro said desperately, “it’s just how it works, you know that--”

“Why? Why does this have to be how it works?”

“I don’t know!” Ro yelled. “Pat, I don’t know!”

Patton was shocked into silence.

“But you know what I do know?” Ro shook her head. “I know that you’re my best friend. And that you deserve someone who can give you all of themselves. Who’s not really a--who’s...as good as you. As honest as you, as sweet as you. You deserve your soulmate. Someone who will really make you happy. That’s...” She choked on a sob. “Pat, that’s not me. That’s never been me.”

Patton stared at Ro. “You make me happy.”

Ro’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Ro opened her arms, and Patton fell into them, crying into Ro’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time.

“It’s okay,” Ro whispered, running a hand over the bristly back of Patton’s neck. “We’ll be okay. We’ll stay friends, always.”

Patton laughed, choked and jerky, and something loosened from around his heart. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ro said.

She left soon after that, saying something about homework. They’d always done their homework together. Patton struggled with his essay without Ro there to give him the right words.

The room was cold, and Patton felt numb, and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t ruined everything.

It definitely felt like he had.

---

The week and a half after that was the worst week-and-a-half of Patton’s entire life.

He didn’t know if he was avoiding Ro. He didn’t know if Ro was avoiding him. But either way, they didn’t talk. Ro surrounded herself with her other friends and Patton ate his lunch alone in the bathroom, balancing his sandwich on his knees, grapes falling into the toilet and graffiti proclaiming that Madison Was A Not-Nice Word. They didn’t talk in class either. Patton’s science teacher remarked that they were finally straightening up and paying attention. Patton tried very hard not to cry.

Patton started writing Ro letters, but he would only get a few sentences in before tearing them up. What could he say? He’d already apologized. Ro was shutting him out, and it was entirely Patton’s fault, and there was nothing he could do.

He didn’t realize how much of his life was Ro until Ro was no longer there. Then he realized all his friends were Ro’s friends, all his afternoons were with Ro, and all his hobbies were much better when Ro was involved. And of course Patton didn’t spend every moment of his life thinking about Ro and spending time with her, but right now, it felt like there was a hole in the corner of every moment, a hole where Ro should be singing and talking and calling Patton ‘Pat’ and being his friend.

And then--

“I forgot the homework,” Ro said sheepishly when she finally appeared at Patton’s locker. “Could you remind me what we’re doing for next week?”

Patton stared at Ro and laughed automatically. “Ro, I told you to take notes!”

The words slipped off his tongue easily. He’d said them millions of times before. He was still watching Ro, heart stumbling over its rhythm, unable to believe that just like that, Ro was here. Smiling sheepishly with her jacket loose around her shoulders.

Things were...back to normal?

Things couldn’t be back to normal.

“Well, I’ll make sure to do so next time.” Ro scratched at the back of her neck. “I suppose you’ll have to walk me through it, then.”

That. That was an invitation to do homework together. Patton couldn’t believe it. He’d done nothing, he’d ruined everything and then hid for a week, and Ro was just ignoring it. Ro was extending a hand and smiling and asking him to do homework with her, and Patton felt like he was going to either faint or squeal.

“Sure,” Patton managed, unable to stop the huge smile on her face. “Let me grab my stuff.”

And they went back to normal.

They sprawled on the floor of the treehouse--way too big for them now, but Ro said it helped her think--and they scribbled their way through calculus and art and geography. They laughed and talked and every minute, Patton’s shoulders loosened. It was sunny and things were back to normal.

They walked to school. They sat together at lunch. They passed notes during class and giggled when they got caught. They were friends again, and Patton felt ridiculous for thinking that they wouldn’t be, for assuming that Ro would ever leave him behind.

They were friends always. No matter whose soulmates they were.

They’d promised that.

“I’m going to be a philosophy teacher,” Patton said one day.

“You are,” Ro agreed.

“I’m going to be a Broadway star,” Ro said another day.

“You are!” Patton encouraged.

“I’m still your friend,” Patton asked hesitantly a third day, when his mind was being too loud. “Right? Your best friend?”

Ro smiled. “You are.”

“I’m trans.”

That was Ro, staring at her--his--hands, knees pressed together and shoulders curled.

“You are?” Patton asked.

Ro nodded.

“You’re a guy,” Patton clarified.

“Yeah,” Ro said, his voice hoarse. “Um. I told my parents, and they’re okay with it, and...I’m probably gonna change my name soon, and maybe try testosterone, and...yeah. I--I’ve known for a while.”

“How long?” Patton asked.

“Um.” Ro shrugged. “Hard to know? Probably since I was thirteen. And...you know, even when we were eight, I always wanted to be the knight.”

Patton smiled. “You were a great knight.”

Ro finally looked up, his eyes misty. “You’re not--I thought you’d--”

“I love you,” Patton said, brimming with warmth. “You’re my best friend, Ro. I love you so much, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Ro pressed a hand to his mouth.

Patton reached over and hugged Ro around the shoulders. Ro gasped, then he lifted his arms and hugged back fiercely, burying his face in Patton’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Patton said again, smiling at the top of Ro’s head. “Always. And I will always support you.”

“You promise?” Ro asked.

“Promise.”

“Pinky-promise?”

Patton laughed and tangled their pinkies together. “Pinky promise.”

“I love you too,” Ro said, looking up and giving Patton a watery smile. “I’m really lucky to have you.”

Patton smiled wider.

This...this wasn’t what he wanted. Not exactly.

But he didn’t need anything more.

He had Ro, right by his side.

Sun streamed through the windows, and they sat there for a long time, and neither of them pulled away.

---

“Ugh,” Ro complained, “why are names so hard?”

Patton looked up from where he’d been scrolling through baby names. “Nothing?”

Ro sighed and tossed his notebook onto the bed. “Nope! No names match my glamour, grandeur, and all-around greatness?”

Patton pushed aside the computer and leaned over. “What have you gone through so far?”

Ro motioned to the notebook. Pages upon pages were filled with names in swirling ink, each one flourished like a signature. Some of them were crossed out violently. Others were just left half-finished.

“None of them are me,” Ro complained, sighing. “All your suggestions? Nah. Sorry, Pat.”

“Hmm.” Patton bit his lip. “Maybe we’re tackling this from the wrong angle. What do you want your name to be like?”

“Noble!” Ro immediately declared. “A name fit for a prince!”

“Eric?” Patton ran through all the princes he knew. “Charles?”

Ro shook his head. “I’ll know it. I’ll feel when it’s right. I think? I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Patton worried his lip. “What else do you want from it?”

“It just has to be me.” Ro waved a hand at himself. “You know?”

“So, charming and wonderful and kind and brave,” Patton said, smiling. “Got it.”

Ro spluttered and swatted at Patton. “Stop!”

“I’m telling the truth!” Patton ducked out of his reach. “Daniel? Maybe we should look into some Indian names?”

“I'm thinking I’ll use one as a middle name.” Ro groaned. “Maybe? I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Pat said, laying a hand on his arm. “We’ll figure it out, and we’ve got time! In the meantime, what can I call you?”

“Ro,” Ro said without hesitation.

“Ro’s okay?”

“Ro’s great. I love it when you call me Ro.” Ro paused and jumped up. “That’s it! I’ll find a name that has Ro as a nickname.”

“That’s kind of specific,” Patton pointed out, but Ro’s energy made him smile as well.

“There’s gotta be something!” Ro grabbed Patton’s computer and started tapping at it. “Hmm.”

Silence fell. Patton enjoyed watching Ro bite his lip and furrow his brow in concentration. He shouldn’t be, of course, because they were just friends and not soulmates and that was what they’d decided. Still, when Ro wasn’t looking, he enjoyed soaking in the sight of his best friend. Ro’s pen tapped against his leg as he scrolled, the light of the screen illuminating his defined chin and the dip of his lips--handsome. Handsome and beautiful. His hair was messy from all the times he’d run his fingers through it and he squinted at the screen.

It was dark, Patton realized--they’d been here for hours, working their way through a pack of gummy worms. Ro had promised they’d stop and watch Disney if Patton said the word, but Patton didn’t mind helping Ro, curled up on the bed surrounded by pieces of notepaper and watching Ro’s eyes light up.

Still, he turned on a little lamp. It had tassels on it. Classic Ro.

“Pat,” Ro said slowly.

“Yeah?”

“This.” Ro looked up, his eyes shining. “I think I found it--let me--”

He threw the laptop aside. Patton caught it before it fell off the bed. He dug around in the pillows and extracted his sparkly pen, setting a piece of paper against his arm and scribbling something down. He paused and stared at it a few seconds. Patton saw the exhilaration in his eyes. He quietly repeated something to himself.

“Yeah.” Ro shook his head, laughing. “Yeah, this is it, Pat--I found it!”

“You found it?”

“I found it!” Ro squealed and shimmied. “I think?”

“Let me see!” Patton paused. “If...it’s okay?”

“It’s okay, take a look!” Ro slid the piece of paper over to Patton. Patton smiled and looked down.

His heart stopped.

“It’s a little unconventional,” Ro was saying, “but it’s a nice name, and it fits with my nickname, and it’s definitely a noble and royal name--”

Patton swallowed. His hands were shaking. He read the name over and over, but it didn’t change, still scrawled in sparkling ink and taunting him.

“--I think this might be it, seriously, it just feels right--” Ro went silent. “Pat?”

Patton kept staring at the name.

Roman.

In Ro’s spirally handwriting, curling at the edges, a familiar script that made his stomach clench up.

Roman.

“Pat? Are you okay?” Ro’s voice grew quiet. “Is there something wrong? Do you not--I know it’s kind of stupid, I just thought--

Patton jerked his head up. No! Ro was fidgeting with his sleeve and he looked about to grab the paper and tear it up, and gosh, Patton had to say something.

"Do you remember,” Pat blurted out, his voice strained, “when I showed you my soulmark?”

“Huh?” Ro blinked. “I, um, yeah? I think so? Heckity heck, that was a while ago.”

“Yeah.” Patton rubbed at his bracelet. He’d gotten rid of the glitter because it tended to get all over his stuff. Now it was a thick leather strap with a little pawprint dangling from it. “Um...do you remember the name of mine?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Ro frowned. “Why? Was I supposed to? I just remember that it--” Something crossed his face. “Wasn’t mine.”

Roman.

Patton swallowed. “Great! Fantastic.”

“There’s something wrong.” Ro scooted forward, pushing the paper aside and touching Patton’s hand. “What’s up, Pat?”

“Does it fit you?” Patton asked desperately. “That name--does it fit you?”

“I...” Ro paused. “Yeah. I--I like it a lot. Why? Do you not--”

“I like it,” Patton immediately said. And it was the truth. He loved it. It was beautiful and regal and very Ro. But he’d spent his whole life hating that name. He’d spent his whole life hoping for that name to save him from his best friend and feelings he couldn’t control.

Patton looked down at the paper.

Roman.

Gleaming in ink, perfect and poised, close enough to touch.

“Pat?” Ro asked again. He was really worried now. Patton could tell from the crinkle between his eyes.

Before Patton could stop himself, he tugged off his bracelet and bared his wrist.

Roman.

Red ink, looping curves, smooth and polished and a name Patton had refused to look at for most of his life.

It gleamed bright in the darkness.

“What--” Ro froze. “Pat--”

“You didn’t know,” Patton said, “but you chose it, and--it might not mean anything, it doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s birth names--”

“It’s true names,” Ro corrected, his voice oddly distant. “They disproved the birth name theory.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton begged.

“Pat.” Ro shook his head. “What the heck are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know, I just--” Patton looked around at the paper strewn on the bed. “This was your moment, and I ruined it, and--”

“Pat.” Ro reached out and pulled Patton’s hands into his own. He ran his thumb along the red letters on Patton’s wrist, and Patton shivered. Then he pulled his own ribbon off. It snapped in half from the force.

Patton. Bubbly and blue and cheerful. Neat against Ro’s skin, and a long-buried wound ruptured in his chest.

“Would you look at that,” Ro said, placing their wrists side-by-side. “A perfect match.”

Patton stared at them. “But--it could be a coincidence--”

“It could be,” Ro allowed. He was starting to smile. “But I don’t think it is, do you?”

“It could be...” Patton shook his head. “That might not be your name. What if we’re wrong?”

“Then we’re wrong.” Ro folded his hand over Patton’s so their wrists bumped each other. “But I don’t think we are, do you?”

“It could be--” Patton shook his head. “It could be a mistake!”

Ro looked surprised. His hand jerked in Patton’s. “The universe doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Maybe it did this time!” Patton pulled his hand away and tucked it to his chest, hiding the red letters from the room. “Maybe--what if we break up, what if we hate each other, what if we aren’t meant to be together--”

“Calm down, love,” Ro said. “I hear you. But--what if we are?”

Patton looked into his face.

What if they were?

What if they were soulmates all along? What if they were two sides of a coin, two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod? Soulmates meant nothing but the world decided they meant something so it meant something that their names matched, it meant something that Ro was staring at Patton like Patton had just saved the world, it meant something that Patton’s heart was beating out of his chest and he wanted to fold into Ro’s arms and nestle there forever.

What if they were?

It wouldn’t change a thing.

And it would change everything.

“We’d be soulmates,” Patton said. “We’re soulmates.”

“We’re soulmates,” Ro repeated, shaking his head. “We’re soulmates--oh my gosh-peck I could have been with you months ago, years--I turned you down and I didn’t even realize--it would have changed everything--”

Ro jumped up and grabbed Patton’s arms, pulling him off the bed. The next thing Patton knew, Ro was lifting him in the air and spinning him around. Patton clung tightly to his shoulders and felt laughter bubble up in his chest.

“You’re my soulmate!” Ro yelled. “Pat, Pat, oh, Patton, you’re my soulmate, it’s you, it’s always been you, I was such an idiot--”

Patton laughed and covered his mouth. “Ro--”

“I love you,” Ro blurted out, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, I love you so much, darling, and I would like nothing else than to be with you for the rest of my days, you’re the light of my life, the moon to my sun--”

“Ro!” Patton exclaimed, face burning.

“Sugar, honey, dearest, I love you!” Ro spun him around once more. “I knew that, I’ve known that for years, but we weren’t together, I wasn’t supposed to--”

“You were the one who said we couldn’t be together,” Patton choked out, but it was hard to even be a little angry when Ro was beaming at him with sparkling eyes.

“How dare you listen to me!” Ro shook his head. “I was blind, I was a fool, I could have had you and was an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Pat said softly. “You just didn’t know. Neither did I.”

Which was the truth and yet not, because Patton felt very suddenly that he had known. All along. The revelation sat neatly within him, a new chapter of a book he already knew by heart, a twist ending he’d plotted with Ro ahead of time, swapping ideas on the floor of their treehouse.

Ro was his soulmate, and gosh, everything made perfect sense.

“I love you too,” Pat burst out, and he leaned in and kissed Ro on the nose. Then the cheeks, then the jaw, then all over, a kiss for every time he wished for this. A kiss for every time he didn’t dare to hope this could be real. “I love you, I love you, Ro, I love you so much--”

“I’m sorry,” Ro said. “I’m sorry it took so long, we could have been so much more if I let us--”

“More than what?” Patton shook his head, filled with a huge joy. “More than us? We were always us. Now we just get confirmation that the universe knows it, too.”

“The universe is smart,” Ro said, pressing a small kiss to Patton’s cheek. “Just like you are.”

Patton giggled. “Ro!”

“What? You’re my partner, I get to compliment and kiss you all I want.” Ro paused. “We--we are partners, right? If not, I get it, we can stay friends or give you time, I get if you need time--”

“I’ve had way too much time,” Patton interrupted, beaming. “I would love to be your partner.”

“We’re partners.” Ro somehow grinned even wider, squeezing Patton in a quick hug. “We’re partners, and we’re soulmates, I love you--”

“Does it fit?” Patton asked suddenly, lifting his hand to brush hair from Ro’s face, because Ro’s hair was always messy and Patton dreamed of sweeping it aside and now he could. His wrist shone with Roman on it. A little piece of Ro, glowing, and for once he didn’t look away. “The name?”

“I don’t know,” Ro said softly, “why don’t you try it out?”

Patton looked at Ro. His brilliant, beautiful, supportive friend. His partner. His soulmate. The person he’d spent his whole life beside, and wouldn’t mind continuing that trend for the rest of it.

Ro, who he’d promised he’d be friends with forever and always.

Always was a long time, but there was nowhere Patton would rather be.

“I love you, Roman,” Patton whispered.

Ro gasped. His eyes watered.

“Is that okay?” Patton asked. “Does that fit?”

“Pat,” Ro breathed, “Pat, it’s me. I found it.”

“Roman,” Patton said again, rolling the name around on his tongue. “Roman, Roman, Roman.”

Roman.

Roman, grinning, eyes wet with tears, happier than Patton had ever seen him.

“It’s me,” Roman said, laughing. “It’s me, Pat, I found me.”

“I knew you would,” Patton said, smiling back. “And so did the universe.”

“I found us.” Roman leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Patton’s again, his breath light on Patton’s cheeks. “I found us and I’m not letting us go.”

“I’ve always had you.” Patton shook his head. “We were confused for a bit. And scared. But...I don’t think we were ever lost.”

“You’re right. How could I be lost?” Roman laughed. “I have the most excellent of sidekicks.”

Patton laughed too. “Now that you’re my partner, I think you’re the knight and I’m the damsel.”

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect.” Roman dipped Patton suddenly, grinning. “Pretty as you are, I don’t think you’d wait around to be rescued.”

“I don’t know,” Patton teased, “I might let you do all the heavy lifting.”

“This is an equal partnership!” Roman declared. “Which means dragon-fighting together?”

“Dragon-fighting together,” Patton agreed. “But talk to them first. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”

“Of course!” Roman’s face softened. “We shall go on many wonderful adventures, my dear.”

“I look forward to it, my knight.” On impulse, Patton leaned forward and hugged Roman. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Roman asked, reaching up and cupping Patton’s head.

“For being you. For being there.” Patton looked up, smiling. “For being my friend.”

“I did promise,” Roman teased.

“And now...” Patton shook his head, still barely able to believe it. “We’re partners.”

“We are indeed.” Roman laughed. “I had my doubts in the universe, but it pulled through.”

“And this...” Patton chewed on his lip. “This is what you want? I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep Roman as your name because of me, I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep me--”

“Sweetheart,” Roman said, “that’s very kind of you, but I know exactly what I want, and it’s the black-haired cutie standing right in front of me.”

“You sure?”

Patton didn’t like the vulnerability in his voice, the quiet hope. Then again, if anyone would understand, it would be Roman.

Roman. His partner. His soulmate. His best friend and the person he loved most in the world.

Of course they were soulmates. How could it be anything different?

“I’m sure,” Roman said.

“Promise?”

“I swear on all the stars in the sky and all the phases of the moon,” Roman declared. He brushed Patton’s forehead with his fingers and cupped his chin. “I love you, Pat. I promise.”

Patton swallowed. “I want to stay with you. Can we stay?”

“As long as you wish.” Roman smiled. “Always, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” Patton admitted. “So, so much.”

Always.

Always with Roman, their wrists gleaming, their arms around each other and their heartbeats fluttering in time.

That sounded wonderful.

That sounded like more than Patton had ever hoped for.

“Magic,” he whispered to himself, because that was the only word for this feeling, a buzz and a spark and a warm wind swirling through the wind, rustling the notebook pages, slipping down Roman’s face.

“I told you, it shouldn’t have rules.” Roman laughed a little. “And I forgot that. I should have listened to myself--should have listened to you. We lost so much time.”

“We’ve got so much time to make up for it,” Patton said. “We’ve got always, Roman.”

Roman curled Patton tighter in his arms.

“And it wasn’t a loss,” Patton whispered. “I was with you, and that’s all I needed.”

“I love you,” Roman said again. Maybe it should have felt less new, less real and tangible and euphoric, since he’d repeated it over and over. But it still made Patton feel like a sun had come out behind a cloud, like his tears were drying and the world was opening up and everything was settling into place.

Patton didn’t even need to say I love you back. He could just stay there, wrapped in Roman’s arms, eyes closed and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his heart, thawing places he didn’t know were cold. Roman would know.

“I love you,” Patton said anyway.

Because he could, and because he wanted to, and he finally had what he’d wanted. An always with Roman. Roman. Roman here, Roman with him, Roman exactly who he’d needed all along.

They stood there for a long time in the darkness, and spent a long time together afterwards, and had a long future ahead of them.

They didn’t quite live happily ever after, of course, but nobody did.

They lived ever after. They loved ever after.

And that was so much more than enough.

General taglist:

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back​

@dramaticsnakes​

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@dragonwithproblems @snowdice @locked-prism  @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @idont-freaking-know @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @star-crossed-shipper  @a-fandom-trashdump @notveryglittery @thatgaydemigodnerd @somehow-i-got-an-account  @starlight-era  @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud  @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

#sanders sides #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #soulmate september #soulmate au #averywrites #dkjhgfdhjkl this is just patton pining and being soft #fluff and angst #angst with a happy ending #qpr royality #also the excess of trees and foresty stuff is because i wrote half of this on vacation #this is all kind of a mess but i like it and i need to write more royality anyway #also!! do not tag as fem!sides!!! please!!!!! #trans roman sanders #wow i just realized all the parts get shorter and shorter w e l p #consistency is for the weak #high school au

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Wolfman’s Dilemma

(Story Post)

Dax was still at work when Wano called him, so he called the doctor’s office to ask if someone could check on his partner before he could get home. Reid volunteered to make a house call as soon as he heard about Nathan's incident. Nathan was still shaken by his partial transformation. He had gone to lie down after a shower like Wano had suggested, but he couldn't rest well. When Reid did arrive, he sat with him in his bedroom and Nathan had a hard time explaining to the doctor exactly what happened because he didn't want to try to remember. “Well, this all sounds like it would be pretty upsetting, so I understand this isn't easy for you,” Reid comforted, after receiving all the details he could. “But if you think about it, this could be a sign of progress.” “No, I know…” Nathan mumbled, wrapped up in a blanket. “I just don’t like the connotations. If my anger is what made that happen, then that could mean I'm very dangerous. More so than ever.”

“We don't know that,” Reid stated, rubbing Nathan's arm. “We don't truly know what caused any of this to happen and unfortunately, yourself and Wano were the only ones witness to it.” “So, then what? Am I supposed to try to make it happen again?” Nathan asked. “Well, not if you don't want to,” Reid explained. “But, it might be best to keep an eye on you for a week or two in case it does occur again involuntarily.” “So, you mean staying at APID,” Nathan sighed. “Even when I'm off wolf cycle…” “I consulted with Dr. Aias before coming here and that was their suggestion, yes,” Reid admitted. Nathan rubbed his forehead. “I guess it's not really a cycle if I start turning into a wolf thing in the middle of the day on off days…” “Again, it's your choice, Nathan,” Reid insisted. “Camilo's coming by as well to talk to you as this pertains to your case. He might make other suggestions for you.” Nathan nodded. His phone went off and he checked it. “Dax just got off work and he's coming straight home…” “That's great,” Reid commented. “And your language suggests the relationship is pretty serious. I'm glad it's working out.” “My language?” “Aye, you said he's coming home,” Reid said. “You have separate residences, don't you?” “Yeah, well… I can't handle the twins on my own, it's too much, and I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered for Wano to stay here,” Nathan said. “Dax has been…the glue keeping this hell house together and keeping me from going insane. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't around.” Reid smiled and shook Nathan's shoulder enthusiastically. “See? I knew you two would be good for each other. Aren't you glad you went for it?” Nathan chuckled lightly. “I suppose I am… I guess I just didn't feel like I deserved someone new yet… And I feel bad dragging him into this whirlwind of a life I have right now.” “Nathan, you're a bit too selfless,” Reid commented. “Dax wouldn't be with you if he didn't want to be. The people around you are around you because they like and care about you.” “I know, I know… I just...” Nathan sighed. “No, you're right.” “Anyhow, I can stay until Dax or Camilo arrives, however long you'd like,” Reid said. “Wano seems to be doing well with the twins. Is he a good babysitter?” “Yeah, they love him,” Nathan said. “I think it might be maybe the depth of his voice? I don't know. He follows instruction well enough and he loves to play with them. Maybe he'll be a good dad… Did he explain why we got into an argument?” Reid nodded slowly. “Aye… Trying to make a wee one before he's gone. I can understand your frustration. Wouldn't want that happening under my roof, if I had one.” “Right? I get that he's an adult and he can do what he wants, but also I'm partially responsible for him because I'm letting him stay here,” Nathan said. “If Jeffrey gets pregnant, I have no idea how that'll complicate Wano's case to stay here.” “Well, at the end of the day, these really are things that should concern Wano himself more than you,” Reid reminded. “You’re doing a really nice thing, letting him stay here with you but you don't have to shoulder all his problems. They're not yours and you're not his father.” “I know, you're right,” Nathan sighed again. “I just want to see him get to stay here. He's worked hard to stay. He's improved a lot.” Reid smirked as he observed Nathan. “You know, the wolf might have something to do with this. Sometimes animals who've just given birth will adopt newborns of other species, even if they're an animal they'd usually pray on, like a lioness adopting an oryx, or vice versa, a chicken adopting a kitten. Only for you, your adopted newborn is a full-grown adult alien from another planet.” “I can't help it if he has the emotional intelligence of a twelve-year-old,” Nathan said. “But it's even more reason he shouldn't be having a kid!” “You can't make that decision for him, though,” Reid said. “And you can't make that decision for Jeffrey either. At the very least, one of them has experience as a parent…” “From what I've heard though, his cousin does most of the caregiving…” Nathan mumbled. “Och, you need to stop concerning yourself with them,” Reid said. “You can put your foot down about what goes on in your house, but outside of that, you can't be meddling in their business.” Nathan nodded. “…I bet Jeffrey’s pregnant already anyway…” Reid rubbed his back. “Come downstairs for when Camilo arrives. Eat something. I’d like to see the wee twins again. How're they holding up?” “They're alright…” Nathan said getting up. “I probably should feed them, but Grace refuses to nurse unless she's a pup, but she bites me…” Reid followed him. “Do you pump?” “I do, but they refuse to take bottles from me,” Nathan said. “Dax? Wano? No problem because they have no other choice. But me, all they want is tit. Am I going to have breasts my whole life now?” “We can worry about that later, and you can take my word from personal experience that breast tissue can be dealt with,” Reid assured, chuckling a bit. “Ah, right… Yeah, I guess,” Nathan considered. “Anyway, Wano should be playing with the twins right now… He lets them bite his arms and legs and stuff because he thinks it'll toughen them up but I'd rather he didn't normalise it… I'll show you.” “Aye. Please.” They got downstairs and Nathan broke up the playfighting so Reid could take a look at the twins. They both turned to human for him which he was a bit unhappy about because he really liked to study their animal sides, but he acknowledged that it was good training that they remain human in the presence of strangers. Camilo arrived a little later and they talked in the kitchen while Wano showed off the twins to Reid in the living room. Nathan explained everything he could to Camilo about what had happened. “That is a very new development indeed,” Camilo commented as he took notes into a tablet. “We haven't seen any kind of half transformation like this… Have you asked Nari yet if he knows of werewolves like that?” “He's away on a vacation right now,” Nathan said. “I don't want to bother him with this at all until he's back…” Camilo nodded. “I understand… Well, right now since this is a one-time incident, I don't know that there's much we can do. But, now that we know it's possible, I'd ask you and those around you to video document this type of transformation if it should happen again.” “So, you don't think I should be watched?” Nathan asked. “Well, I don’t know that it's absolutely necessary, but if that's what you want, you could stay a few nights at APID,” Camilo considered. “It's up to you.” Nathan shook his head. “I want to stay home... But only if you really think it's safe.” Camilo patted Nathan's arm. “You didn't hurt anyone, you just transformed. Since having your wolf cycle nights at APID, we haven't observed any violent behaviour at all, only a bit of protective behaviour towards your kids.” “Dax said the wolf bit Dr. Aias once,” Nathan said. “Ah, well yes, but that was just because they needed to draw blood,” Camilo acknowledged. “Wasn’t that the night of Wano’s incident?” “Yes, it was…” Nathan sighed, not enjoying the thought. “Right, it’s possible you could tell your friend was in trouble that night and you were restless. Wolves have exceptional sense of smell. You might’ve smelled blood,” Camilo hypothesised. “You're really okay. Seems as long as the wolf is well fed, they don't hunt.” Nathan exhaled. “Okay… Yeah… Thanks.” “Don't worry,” Camilo assured him. “Your support system is great, and we aren't afraid of you. Everyone is here to help you.” “I get it, I just wish I knew someone else who was going through all this like me,” Nathan said. “I at least had Kent for a hot second, but now I have no one… My kids aren't even the same as me They just transform whenever they please.” Camilo pursed his lips. “Well, maybe you're not alone…” Nathan perked up. “Is there someone else? With APID? Another werewolf? Or were-anything?” “Well, no… I just meant, um…” Camilo waved a hand. “Well, you know, there's the wolf we caught on your bodycam that night.” “Oh." Nathan frowned. “But they attacked me. I still have the scars.” “Yes, but if we tracked them down, we might have answers for you,” Camilo suggested. “Well, maybe… I don't, know. I feel like we tried that lead and it got me nowhere. And pregnant.” “Yeah…” Camilo folded his hands. “But if we could find someone with a similar affliction as you willing to talk with you, you would want that, right?” “Yes, if it's possible, yes,” Nathan said. “The only person I know that's as close to my condition as me is Dax but his thunderbird situation is still very different.” Camilo nodded. “Okay. Can you come in for a meeting tomorrow? I want us to talk more about your options, but I also want to consult with Korsgaard about some stuff beforehand.” “Yeah, for sure,” Nathan said nodding. “Honestly, I talk to you so much, I forget Korsgaard’s my actual case worker…” “Yeah, he does do a lot of work behind the scenes, but he's looking into potentially retiring soon,” Camilo admitted. “I think he's holding out until Maya's grown.” “I get it,” Nathan said. “Do you think you'll take his place?” “Honestly, I don't really know,” Camilo said. “I mean, I like it, and it's been great work while I've been in school, but once I finish my PhD, I might look around… I want to stay at APID though.” Nathan smirked. “PhD classes, a job like this, and a baby at home? Are you sure you're only human?” Camilo smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck. “I'm just trying my best…” “I could never…” He motioned to the living room where Wano was flexing with the animal twins gnawing on his arms. Reid was just sitting by, taking notes of his observations. “I can't imagine trying to get through my masters when I was your age if I had these two on my hip…” “Should we do something?” Camilo asked worriedly. “No, Wano likes it,” Nathan said. “He calls it ‘warrior play’. It's been really difficult trying to train bite inhibition and I’m so tired all the time, it's easier to just let them do whatever exhausts them…” “I see. It'll take time,” Camilo said. “Have you talked to Yori about it? They might not be exactly the same, but there's likely some issues he's had with the triplets.” “Yes, trust me, Dax has learned a lot from having the triplets in his class,” Nathan recounted. “The very first day of school, Skylar bit a kid that touched her granola bar and later Marco ate his own homework. We've been in contact with Yori's partners, because the kids just seem to fall in line for Yori without much trouble.” “Oh, I see…” At that time, the front door opened, and Dax came inside looking worried. “Nathan, I’m sorry I couldn't leave sooner!” Nathan got up from his seat and went over to hug Dax around the waist. “It's okay. Reid and Camilo have been here to talk to me.” “Ah, good! Are you alright?” Dax looked over his partner for traces of the transformation described to him over the phone. “You look okay, but are you?” “Yeah, I'm fine now,” Nathan said. “Talking to these guys has calmed my nerves a lot and the transformation didn't last more than a minute.” Dax nodded. “Good.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you're okay. And the twins are alright?” “Yep, they're still their usual selves,” Nathan said, motioning to the pair now climbing onto Wano's back and jumping off like goat kids. “I think if anything, my transformation made them excitable.” “That probably makes sense, I think,” Dax said. “Reacting to your transformation I mean.” Reid got up and came over. “Nathan, if you don't need me any longer, I should probably head out.” Nathan nodded and shook Reid’s hand. “Yes, thank you for coming over on such short notice.” “Don't mention it,” Reid insisted. He patted Dax's arm. “Good to see you too, Dax.” “Likewise,” Dax said politely. “Drive safe.” “Aye.” Reid headed out the door. “I should probably get going too,” Camilo said. “Nathan, can we get you in for a meeting first thing at ten?” “Yeah, sounds good,” Nathan confirmed. “I'll see you there.” “Alright, see you,” Camilo said going to the door. “You take care of him, Dax. We're trusting you.” “Don't you worry, I'll be here,” Dax assured. Camilo smiled and waved. “Bye!” “See you tomorrow,” Nathan said as the assistant left. Dax went to see them off and then made sure the door was locked properly before going back to his partner. “Tomorrow, would you like me to join you?” Nathan looked at Dax and contemplated it. “Usually I'd say no, but if you can spare the time, I would appreciate it…” Dax smiled and kissed Nathan's forehead again. “I'll be there, don't worry.” “Thank you,” Nathan said. He took Dax's hand and squeezed it gently. “I appreciate you so much.” “Also on the phone,” Dax recalled. “Wano said you got upset because he’s trying to make a ‘legacy’ with Jeffrey.” He motioned the air quotes. “Do you want me to talk to him about that?” Nathan sighed, glancing over to Wano, now rubbing both twins’ bellies. “No… At least not tonight… Just let him be. It’s not our business at the end of the day. I made it clear though that he can’t have guests here without permission.” Dax nodded and gave Nathan a proper kiss this time. “You’re going to be alright.” “Thanks. I hope so…”

#lore #Nathan #Reid #Camilo #Dax #Wano #Grace #Gabriel #implied mpreg #werewolf #alien #werebear

[fandom-sheep]

Eret 11 MAY 21

Cat and DSMP Part 1/1

Cat! Goose!

Goose my beloved.

Eret’s streaming very late for me again. So I’m not staying the whole time.

Hello Elaina. Enjoy Goose.

Fundy! Kinda...

Fundy hearing the donations. LOL.

Fundy enters a stream and it starts to scuffed. Scuffed just follows Fundy wherever he goes.

A wild my beloved on the cube.

The Drista stairs.

Wait what. Why is the tower gone?

I have missed some lore.

Ah... it’s part of the nightmare thing.

Eret offering Fundy housing like a good almost adoptive parent.

Sneeze? OH WOW SNEEZE.

Sounds like Fundy about lost a lung. Good gracious.

The bargaining between these two.

Cat, Handsome, said cube was massive

You know what that works.

It’s hard to keep the audio right for Eret’s stream for my headphones. It’s either too quiet or the loudest my headphones can go and my family can hear it.

On stream explosions. Noice.

Wow youtooz. Not super cool. Permission is usually a good thing.

Eret keeps on sizzling.

Getting dirt for scaffolding. Going old fashioned Minecraft for this.

“Why is the Cube kinda hot” cue Eret losing faith in her chats sanity.

Cube go poof.

Oh. Red stone. That’s dangerous.

I like this song. Oh klahoma. Gorgeous song.

Love joy is such a fun band. I want to make a plushy of the cat.

It’s kinda sad that Eret can’t see themselves the way chat and their little fandom sees them. Most all of us think they look fabulous.

Not Arson. Just bombing. A bit of anarchy by the king.

Demolition. Now there’s the word.

Controlled ish demolition.

Ah I’ve almost saved enough channel points for water. Nice. I’m not going to redeem it I’m just going to keep hoarding the points.

Flame Arrow. Nice.

Eret cleaning up the SMP eye sours.

Watch me attempt to sleep to Eret here in an hour or so, but keep getting distracted.

Explosion time.

Someone get ready to clip it.

Bye Bye Cube. Let’s go.

Gotta get a song that fits the vibe.

Hayloft. Time to go poof.

Turning up my brightness just to watch this explosion in the best way possible.

Still wearing the red dress I see.

I hope the music isn’t too loud to get this part muted.

Drum roll...

Drum roll continues...

Drum roll still going...

THERE GOES THE CUBE!

That was so smooth and good looking!

Overall a very good explosion.

Just a little bit of a hole in the other building.

Twitch Pr-

Poor being’s so confused with his hair. Someone help them.

Twitch bleep.

Everyone attempting to give hair styling advice. Everyone’s trying to help the being.

That bird is majestic. I remember seeing that tiktok.

Animals just decided Eret was the animal whisperer.

Yes! Disney Princess Eret fanart! Someone make it, I shall reblog all of it.

Likes to hug cute animals and cute animals like being hugged by her. Nice.

It’s alright. Names are difficult. I have to like put name tags on people to learn who they are. That or name tags on their space (like on campers bunks and door decs on dorms)

It does feel very February. But I’m very ready for summer because that means I get to do my favorite job.

Hooray. I hit 15k points.

Eret trying to prove to us a ponytail won’t work. Like we aren’t going to hype them up no matter what.

Gotta heart in the chat. All Eret’s chat does is hearts and encourage. It’s a lovely place.

Oh Eret forgot his cat ear sub goal. It’s alright I know I forgot.

Pride is next month. Nice.

Oh. We’re almost halfway already. Why does the world spin so quickly?

We forgot a dirt tower. Whoops.

I would wear Eret merch. I like it when people release merch around Christmas. Then I can ask for it as a gift.

Oh it wasn’t a dirt tower.

Just looking at Elaina’s stream in the stream selection screen it like very cozy.

All the way up the Drista stairs.

Look it’s the museum!

Eret’s got most of the builds around there. The museum. The fortress. Nice.

Some things are too historical to remove. Somethings are historical because they are being removed.

Oh no. L’sandburg.

It’s taking over the summer home.

Ah the lore is coming. It just seemed to be too early.

Hello unofficial ranboo Raiders.

Foolish making the awesome tall thingy!

Foolish’s builds are so neat. I want to watch Foolish’s streams more. Maybe just in the background but I start wanting to delayed liveblog and that requires attention.

Oh the giant portal turned out well. Sorry that was the lady’s foolish stream I watched.

Shulkers. The forbidden mob.

Eret with just a pit in the desert filled with llamas. Bones. And discus.

The mansion has been finished?

Alright is better than bad. It’s alright to be alright.

Lucky being not getting tired. I got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine and I was so so tired. I also had just no appetite.

Eret doing an smp tour. And looking at foolish’s builds.

Flickering the switch on the rainbow beacons.

Eret just knowing where everything is.

Kinoko is super pretty. Just for the aesthetic value of the kingdom I appreciate it.

Yeet. Just defenestrated himself out the window.

Oh? Spectator fly over the smp?

That would be really neat to like. Watch in VR. I think I’ve only used VR maybe twice.

Pretty Rainbow beacons.

The nurse who gave me my vaccine hid the needle from me because I mentioned to her that I was afraid of needles. It wasn’t a big deal at all.

30 minutes till I attempt sleep. Woo.

Goose my beloved. Someone make the gif because I’m not quite sure how to make it.

Oh yeah. Goose in Marvel. I hear MCU and think Minecraft cinematic universe. Not marvel.

Ghibli is so nice. It really romanticize small moments of life.

Yeah the characters are all really supportive in Ghibli movies.

Someone subbed for nine months “that’s enough to make a child” -Eret

That mansion is like a maze. I’m so lost already.

Everyone encouraging Eret and telling her she looks pretty. Good.

Eret needs all the hype and encouragement.

Antarctic empties flag. Yeah it does have a similar color pallet.

Michelle! Hello!

Fortress work. Nice.

Do it. I’ll listen the Eret play other games.

I don’t usually watch game play for non Minecraft games. But I’ll listen to it all.

Hbomb and Eret living in the same city feels like two worlds that shouldn’t meet. But it’s awesome that they have.

TOS means against twitches terms of service. Nice. Glad to finally have an explanation of what that means.

Look at our handsome and pretty streamer. All the hype.

I keep turning down the stream to hear the show my mama has on because I’m curious about what happens.

Yeah. Backseat gaming can be annoying. That’s part of why I share my thoughts here just in case I do start backseat gaming.

Almost to the sub goal. Hooray!

Ooo food.

No no. I see where they are coming from. Eret does give a bit of cat bus vibes. I can’t explain it but the vibes are there.

Creeper causing issues at the fortress.

Ed Sheepran my beloved.

I should draw more ferrets. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll draw us doing stuffs.

Actually I kinda want to make a little animatic of some heels walking across the screen followed by a hoard of ferrets. I think it’ll look cool. But I need the artistic ability and the ability to not scream making that.

Woop. Ad time. Off to the void of where ever the ads game me.

OH THE NEW VOID LOOKS COOL!

Bread. Flowers. Ted. Crown. And of course Eret.

We V O I D and get our streamer bits.

Hush the chat is V O I D and the occasional emoji or emote.

The void being centered looks good. Maybe that’s just the symmetry speaking but it’s good.

Oh. We hear the being. The being in void mode. And spooky mode.

Chat just starts yelling corpse.

Hydration. I try to stay hydrated. But I fail often if I’m not doing something active.

Tree!

Casually makes and snags tree.

Eret does read chat often. It’s strange. And it is weird how often it ends up being you.

You can tell I’m a tumblr peep. I may say stuff in chat but I’m fully not expecting or wanting to be noticed by the streamer.

Others hitting darkness o’clock and saying goodnight.

It’s sleep to the stream hours y’all. Whoop.

I need to visit the parks out west. I’ve only really seen the eastern US ones. But I have been to the Great Smokey Mountain park which is gorgeous.

Eret thinking of his friends triggers when naming his cat.

Eret’s builds are so casually pretty. Not like Foolish’s which are intricately pretty. Not like Phil’s or Sam’s which are complicated pretty. All pretty. Just different breeds of pretty.

Alrighty. It’s sleepy hours for me. As much as I love Eret I want to read some fanfiction and daydream a bit before I head to sleep.

Have a good rest everyone and may all your coming meals be delicious.

Wait no is it our turn with goose?

OUR TURN WITH GOOSE!

Eret honey that’s the ceiling.

Cat stream. Cat stream.

Sleepy kitty. A cat cam would be good.

Yeah. That happens with cats. Especially strays.

Goose captured the computer mouse.

Goose straight up chose Eret and Elaina.

Goose really just chose not to leave.

Oh my stream connection is acting sad. But I want Goose content.

I want to draw Goose now.

Maybe I’ll do water color for Goose. I know I tried to do that with Boots (Fundy’s cat)

Hopefully there will be some Goose face screenshots I can see. Maybe I can see him well in the Tiktok.

Artists just violently refusing payment. Sounds about right. The MCYT artists just kinda go “yeah give credit and we cool”

Cowboy cat. Nice.

I want to paint Goose in the cowboy hat.

Hype train! That we are zooming.

Bucket sponge?

WATER BUCKET FROM WET SPONGE! Tiktok people giving all the cool info.

Go Goose. Catch the computer mouse and the screen mouse.

Just sitting here at 11:30 at night getting screen shots of Goose for painting purposes.

Goose please. Look at the camera babe.

My phone is dying. And I can’t charge it and type.

Alright the camera is off the cat. The cat is also blocking the screen.

But no cat on camera means I’m getting some sleep. If I do any of the projects I’ve mentioned I’ll let y’all know.

Have a good rest everyone.

#eret #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp eret #why must this being stream so late #goose the cat #erets cat #delayed liveblogging

[scripttorture]

What are the key things to avoid in writing torture so that it does not become torture apologia? I know that it clearly needs to show that torture is not getting real information, long term physical and mental effects for the victims, but what else? My goal is to write a story that is painfully realistic and offers none of the apologia that we see mainstream fiction.

I feel like this is sort of a case of ‘how long a list would you like?’ and I don’t personally feel like listing things is a very helpful approach.

 I cover the things I think are the most common tropes in this post over here.

 There are a lot of things that torture can’t do that most fiction (and a lot of people) assume it can. I think that part of tackling torture properly means tackling those preconceptions, a lot of which come from fiction.

 I’ll drop a couple of bullet points to give a general list of things that turn up a lot in fiction and don’t match the reality in ways that (my opinion) are harmful to the discussion generally.

 Assuming torture ‘works’ as an interrogation technique (it does not)

Assuming victims are unaffected

Assuming torturers and witnesses are unaffected

Conversely assuming that victims are so effected they can’t have a life after torture

Assuming torturers can change strongly held beliefs (doesn’t work, see Rejali)

Showing torture as skilled/complicated/scientific, it is actually laughably simple

Showing torturers as violent ‘because’ they’re mentally ill, the evidence suggests they are usually mentally healthy before they start torturing

Underestimating the damage done by some torture techniques (especially clean tortures)

Assuming resistance to torture is unusual (it’s actually common)

The idea that ‘good guys’ can never torture

Moral judgements on a survivor’s symptoms

Assuming torturers control what victims experience

Assuming torture has no effect on organisations

Assuming that torture doesn’t have huge knock on effects on investigations in particular

Thought experiments with no basis in reality ie the ‘ticking bomb’ scenario, ‘well I would talk if I was in pain’ etc.

Ignoring (or misunderstanding) the memory problems torture generally causes

Ranking the pain of victims (usually this means saying victims with obvious scars had it ‘worse’ then those without)

Fundamental misunderstandings about what ‘counts’ as torture.

 I could probably write an essay breaking down each of these bullet points individually.

 Generally? I think if you’re new to researching this stuff and haven’t read many of the books on the sources page then it’s important to question the knock on effects of what you’re writing.

 If prisoners are in ridiculous clothes is it possible they could be suffering from a temperature torture? If a prisoner is in a cell alone is it solitary confinement? If the food is bad is it to the extent that these people are on a starvation diet? (There have been cases of prisons over salting food and then rationing water.)

 Question your own assumptions about how painful something is. Look up how harmful things are (if you’re unsure where to do that use the blog or my sources as a starting point.)

 Remember that pain is a collection of sensations rather then a single one. We all have different degrees of tolerance for different sorts of pain. This makes the idea of a single ‘most painful’ thing nonsensical: it is at best the most painful thing for this particular individual.

 Remember that inflicting pain is not complex.

 Remember that torturers are human beings too. You don’t have to show them as ‘understandable’ or glorify them in order to avoid dehumanising them. I personally feel that painting them as monsters detracts from the issue: it shifts the focus from the systems that allow/encourage torture on to brutal individuals.

 Because torture is by definition systematic abuse: abuse by the organisations and groups that have power/authority over others.

 ‘Police brutality’ is torture. Teachers abusing students is torture. Consider the systems at work in your story.

 Beyond that though a lot of this does become a judgment call and I am open to the fact that people will draw the line in different places. Different survivors will draw the line in different places.

 Survivors are a very diverse group of people. They’re singers, soldiers, house wives, activists, lawyers, labourers, journalists, chefs and a thousand other things.

 I hope you don’t take this as discouragement but I don’t think there can ever be one story on torture. As with abuse there are dozens, hundreds of stories. And those stories may share some similarities but the differences, the diversity, is important too.

 Yes there’s pain. But pain is not the end point.

 Alleg describes arguing with his torturers because they called him ‘tu’ instead of ‘vous’ while he was being tortured. Fela marched his mother’s funeral procession past the military barracks almost as soon as he was released.

 What I’m trying to illustrate here is that survivors are people and they do get on with their lives.

 There is pain. There are lasting symptoms that make life more difficult. But this does not flatten people. There is still joy and anger and defiance and sorrow and every other normal human emotion.

 There will always be more then one story.

 And the positive side of that, for us, is that once you accept you can’t represent everyone at once there’s space for you to focus on telling this story. Instead of trying to tell all of them at once.

 The most important things are to be honest about what you’re writing and to read about the reality of whatever it is you write.

 As a simple grounding I’d suggest O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Monroe’s A Darkling Plain.

 Monroe’s work is a selection of accounts from survivors of different traumatic events, including quite a few torture survivors. It shows the variety and diversity in survivors really well. O’Mara’s first and last chapters provide a good introduction to torture as a topic and his more detailed examinations of what torture does to the brain provide insight into victim experiences and the mechanics of why torture fails.

 Finally, be kind to yourself. Work within your limits, both for research and for writing.

 We are all learning. Including me. If you’re not happy with your first draft (or even your first story) that is OK. The next one will be better. Give yourself permission to make mistakes and learn from those mistakes.

 I hope that helps. :)

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Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #torture apologia #tackling torture apologia #writing torture #writing survivors #mental health #getting started #reality is not all about pain #torture survivors are not broken

[thattimdrakeguy]

Who’s Damian when he’s actually Damian?

People really freaking exaggerate how much of a maniac Damian is in his early years (besides his origin, obviously).

Like his origin to Batman and Robin is a giant stretch to be completely honest. Decapitating people, to helping people in a matter of months is a really big battle against the suspension of disbelief. Which is honestly my biggest problem with early Damian beyond the other writers completely messing with him to the point that it makes him come off like a crap character.

But beyond being extra violent with criminals, stubborn, and obviously bitter: He honestly isn’t that bad? He gets along with Dick well enough, except when they have a genuine moment caused by Damian’s glorification of himself and his parents. Though they really write Dick and Damian wrongly nowadays.

It’s really exaggerated how much of a maniac he was though.

Has lessons to learn obviously, and isn’t well-adjusted. But I enjoy it.

I really like the dynamic Damian has with Dick and Alfred when it came to how it was supposed to be. He’s a mature, young adult at the age of 10, and they treat him so, but yet he’s still a kid that needs to learn so they find a balance in it. As in they still mostly treat him as the young adult he is at heart, but still acknowledge that he has a lot to learn.

Dick treats Damian with respect as much as he can, and isn’t over affectionate like they act like nowadays. Like they basically to an extent gave Dick and Damian Tim and Dick’s relationship--when Dick and Damian had their own unique and interesting dynamic that suited them much more.

He’s more of a dad knowing he has to find the best way to teach his kid a lesson rather than all the nicknames and hugs and stuff they act like they are now.

I’m not saying Dick was abusive to Damian or anything, cause he probably isn’t smacking him all that hard. But they greatly changed their dynamic for something already done and a lot less interesting.

And people always sort of implied this thing were Damian cared a lot about Robin, but in context Damian didn’t really care. It was more about something different than that.

He wasn’t about Robin.

It was all about his dad and living up to his legacy. He has this super idealized version of Bruce in his head (even though he seemed to really dislike him initially in his origin, but Damian was super inconsistent even by the same writers) that he wants to live up to. And later on it was about his father son relationship with Dick. Damian’s parental figures are what causes his inner conflict.

Like Damian’s adult personality I also just find kind of endearing? Like I don’t like the current Damian at all. At freaking all, because it isn’t him. The Damian they act like is just--more of a normal kid in spirit I guess(?). Damian being a miniature adult and people respecting that is so much better than implying him being different is a problem by making him more normal. I enjoy the respect they have for him here with how he is. He’s just being himself and they aren’t pushing him like it’s a problem with him as a person. It’s about his morals not how he’s different. They respect that he’s different from other people his age. Which is oddly a warm dynamic to me that I appreciate. The current stuff trying to act like he’s more normal--completely misses the point of who he is as a character and personality, or even what the point of his lessons were.

As the way it was meant to be, they don’t treat him in a way that he would clearly find incredibly patronizing.

Which is super refreshing after so many writers decided to ignore the uniqueness of Damian to instead make him a lot more--typical and cheap fan service-y.

I also wanna say. I don’t think the comic is good by any means. Characters are out of character sometimes. Dick tries to resurrect Batman when he was against Tim trying it. Which they mention--but, like, it comes across like they only mention it because they’re aware they’re making a big contradiction, and it’s barely even handled. They make Jason have some strange complex about being Dick and dying his hair, even retconning his white streak being dyed in to being a gray streak from the Lazarus pit. They also imply Dick wants to date Kate Kane--which is...ew.

Also Dick constantly saying “Tim Drake” instead of just Tim, like they’d confuse him for some other Tim, as if he’s already partially forgotten comes off totally wrong. I can’t imagine it was the intention but it’s sort of icky how they completely changed their dynamic just for the sake of a change.

But as far as Damian’s character goes. It just makes it a lot sadder what they ended up doing with him. When he was a lot more interesting the way they had him. Instead of making him constantly regress, and at the same time use him for fan service by having things he wouldn’t do, and even turning him into a freaking joke. Just continuing with what made him unique would’ve been a lot better.

When they went for an odd gag it actually was because of them using his character instead of the joke being “Haha Damian is doing something he wouldn’t ever do” which is horrible character work, and super lazy comedy. When doing a joke that uses the character is far better at representing the character, and even builds characterk.

And another thing I much more appreciate is how they actually have Damian caring about his dad dying.

One of the biggest pains of Red Robin to me was the scene where Tim became Red Robin. One, cause Tim would never hit a kid. Two, Dick wouldn’t just suddenly think Tim is his equal and cast aside Tim when he knows how much Robin meant to Tim. Three, because Damian came off as a generic snotty kid who didn’t even care his dad died.

Damian doesn’t make jokes here. It’s his thing that’s he’s very serious. He’s very mature and adult-like for his age, that’s his endearing quality. He’s very serious and intense when it comes to his dad--like how it would actually be.

They portray Bruce as Damian’s main weakness. There’s no weird contradictions here about rather Damian is egotistical or insecure. He’s very prideful in himself and who he came from, but when it comes to his dad he becomes worried, because of how highly he thinks of him.

The portrayal of Talia (that I didn’t really feel like screenshotting) is of course infamously horrible, and out of character for her. But tis the reason why I’m not an actual fan of this serious or Grant Morrison in-general, or even this era.

Like it’s a plotpoint she does something to Damian’s spine to make it so she can control him--it’s super freaking dumb even for a comic. At least in this modern age.

Just how soulful and mature Damian is, is always why that’s what I say I like in him when ever I talk about him when I like him (which is whenever his writing doesn’t really annoy me at that time, or some other thing). Because it’s like--what he’s meant to be like. They ruined him afterwards to me personally. Trying to make something he’s not just like Tim except in their own unique ways given they’re different characters.

And personally, I don’t even think Damian’s character arc is that well done. It sounds great, but reading it, it honestly isn’t that amazing. He just kind of accepts to be better, and, like, he has a few moments here and there of learning, but it’s not actually a lot. It’s very overhyped. It’s genuinely done super lazy, like I think a lot of the writing in this series is lazy, but while there’s a few great moments--it’s just moments, and it’s hard for me to really get into it when it’s just moments.

To me this comic is very overrated, but like--as a showing of what Damian’s meant to be, given this is written by his creator. It makes things really disappointing for me more so, even though current comics already had me depressed with Tim, and even already Damian to an extent, but this just really sets it in.

I’m still someone who has the complicated opinion of I like Damian as a character in a way but I don’t really. Because he still doesn’t really have any stories I like--I pretty much just liked how he was in the beginning because of how interesting he was even if his stories never used it well--and continued to not like him because I feel like pretty much every other writer no matter what the fandom says bastardized him.

So most of my opinions still remain besides a different perspective on how Damian actually was in the beginning, but still. Like I still don’t think he’s a good character purely because of his later writers, and his character arcs general laziness when it comes to how it actually is on the page. But it’s just what he could be I guess. Which is how a lot of people are about him I suppose.

It really gets me how he has the same similar problems as Tim. Had a very obvious set character, random changes that people treat as character development even though when you look deeper it’s a lot more shallow cause it doesn’t freaking add up, they can’t even freaking draw them right anymore, and everyone has a weird inconsistent idea on what they’re even like because of all the bad writing.

It’s a headache.

[gffa]

@ap-trash-compactor replied:

1/7 I wanna preface this by saying I agree with everything you’re saying here but I think there’s another layer to how Raffa’s story functions both textually and meta-textually, and to what it illustrates about how many people in the Galaxy /might/ perceive the Jedi, which I personally haven’t seen addressed yet. Sorry in advance if this is something you’ve heard/read/discussed ten million times already, but... 2/7 If you took Raffa’s story out of Star Wars and put it into a contemporary drama, changed the word “Jedi” to the word “police,” and made the particulars about a high-speed car chase? I think it would sound pretty believable. And I think this illustrates something Palpatine does through the mechanism of the Clone Wars to make the position of the Jedi especially vulnerable or precarious wrt to public opinion. 3/7 Even if every single Jedi engages w the power and authority of their military or police role only in the best intentioned, most good-faith way imaginable (which the Umbara arc tells us doesn’t always happen), any time you are in a role where you, even have without wanting or intending to, exercise the power of life and death other lives, you will cause pain and be a target for resentment. Someone will lose someone, and be angry. 4/7 No matter how good or how well-intentioned or how compassionate they are, during the Clone Wars the Jedi are forced into the role of a state authority exercising the power of life and death. They are not only a cultural minority during the Clone Wars. They are also a branch of the state, and in that role they sometimes either kill people, or are involved in events where people die and where, no matter their intentions, they are the face of the state and the voice of authority. 5/7 Many of the military and police actions shown in different episodes of this series leave destruction in their wake. The Jedi’s participation is barely by choice and almost never by preference— but if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your parents just died, the distinction probably does not matter much. I think this is a corner Palpatine absolutely wanted to paint the Jedi into, because it absolutely serves his goals. 6/7 There are not many Jedi during the Clone Wars. Certainly there are not many compared to the problems they are trying to fix. I have no doubt Luminara tried her best, wanted a different outcome, and gave Raffa all the comfort she had the time and the opportunity to give... But if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your only direct experience of the Jedi is like the one Raffa describes? You’re probably primed to consume all of Palpatine’s worst lies. 7/7 If you’re Palpatine, making the Jedi rush from violent crisis to violent crisis doesn’t just distract them from the fact that you’re a Sith Lord — it also makes the Jedi into the face of a lot of negative, hurtful interactions with the state, which is going to impact the way people see them.

I think you and I are very much on the same page!  I have discussed this before (the public’s turning on the Jedi), but I’m always down for discussing it again!  Especially when I love pretty much allllll of this. If you’re Palpatine, making the Jedi rush from violent crisis to violent crisis doesn’t just distract them from the fact that you’re a Sith Lord — it also makes the Jedi into the face of a lot of negative, hurtful interactions with the state, which is going to impact the way people see them. You are spot on with your summation, to the point it’s almost hard for me to respond with anything because I feel like all I can do is bang my fist on the table and go, “Yes!  This is what I’ve been talking about!”  Though, of course, there is a lot going on here that’s making it complicated. This post that you’re responding to is focused more specifically on the theme of unreliable narrators + the close associations this season has had with Revenge of the Sith (the moments that make us sit up and go, “Oh, that’s foreshadowing for stuff in ROTS!” like Padme’s pregnancy, Anakin’s advice to Rex, etc.), but there’s also what you’re talking about here--that it’s been a long-running theme in the GFFA that public sentiment turned against the Jedi and that the causes of that are fascinating. I said a bunch of times that Rafa’s hurt in this episode is valid, that there’s room for both the Jedi acting with honorable intentions and that people don’t trust them, don’t draw comfort from them, that these things are not mutually exclusive and you’re hitting on exactly why--because they were put into a situation where, if they’re not 100% perfect, then they’re going to fall off the pedestal they’ve been put onto.  That any flaw they have will then get magnified a hundred times. Luminara seems to have made a point to go back and try to talk to Rafa, to tell her a phrase that is narratively meaningful within Star Wars on a meta level, like, that says to me that she has really good intentions!  But that Rafa doesn’t draw any comfort from it, as a non-Force sensitive and someone who probably is left to the Republic’s shitty welfare services (which isn’t the Jedi’s jurisdiction, they’re not social workers and we can’t expect them to be), doesn’t undercut Luminara’s presumed good intentions, just as Luminara’s presumed good intentions don’t undercut Rafa’s hurt. And that it’s understandable--because, as the Maul arc in season 5 says, the Jedi aren’t doing the things that they used to do, that crime is flourishing because they’re being so busy with this war they’ve been drafted into.  Even Star Wars: Propaganda makes it clear that public sentiment turned against the Jedi because of a cultural absence, rather than anything they actively did. This is all by design from Palpatine, that he’s keeping them so busy putting out tire fires on Ryloth (who were being slaughtered by the Separatists), on Mon Calamari (who were being enslaved by the Separatists), on Kiros (who were being kidnapped and taken into the resumed Zygerrian slave empire), that they don’t have time to do the things they used to, like take care of a lot of the criminal elements or the outreach programs that we see hinted at in the supplementary material. The Jedi had to make a choice between fighting in a war where entire worlds were being enslaved, that there were only so many of them and they were dying, that they died in droves on Geonosis in Attack of the Clones and they’re dying every day in the war, that they were literally one out of six billion in the galaxy at their height, and that they had a million expectations placed on them.  They have very little political capital/power, yet they’re expected to solve all the problems in ways that will last.  They’re expected to police the Underworld, but also not police the Underworld because then they’re restricting people.  They’re expected to be social workers.  They’re expected to fight and die in a war that the public itself refuses to stand up in.  And when they don’t live up to those impossible perfections, they’re torn down. This is not to set aside that of course there are instances of people like Trace and Rafa, where the destruction wreaked by chasing down someone like Ziro is going to sometimes cause people to get hurt and, honestly, I don’t feel like Rafa really blamed Luminara for that, given the acknowledgement of the crowded platform she was trying to avoid.  But if she had?  That, too, would have been reasonable and understandable!  That it doesn’t matter if the Jedi were doing literally everything they could, that doesn’t mean there’s not also room for Rafa’s hurt.  And that, even if I think there was absolutely nothing that Luminara could say that would have given Rafa comfort, that doesn’t make Rafa’s hurt/viewpoint any less empathizable. My blog tends to focus on the Jedi side of things because those are the characters I’m interested in, not because they’re the only element that matters. In the meta we’re responding to, a lot of the focus is on Luminara and the Jedi because that’s my jam, that’s the part I thrive on, but we’re definitely in agreement that Rafa’s feelings are not wrong and it’s not hard to see where they come from! I do take issue with the idea of--whether it’s true or not, we can all argue about it all day long, but it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not--that if the Jedi are remote and distant from the galaxy, that that narratively is approved of how they then “kind of brought their downfall (aka, violent genocide) on themselves”.  That’s something I’ve seen skirted around in commentary from the creators and I’m wary of it leaking into the narrative in a more substantial way.  But that’s an entirely separate issue from the fact that anti-Jedi sentiments exist in the narrative and that they led to the Jedi Purge/Jedi genocide. As part of the propaganda and manipulations Palpatine did, yes, absolutely, that is one of the most fascinating things!  And that doesn’t mean that there’s not validity to those feelings, even if they’re rooted in propaganda and manipulation! But that, just as there’s room for Rafa’s hurt despite Luminara’s intentions, there’s room for the Jedi’s good intentions despite the public’s hurt and/or mistrust. My thing is that I tend to look at why the Jedi act the way they do and I usually come away with empathy for how they got into the situations they did.  Like, take their alignment with the Republic, which was an organization with corruption down to the roots by the time of the Twilight of the Republic, that that association absolutely led to their downfall/genocide.  But what else could they do?  Being part of the Republic in that way allowed them to actually help people, to have negotiating power, to form treaties that would be honored even when they were no longer on a given planet.  If they weren’t under the jurisdiction of the Senate, they could not have helped as many people as they did, especially because how would they even be able to afford starship fuel or housing costs?  Would they charge people for their services?  That’s a disaster waiting to happen! There’s room for both “the best option for the Jedi was to be part of the Republic and try to improve the system from the inside, which is what they did” AND “the being part of the Republic is what ultimately fucked them”, those things are both true! but if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your parents just died, the distinction probably does not matter much. I think this is a corner Palpatine absolutely wanted to paint the Jedi into, because it absolutely serves his goals. Spot on!  I have fun looking at what Luminara’s intentions likely were and what the context of the structure of the show entails, that Rafa’s character doesn’t have to be a reliable narrator to be valuable (and I say this as someone who actually really loves the unreliable narrators of SW, which honestly is almost literally every single character, very few are ones you can take at face value without seeing the circumstances for yourself), but to Rafa it doesn’t really matter what Luminara did or didn’t say, because that’s not what she was looking for or what she got out of that conversation.  I can’t say I would act differently in her position! And that’s exactly what Palpatine did.  He pulled the Jedi in so many different directions, made them responsible for things that literally no group could possibly have survived with public sentiment intact, and even if the Jedi had been literally perfect (which they weren’t), it wouldn’t have mattered, given that the entire point of the prequels is that you gotta choose between Shitty Option A and Shitty Option B. It’s the galaxy’s worst ever version of, “Which would you rather?” except its real and you have to play the game, because not playing gets you fucked over even faster, like it did with Mandalore.

#rafa martez #jedi order #meta #tcw spoilers #long post

[twiststreet]

As a fan of manga (mostly everything Tezuka), I'm intrigued by your comments about One Piece, but my assumption is it HAS to be at least PRETTY GOOD to be as popular as it is and to have run as long as it has. I'd be interested in more detailed posts about it, as well as how you recommend reading it, if you do. On a somewhat related note, today I started reading all of Batman. Planning to go from 1939 to 1999, when I first picked up the comics.

Whoops I wrote a lot; sorry:

I’m 615 chapters in out of 1000 (and in the middle of the Fish-Man Island saga which I think fans rank as either the worst or second-worst arc)(the other worst one, this bad tournament arc, I’ve already gotten past)... so I guess I have a lot to say, but you know, nothing especially original, just...

There’s a stretch (namely, the Water 7 arc all the way through Marineford) that is a hall of fame stretch.  He drops like 5-6 arcs that just land perfect right in row (though it’s hard to imagine it ever reaching the heights of the second arc in that series, Ennies Lobby ever again).  But that being said, it’s a little funny to tell anyone “Oh it takes 150 chapters to get really good” (that’s at least 2000+ pages of comics) let alone, that the A+ stuff starts 300 chapters in.  A chapter of One Piece only takes a minutes or so to read, if that, but it’s still a big ask.  People used to get angry if you told them that Deadwood only gets good after 3-4 hours, so... 

But that stretch is ... not “life-affirming” but... it touches a very old part of my brain in a very satisfying way.  

I had a whole long post I deleted because I thought it was boring, but... when I was into classical American superhero comics, the thing I’d constantly be nerdiest about is that there was this Great Possibility, to do something truly epic in that space which I didn’t think had been done.  There’s been a few novels (Watchmen, the Enigma) but not that many.  And American superhero comics don’t really have a Lord of the Rings or a Star Wars or, an example for me as a kid even though I hadn’t read all the books was the Gunslinger books (or sure, The Stand if The Stand had maybe a different ending?  I don’t know-- I’m not watching the TV show but I don’t really remember that ending fondly).  The epic driven by a creator who is creating his own personal mythology, basically.  Most of the genre is tied to pre-existing universes which foreclose that as a possibility and people who work outside those universes tend to just make shit like that Peter Cannon thing or Supreme or whatever that comments back on those universes...

Maybe you could argue the Hickman X-Men thing but for me, everyone after Claremont on X-Men is just inheriting so much from Claremont that... It means very little to me. It’s not a personal mythology. Same with Crisis.  The closest to me comics came was Kirby with the 4th World, but... Carmine Infantino shut that down. And the Claremont run itself is ... an interesting discussion, but again, Bob Harras.  But back before Watchmen 2, back when I thought comics could be this thing that improve over time (haha), I’d look for that (or for any ambition!  any!) and just gave up as time went on.  The careerist generation came in; the ambitions shrank even further; etc., to where I’m at now where my attitude generally with comics is “that’s nice; who care; so, is your wife dating anyone right now, what’s her story?”  

But then One Piece ... One Piece, of all things, becomes this epic thing!  And it’s great!  I was right that it would be great!!!  I was right! (My favorite thing to be!).  

Not at first-- at first the formula is “Wacky Pirates go to an Island, they find out something sad is going on in the Island, a character acting extremely emotional causes the biggest fight possible which goes on for 50 chapters, and then they leave the island and maybe take someone with them.”  And that’s a lot of big arcs... until little by little, tiny bit by tiny bit, Oda’s built up this world.  And then that world starts to become the story.  And that’s still kind of the formula but... but then they’re stakes.

The archetypal shonen cliche story is “a boy wants to be the best in the world at something”, right, but what One Piece does (and I haven’t read as much as other people so I don’t know how common this is, I haven’t read Naruto or Bleach, neither of which I’m too excited to check out, though i think david brothers vouches for Bleach heavy so I’ll probably give that one a shot), what One Piece does is sees how that would necessarily become a political struggle eventually.  Because what does it mean to be the best in the world at something when there’s an entire world out there already in operation, and built around you not being the best in the world, built around someone else being that...

And then there’s just this amount of worldbuilding that goes on, that is so slowly fed out over those first 300 episodes that you don’t even notice it... Until suddenly around Water 7, these bigger forces have now noticed our wacky pirates, and are shifting around them and getting upset about them.  Culminating in this arc called Marineford that ... again not as good as Ennies Lobby but... I don’t think there’s a comparable arc in American comics to Marineford.  The scale of that one... The fact he managed to draw that on a weekly basis!

While still being a goofy kid’s pirate comic.  It’s funny.  The power sets are all really silly, but in a way that reminds of how kids play more than a Dragonball thing.  (He takes like 400-500 chapters to even get to a Dragonball-style levelling up concept, which I thought was pretty patient of him).  But within that, I’m enjoying it now in a very Claremont way of... there now not just being these scrappy outcast heroes I’m rooting for, but an entire universe of people around them, with their own agendas, that I have varying levels of investment in.

There’s this saying that the Golden Age of science fiction is 12 years old, the idea being that’s the age where stuff lands with you the hardest because it’s all NEW for you.  But the thing is if you’re really immature (lifts hand)... I think part of things is you run out of the Good Stuff.  I go back and look at old Chris Claremont X-Mens and if I somehow find one I’ve never read before (and this was the lesson of Dazzler in Hollywood for me), I’m still right there, it still lands with me, there just aren’t that many people who can actually land that plane.  Once Scorcese is gone, what gangster movies are people going to be watching?  Blow?  Savages?  Kubrick only made the movies he made.  People add a little every year, but the really good stuff is rare.  

And so when I’m looking at One Piece and I’m enjoying it the way I’d enjoy a Claremont X-men comic (even if aesthetically it’s a VERY different thing-- sexless and not as weirdo-operatic and less violent and more childish and definitely younger-skewing)... but that I’m getting that same thrill of “oh this comic is a portal to this entire fictional universe this guy made up and that kind of exists now thanks to this (kinda disturbing I guess it turns out) guy” to me is...  Not “life affirming” that’s not the right word but... It feels good on my brain to know.  Because then being sour and grouchy isn’t just me getting older and the inevitability of age-- then it’s just... People need to make better shit!!!  Or I need to do a better job not wasting my time on, you know, an industry that’s not built to deliver what I need as a reader...

I mean, I’ve been saying for more than 10 years, I should just quit American comics and just be one of those guys to switch to manga.  And I’m not 100% there because... I mean, because of Copra and because of like an extremely small list of things that aren’t Copra.  (I just signed for Kate Beaton’s Patreon).  But... I’m 95% there, and it’s been great, and I just feel dumb for not having done it earlier.  

One Piece has big problems, too.  (There’s a whole “Sanji meets drag queens” thing that’s very much not landing with me right now).   I don’t think you can ever top Ennies Lobby because Ennies Lobby is about convincing a suicidal person whose been betrayed their whole life that life’s worth fighting for-- there’s never going to be an emotional engine to the story that’s as good as that one.  It’s trying to work its way back to a “normal One Piece story” in this Fish arc and it’s... I want to see it level up again!  The core cast is just a little too big (it really didn’t need Bones).  I think the shonen model generally creates a sort of “power arms race” where it’s like constantly “oh you learned how to crush mountains with your dick in the last arc?  Well, too bad our mountains are made of diamonds now” escalations that ... feel a little like a treadmill as opposed to a story.  I feel like it needs to kick into a Second Act, after the big ending of that first Act at Marineford.  And just... I don’t know how it can keep topping some of these fights, and think it’d get to be diminishing returns to find out. But... 

A “team of buddies versus the world” is already a great thing for a story to be about, and it’s just really satisfying having One Piece having the “the world” part of that equation being so complicated and varied and colorful.  It’s like if the Ocean’s 11 gang had to rob an overwhelming-more-powerful global crime syndicate, with multiple competing factions, while still convincing Julia Roberts to love them-- they just robbed Andy Garcia and I watch that movie like once a year.

(And thematically, the comic-- it’s not deep, but it’s basically got an anti-authoritarian streak to it, which I think is important for a kid comic to have.  It’s a pirate comic and you can’t really do a pirate comic without being like “fuck the cops” at least a little bit.  The pirate thing is interesting because it basically means that there’s always a discussion going on about what it means to be free, though I think sometimes the comic doesn’t really reckon with that-- it sometimes falls back into “well if there was a good monarch though” thinking... but there being good pirates and bad pirates and good government characters and bad ones, I like that... and the very worst characters just being rich assholes... yeah, good lessons in One Piece for the kids!!). 

That and I just like how that dude draws.  He’s not doing some dreary realism thing-- the layouts are fun without being showy or confusing-- he really improves as the series goes on (though some of the recent stuff I’ve seen hasn’t looked as good, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing low-quality scans or he’s been thrown a loop cause of COVID or what).  I’ll always put up with a boring stretch in a comic if someone, like, crosshatches an arm in a way that I find interesting, so that probably distorts how I read One Piece too...

I could go on and on, basically because ... goddamn, what else do I have to talk about, ughhh.  But yeah: that’s why I think it’s popular-- it’s the worldbuilding.  It’s 100% the worldbuilding.  (By which I’d include that it has this massive cast, that i can keep kinda clear in my head, not all of whom want the same things, etc.)(though also geographically-- there are maps and everything)... But recommend it?  I don’t know-- I mean... It’s a little kid’s pirate comic.  There’s a THOUSAND of them.  It’s more modern than a Tezuka thing-- it’s jumping off more from Toriyama than Tezuka, and that’s a different vibe. It’s like not something you can just “recommend”-- it’s a major time sink.  I’d recommend Chainsaw Man first to someone with my age and background because even though it has its own flaws, it’s more “age appropriate” and there are only 90 chapters, and it’s got that rad stretch about 20 chapters in so you see the “good part” faster... 

#one piece #Worst Hobby or Worstest Hobby?

[itsclydebitches]

Giving it some thought, the entire subplot of trust and truth started in Volume 4, when Qrow first tells RNJR about Salem and the Maidens. Paraphrasing, Ruby says that she believes Qrow because she trusts him, but then asks "Why couldn't you trust me? Why couldn't you just travel with us instead of all this... secrecy, and-". I don't know what to make of it, because even back then it felt a little... I don't know, heavy-handed? And then it's made a central theme of V7 and it's even more ???

The problem with Team RWBY/RNJR - or rather, the problem with how they’re written - is that they conflate strategy and caution with a lack of trust. Meaning, the people around them have very good reasons for not divulging certain information at certain times and/or not doing certain things at certain times because that’s dangerous. It’s not a matter of trusting someone in the way Ruby means (willing to follow someone, willing to believe that they’re striving for the right thing) but a sheer matter of practicality. Qrow says it straight out: “this has nothing to do with trust.” 

Why didn’t he travel with them? Because he has a bad luck semblance that does all sorts of awful things to the people around him, like drawing more grimm, causing beams to fall, or tires to blow on your one mode of transportation. Qrow didn’t travel with them because that was the smart, practical move in a hostile world, not because he doesn’t trust his niece. Now, we can change the question to, “Why didn’t you trust us with the knowledge of your semblance?” and that gets into the complicated can of worms, “Because this has been a traumatic thing that I’m still working through and I’m terrified that people will leave me when they find out about it.” A fear that more of this group should understand by now. Why didn’t Jaune immediately tell his team that he snuck his way into Beacon? Why did Blake hide that she was a faunus? Do we even see Ruby tell her teammates about her super secret eyes or does the narrative just assume that everyone found out at some point (I honestly don’t remember...)? Everyone has secrets and parts of themselves that are incredibly difficult to talk about. The inability to admit to them unless pressured - which is precisely what Nora does to Qrow here - is not an indication of a lack of trust. It’s an indication of the group’s lack of emotional maturity that they thought then, and still think now, that everyone around them owes them every single piece of themselves. It’s an immaturity seen most overtly in Yang who believes that Ozpin isn’t trustworthy unless he divulges every piece of information that might possibly be deemed a secret, while simultaneously keeping secrets about her Mom being the Spring Maiden, Salem’s immortality, and Robyn’s knowledge of Amity. It’s a child’s logic to honestly believe, “Well this applies to you but not me because I’m just different.” A perspective that I thought the group was being set up to grow out of. 

Because this theme of trust vs. practicality continues in the conversation when Jaune wants to know why the whole world hasn’t been told about Salem. Qrow, via Ozpin’s teachings, has very smart and proven reasons for keeping things quiet: 

“Hey,” asks the teenager who has had one year of combat training and has only been in one non-grimm battle, a good portion of which he spent arguing with his teammate and trapped in a locker. “Why haven’t we told the whole world about the woman out to kill them and the magical relics she wants?” 

“Well,” responds the elite huntsmen who has been fighting in this war at least as long as they’ve been alive, “Because history has shown us that people panic when they learn stuff like that. Murder young women for their power panic (women like Pyrrha!). Try to steal the magical relics for themselves panic. Turn on each other panic. Start a new war between kingdoms and descend the world into chaos panic. And, as they’re about to find out via Lionheart, Join the witch instead of fighting her panic. We see in that final shot of Jaune that he doesn’t like hearing this, but he seems to understand it. Grudgingly. Problem is, this understanding doesn’t last. 

With all the info out in the open Ruby asks what they’re supposed to do and Qrow responds with, 

The looks everyone exchange are terrified. 

For the record, this isn’t bad writing. They’re barely trained kids. They should be looking to their authority figures and then be blindsided with the adults don’t have one easy, magical solution to grant them. That’s a part of growing up. What Qrow offers them instead is the adult solution: we do what we can. We’ll continue on to Haven where Lionheart should have been making preparations. We’ll see what he knows and work from there. Sorry I don’t have a ‘Defeat Salem and Make Everything Perfect’ plan hidden up my sleeve, but this is what fighting a war is really like. 

What does all this have to do with trust? The fact that the group learns nothing from this conversation. When more information about Salem is revealed - her immortality - Ruby asks the same question of Ozpin that she did Qrow: So... how are you, as an individual, going to fix everything for us? When he, like Qrow, has nothing simple to offer them they turn violent (and the fact that Qrow expressed the most overt violence just goes to show how little RT bothered to think through how each person would respond to this information). The group continues to conflate information with trust. Information in terms of “Share all your secrets” and information in terms of “We expect an easy solution to our problems.” When people fail to provide them with that - such as Ironwood having a plan but it’s not a plan they like because it hurts Mantle - they’re deemed “untrustworthy.” 

Now again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing... if the group were on a track to grow out of this behavior. It’s not a bad thing to have Ruby be pissed that (to her mind) Qrow didn’t trust her, to think that Ozpin is untrustworthy because he didn’t share everything with them... and then slam her into a situation where she has the information and she realizes, “Oh shit. I’m too scared to tell Ironwood this right out. I want to keep this information hidden until I’m sure it’s safe to share and I feel it’s the right time. Even then it’s really hard to share it... Uncle Qrow and Ozpin were right.” Instead, the writing did the exact opposite. Ruby’s perspective and  her behavior is reinforced - she’s supposedly right to equate trust with sharing ever piece of information, the ability to provide perfection, and people’s willingness to follow her orders to the letter despite her having no power next to elders, more powerful fighters, and military rank - but the story ignores the hypocrisy of her doing the same things she damns everyone else for. She doesn’t share information. She doesn’t follow orders. She has no plan and is set to get everyone killed. The show set up a moment for the group to actually start growing up and mature emotionally in the face of an ethically complicated war... and instead had Qrow randomly insist that Ruby is simply different and special. She is, intrinsically, simply Better than everyone else and you’re not supposed to ask why. By extension, so is her team. Everyone from Nora to Oscar to Jaune insists loudly that telling the council, or Mantle, or the whole world about Salem is the One Good Answer here despite the fact that the narrative - via Qrow above and in numerous key scenes since Volume 3 - has given us numerous reasons why that’s a terrible idea and zero reasons why it’s a good one. But the story is no longer interested in weighing these perspectives and having the characters learn to make informed decisions. Even when lives are on the line. 

It comes down to an incredibly biased perspective by the writers. By working under the ironclad assumption that your young protagonists are always right and your older supporting characters are inevitably wrong, you get situations wherein we’re shown a situation where Team RWBY is wrong and the adults do have a point... and then we swerve at the last second to insist otherwise. Qrow is shown as having good reasons for keeping his distance, but Ruby says he didn’t trust her. Cordovin has good reasons for not letting kids across a closed border, but Ruby says she forced them to steal. All evidence points to the Ace Ops kicking Team RWBY’s ass, but Ruby says they’re stronger. That’s what drives the show nowadays: whatever Ruby claims is the truth. If the show actually followed what it had laid out on screen, rather than what Ruby insists to be true, then this show would now be a tragedy. Here’s the story of what happens when you give traumatized teens the power to try and save the world. Being forced into this war so early and receiving the gut-punch that the adults around them are imperfect immediately after a near kidnapping is something they couldn’t handle. The nuance of a 1,000 year strategy-based war is something they couldn’t handle. When you take a girl who wants to fight monsters like in the storybooks and put her in charge years before she’s ready... she’s going to insist that life will turn out like a storybook. So she’ll bravely fight an immortal witch with an army under the assumption that everything will somehow turn out alright. Except it doesn’t and everyone dies. The End. 

RWBY should have been a story of growth. At this point it logically should be a story of tragedy. What we’ll actually get though is that happy ending based on Team RWBY’s version of “trust” and “friendship” that is inherently contradictory to everything seen on screen... but we’re expected to just run with it because they’re the title characters.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Anonymous

[evilelitest2]

The 40K fandom filling with alt-righters was predictable because GW won't stop rimming the Imperium at the expense of everyone else, original themes included, but how was Warhammer Fantasy going down the same way?

Its a lot more obvious with 40K because its basically been playing footsie with the Alt Right for decades now by openly embracing Neo Nazi symbolizing and imagery (its more complicated than that but i’m bitter).  Warhammer fantasy doesn’t do that, it does draw on Germanic imagery but its more Holy Roman Empire than fascist/Imperial Germany.  But it still has some narratives which appeal to fascists, even though the setting was 100% not designed to appeal to fascists (in fact a lot of the fluff is anti fascist).  So its not deliberate but here are some default assumptions (I actually wrote a paper on this) 

1) The lack of positive Emotions.  Warhammer fantasy is a parody and is designed as a dark comedy, and lets admit that a lot of its fluff is very funny.  But one of the problems with creating a setting where everything sucks and everybody is a bastard, is that it actually encourages the sort of nihilistic understanding of humanity which Neo Fascism (opposed to classic fascism) relies on so much.  This is a world where diplomacy doesn’t work, kindness is foolish, and decency is unrewarded, all that matters is cruel war.  And as a cynic myself, I can appreciate the joke they are going for, but the longer that joke goes on, the more it makes caring about humanity seem foolish.  This also combines with the hatred of cute stuff (see also Doom).  The Entire world view is very adolescent boy, which is about the emotional state of fascism. 

2) For all of the games cynicism, it has a soft spot towards the glory of war.  The world is shitty, incompetent, stupid, cruel, unjust and random, but Warhammer Fantasy tends to depict war as the only transcendental and glorious experience.  This is most exemplified with the Chaos Warriors, who come off as rather noble despite being a faction whose entire existence is defined by war.  Warhammer fantasy mocks many things but never war

3) It very much buys into the “Warrior Culture” myth (Seen also Conan), where some cultures are defined macho and violent opposed to softer and more civilized cultures.  The Northern cultures near the Chaos wastes get this a lot.  These cultures have a very “noble savage” way of writing, especially regarding the Viking/mongol based ones.   

4) The background of the Empire of Man still buys into the conservative perspective of “Things were great in the past, but society steadily fell”.  It actually takes this further because it attributes the fall to decadence, hedonism, and sexual immorality.  I was just reading Historian and conservative shithead Niels Ferguston, who wrote 

“the real threat is posed not by the rise of China, Islam or CO2 emissions, but by our own loss of faith in the civilization we inherited from our ancestors.” and that sort of view about what causes civilizations to fall fits into the Warhammer understanding of history.  In fact if you go unto fascit forums, they often describe the Queer movement, especially trans activism, as Slaanesh worshipers 

5) While Warhammer fantasy is not overtly sexist and I don’t think any of the writers have actual problems with women (though Games workshop is run by Satan) but the way female characters, especially female sexuality are depicted in the series is...telling.  the Dark Elves and Slaanesh worshipers have a very “Sex, especially kinky sex is evil” feel.  Now I don’t think the writers of Warhammer fantasy actually have a reactionary view towards sex and aren’t trying to make a fascist point, but I think that narrative supports the fascist narrative that decadence spiritually damages society.  The genre is super male coded very strongly and tends to buy into macho notions of aethetic (which Warhammer 40k will take much further) 

6) Because warhammer draws so much on real world societies, even by the standards of fantasy, its depiction of those societies is super telling.  The Holy Roman Empire as presented in Warhammer is actually both less complicated and less international than its real world counterpart.  Notably, the real holy Roman Empire actually controlled Spain and through it the New World, meaning it was by far the most ethnically diverse state in the world during the time of the Reformation.  Because its drawing its influence from the Holy Roman Empire rather than more fantastical element (which I will grant gives setting a distinct Aesthetic which I mostly like) it contributes to the warped understanding of “Medievalism” which the Far Right takes advantage of.  This is a problem with most fantasy and Warhamer is not alone here, but a lot of people’s default understanding of the Medieval/early modern Era is shaped more via fantasy than by an actual understanding of the era.  Notable the intellectual, cultural, artistic...really any non military part of history.  Which unfortunately is how a lot of people view the pre modern world, as just military history, which lends itself to conservatism.  

7) Its Euro Centric as fuck.  That is normal for most fantasy but because Warhammer is so balatant about its real life inspiration, the absence is notable.  You have Fantasy France and Fantasy Holy Roman Empire, but you are missing the North African states, the Caliphate, and probalby most important of all, the Ottoman Empire, the greatest Rival to the Holy Roman Empire.  The Holy Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire had a century long series of wars/rivarlys/hatefucking relationship which is just absent.  There is mention of a China based nation (Cathay really?) and some sort of Muslim power (Arabay) which the setting doesn’t care about and nobody ever visits.  The new World exists, but the native Americans have been replaced by Dark Elves and Lizard People.  You are even loss most of the real like ethnic diversity, their are new Jews and the Romani are confined to the Romania inspired vampire setting and basically exist as Bram Stoker people who dabble in dark magic.  And the ogres (one of my favorite factions btw) have a very oriental visual design, which would be fine if there were actual asians in the setting.  All of the non human races except the Chaos dwarves tend to look white or entirely alien which compounds this problem 

8) The notion of cults.  The Witch Hunters in Warhammer Fantasy play much the same role as the Inquisition who targeted Protestants, “Witches”  (and in Spain at least) Muslims and Jews.  Basically the inquisition was just an exercise in cruelty that just targeted entirely innocent people.  In the Warhammer world, Daemon cults are real and the brutal methods of the inquisitions are largely justified, they kill a lot of innocents but they also destroy a lot of cults.  This one is something I’m kinda mixed on, because the presence of evil cults dedicated the forces of hell is fun and it is a great plot for adventure, but it has the unintended side effect of making the notion of secret societies dedicated to profane rites seem less silly.  Look at how Alt Rightists talk about the supposed leaders of the left, its language that is used to describe the cults in warhammer, I mean the Pizzagate conspiracy theory/Qanon conspiracy theory feel like people talking about Slaanesh and Tzeentch cults 

9) Finally, the cynical nature of the setting, combined with its pro war narrative creates a world view where the world is corrupt, cruel, and unfair, the vast majority of people are ignorant morons and the nobles are decadent have weird sexual kinks.  the only things holding the forces of hell at bay are the thuggish sadistic cruel soldiers who regularly indulge in torture and murder of civilians, and it is with these people you must trust.  Its a brutal world where the only appropriate response is more brutality, which in addition to being ahistorical (the Early modern period was more than just war) but fits the fascist world view.  The world is terrible and the only thing you can have faith in is a bunch of German war criminals with a fetish for eagles and skulls.  Anybody trying to challenge that world view is either a Daemon Cultist or a naive idiot who is going to be taken over by a Daemon cultist.  

(very Wagner) 

Again, Warhammer Fantasy is not deliberate fascists, in fact there is a LOT in the material which rejects fascism but there is a lot of thoughtless assumptions that confirms their world view.  

Also I never played/read Age of Sigmar so i don’t know if this carries over 

#ask EvilElitest #Warhammer Fantasy #warhammer 40k #Holy Roman Empire #games workshop #Alt Right #Fascism #Conservatism #Daemon Cults #Pizzagate #Gamergate #Chaos Cults #Chaos Gods #nurgel #slaanesh #khorne #Tzeentch #Malice #Malal #empire of man

[jealousmaude]

Stories with Strangers

Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x OC (sorta)

Prompt: Ezra makes up an heroic story about losing his arm in order to impress a pretty lady at the local watering hole

A/N: The above prompt was given to me by @ifalltheyearwereplayingholidays​ when I was bored and wanted to write something. It was meant to be a short drabble but my hand slipped and whoops it’s 3.9k words. Only my second Prospect fic and Ezra talks A LOT. I hope I did him justice. I’m always down to talk about Ezra more, feel free to drop me a line!

Warnings: None I think. A bit of vaguely described gore?

Tagged: @lalablue0​ Thanks for the gentle nudging and encouragement as always

When Ezra walked into the bar he knew he’d picked the right one. He was in a fringe city, on a fringe planet, looking for fringe work. It usually paid the best. But tonight he was just looking for a quiet drink in a dive bar where no one would look twice at him. And this was that bar. A dark and dirty bar with dark and dirty patrons. There were two men hunched over a table talking conspiratorially who looked up at him when he entered, but quickly went back to their hushed conversation when they deemed him no threat. There was a man lounging in a booth with two women he had no doubt paid to fawn over him. Another booth housed a couple of thugs surrounded by an excessive amount of empty bottles and glasses, having an animated and at times violent conversation. At the end of the bar was another working girl chatting up a depressed man who seemed far more interested in his drink than the girl, but she was determined. The shabbily dressed barman was leaning against the bench behind the bar, cleaning a beer glass with a filthy rag in the most stereotypical barman fashion ever, while ogling the young woman.

This was the right place indeed.

Ezra smiled to himself and approached the bar. The barman heaved himself upright, clunked the glass down, tossed the rag beside it and ambled over to Ezra as if it was most inconvenient of him to want service. 

“Amber. Top shelf. Neat." He knew in a place like this the alcohol wasn’t going to be of the highest quality so he figured he’d improve his chances of something drinkable if he aimed high. The barman grunted in acknowledgement and hauled himself around. He reached up to the highest shelf of bottles, revealing his unsightly underarm stains. He took a bottle of dark amber liquid, sloshed it into a smudged glass and plonked it unceremoniously in front of Ezra. 

“You’re a prince among men,” Ezra said with barely concealed sarcasm as he tossed some credits on the bar. The barman grunted again as he collected the payment and returned to wiping not very clean glasses with not very clean rags.

Drink in hand, he turned to survey the bar again. He enjoyed people watching. The longer you observed a person for the better you got at judging their behaviour. That came in handy in Ezra’s line of work. And if he couldn’t quietly watch them, then he would talk as much as he could to them. At them, it usually ended up being. He could tell a lot about people based on how they responded to his stories and that helped him down the line when he needed to know who he could trust if - or when - things went south.

Out of the corner of his eye something bright caught his attention. He turned to see a woman sitting at the end of the bar by herself. She had a shock of bright red curly hair covered by a hood, which would explain why Ezra had missed her on his way in, but that now stood out like a neon sign. She had a drink and a book open in front of her. He watched her reading for a moment and while she appeared to not want, or need, company, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk to someone who may have an interesting story to tell. He had lost count of the days since he had conversed meaningfully with another person.

He approached her and sat at the other angle of the bar next to her. Her eyes flicked up to him for a second, then back to her book. 

“Forgive the intrusion, but you have piqued my curiosity by reading a book at a bar when there are so many interesting beings here to observe. I must know what it is that is so engrossing.” Not his best opening line, but he’s used worse.

The woman slowly raised her head to meet Ezra’s eyes. She studied him for a moment, her eyes wandering down to his right shoulder, then back up to his face. Ezra was used to people being distracted by the missing limb. It usually got surreptitious, side-ways glances. More often than not, it was left unaddressed. Which suited him just fine. Recounting the story was not something he enjoyed doing. 

The woman continued to gaze at him, as if she was waiting for him to continue. He cleared his throat, “my name is Ezra,” he said and pressed his hand to his chest by way of introduction, hoping it would spur the woman on to talk. She didn’t, though she looked thoughtful, as if she was carefully considering her response. After a moment's further silence, Ezra decided she was a lost cause and moved to excuse himself. “I have clearly interrupted you, I’ll leave you to your book.” He went to stand when the woman spoke:

“I’ll tell you my name… if you tell me how you lost your arm.” she said plainly.

Ezra tried to hide how taken aback he was. But her candid approach was refreshing and he felt compelled to tell her… almost…

“Oooooh, this is a story of great heroics on my part,” he said gesturing to his missing arm. “Many people are alive today thanks to my heroic actions.”

A small smile played on her lips and she leaned forward with interest. “A story of heroics? I would never have guessed!” Ezra noted the sarcasm but continued nonetheless.

“Indeed. Though I try to stay humble, of course.” He might as well go all in and play up to the woman’s expectations. 

She huffed out a small laugh, humouring him. “Of course.”

“I was on Kapria-1, a dull little planet with no culture to speak of but spectacular deposits of an ore that is highly sought after in the outer systems. Terribly valuable stuff due in no small part to it being a tough bastard of a thing to extract. Time consuming, complicated and requiring specialty tools that are themselves, complicated to use. But the rewards far outweigh the tedious chore of obtaining it.” He paused for effect and to see if the woman would refute any of his story so far. She didn’t. He continued.

“The only other thing Kapria-1 is known for is the wildlife. Namely, a vicious creature called a Fanger.”

“A Fanger?” She replied, not bothering to hide her utter disbelief. 

“A Fanger,” Ezra confirmed in all seriousness. He wasn’t proud of the name he’d just made up, but he was thinking on the fly and went with the first name that came to him, regardless of how ridiculous it sounded. But he was committed to this story now so continued unabated. “Like I said, they are vicious. The locals call them hell-hounds. On all fours they stand as tall as a man’s shoulders. Eyes that burn bright red and a mouth full of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen. A beast not to be reckoned with. They will attack anything in their sights and tear a man limb from limb in seconds. However, they are nocturnal creatures, so provided you are sheltered safely and securely after dark they should be no cause for concern."

Despite herself, the woman seemed genuinely engrossed in the story now. As Ezra paused again she took a sip of her drink and said "I gather the next part involves you getting stranded out after dark." 

"You anticipate correctly!" 

"Go on then," she said encouragingly. 

"Well. I found myself working with a fairly green group of diggers. Had only done a few rotations on the planet previously, but they were an enthusiastic lot. Our time keeper misjudged how long we were in the tunnels for and when we emerged we were just in time to see the sun sinking below the horizon. We argued about whether it would be best to stay in the tunnels for the night, or risk the journey back to camp. Nights of Kapria are cold and we had no provisions. And despite the tunnels running deep, there was nothing to prevent a determined Fanger from sniffing us out. So it was decided we would make the journey back to safety. We had no weapons to speak of, but armed ourselves with the heaviest and sharpest tools we had at our disposal. I chose a small but hefty pickaxe. We took off with as much haste as we could muster, trying to keep quiet and not draw attention to ourselves. But the beasts have aural and olfactory capabilities that far eclipse our own, so it was only a matter of time. Just as our camp came into sight, we heard it. A distinctive snarl that stopped us in our tracks. Before we could even run we saw it looming. A giant figure stalked towards us, jaws slung with bloody slaver, eyes lit by the fires of Hades’ eternal damned Kingdom. It picked up pace and we knew we had no chance of outrunning it so I did the only thing I could do; I ran directly at it. If I could take its attention myself then maybe the rest of my crew could escape.” 

Ezra felt a twinge of guilt at this point. He’d never done anything so selfless in all his life! It hardly mattered at this point, as he neared the end of his outlandish story. The woman, for her part, appeared genuinely interested in the story now. Which was not entirely surprising, Ezra knew he had skill when telling a story, no matter how unbelievable. Still. Her hand still rested on her open book, marking her place as though she was not entirely committed to this conversation, and was ready to return to reading as soon as she tired of his outrageous claims. She raised an expectant eyebrow, “...And?”

“Well it worked. The beast lunged at me and sunk its fangs right into my arm as I tried to shield myself. It pinned me to the ground with one of it’s massive paws, claws digging into my flesh. In a vain effort to save myself I smashed the pickaxe into the side of it’s head as hard as I could. I kept hitting it, over and over, all the while I could feel it’s teeth shredding my flesh and bone. I must have made some impact because it decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of a head injury and bounded away into the night. The rest of my team dragged me the short distance back to camp, but my arm was too damaged to save. Luckily we had a few members with medic experience and, with our limited supplies, they managed to remove the damaged limb and patch me up. Not the prettiest job, but it did the trick, and I owe my life to them. I hitched a ride off the planet the next day and never looked back.” He downed what drink remained in his glass, punctuating the end of his story. He was quietly rather proud of spinning such fine fiction on the fly.

“Well. That is an impressive tale of bravery and loss.” The woman remarked.

“And I believe it has earned your name.”

A sly smile appeared on her lips. “Holly Golightly, pleased to meet you.”

Ezra tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Now I may be just a floater from the Fringes, but I have read a book or two in my time and I know when I’m given a name taken straight from the pages of classic literature.”

She smiled more broadly. “Fake stories get you fake names, Ezra. If you’d care to tell me the real story, you might earn yourself my real name.” As if to signify her seriousness, she closed her book and folded her hands on it, awaiting his response.

Ezra considered for a moment. He didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about the events that led to losing his arm, let alone telling the tale to a stranger in a bar. But the woman intrigued him with her flame red hair and her forthright questions and he was curious to get to know more about her. Starting with her name. He signalled the barman and jiggled his empty glass at him indicating a refill was desired. He’d need more alcohol for this. They both waited in patient silence while the barman sloshed more amber liquid into his glass. When Ezra had taken a large gulp, he was ready.

“I was on Bakhroma Green,” he started. The woman sucked a breath in through her teeth. If people knew of it, they knew it was a dangerous place. Not just because of the toxic spores, but because the people who typically made the journey there these days were desperate and toxic themselves. She clearly knew of the moon’s reputation so Ezra did not need to go into details. “While the rush was over long ago, I figured I’d try my luck, see what was still left down there. If you’re lucky, it’s worth the risk of a visit. Unfortunately, owing to a dispute with my crew, I was left crewless, shipless and stranded. My only hope of getting off that rock was to find passage with another crew. Unfortunately there aren’t a lot of other harvesters willing to make space. Lotta trust issues. A case of Aurelac can make a man do desperate things. I thought my luck had run out, but then I stumbled across a father and his teenage daughter. I’ve never seen a girl so young down there. When I couldn’t bargain my way on to their pod, we struck a deal. The man was on his way to meet some mercenaries who claimed they’d found the Queen’s Lair - a most sought after, yet hitherto undiscovered deposit of the gem. Regrettably, greed got the better of him before we reached our destination and he attempted to relieve me of my own hard-earned case. A firefight ensued, leaving him and my partner dead, and his daughter fleeing back to their pod. I figured the girl was still my best hope of getting off the planet so I set out to find her. I eventually caught up with her, only to find her pod incapacitated and smoking and when I attempted to breach the entrance, I took a thrower bolt to the shoulder. She was feisty, I’ll give her that…” 

Ezra smiled and the memory of his and Cee’s first meeting. While at the time he was in pain and exasperated with her, he admired her tenacity and cool-headed negotiation skills. He’d never seen a girl in the green at all, but he’d never met a girl like Cee, period. The woman’s expression had changed from one of mild amusement to genuine interest. She waited intently for Ezra to continue, her brow knitted slightly in concentration. 

“She gave me a field kit to patch up my shoulder and we got to finding a mutually beneficial agreement to get us both off the moon. She could have taken me out then and there as recompense for my hand in her father’s death, but fortunately for me, she concluded I was her best bet at getting off the planet alive. We reached an accord wherein she would lead me to the mercenaries, and I would act as harvester in order for us to bargain our way onto their ship. Seemed a straightforward enough plan. However after walking for some time, it became apparent the toxic dust had made its way into my shoulder wound causing it to suppurate. By chance, we stumbled across a lone Sater who led us to his camp. We didn’t have much to trade, and Sater are notoriously difficult to deal with, but I didn’t have much choice; I could feel infection taking hold. I offered what little we had in exchange for medical supplies to treat my wound, but they had other plans. Their leader offered medical supplies and a great deal of Aurelac… in exchange for the girl.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes wide. She was genuinely invested in the story now. "So what did you do?" she asked in awe. 

"Well, I knew that no matter how much Aurelac I had, if I couldn't get off that planet, I'd have no chance to make use of its value. And since the girl was my only way to find the mercs and my last shot at getting on a ship, I couldn't make that deal. The idea of what those religious zealots would do to her made my stomach turn. As I was buying time to come up with a counter offer, my young friend made other plans. She took off running as quick as she could. She was fast enough that she was out of sight before they managed to catch her. I cannot fault her for her actions though. She had no reason to believe I wouldn't sell her out. To her I was just a thief and a murderer using her to get a ride home. In truth, I was growing quite fond of her and had no intentions of allowing harm to befall her. Without her though, I was useless to the Sater and they ejected me from their camp with nothing. I staggered through the thick forest of the planet, filter spent, arm septic and painful, until I came to an abandoned prospecting camp. With what little supplies that were left I attempted to excise the infected flesh, but I only made it worse. My options were two: die painfully and slowly as the infection spread, or amputate the affected limb before it got into my blood.” 

The woman now looked somewhat horrified. Her eyes moved down to his shoulder again, then back up to his eyes. Mixed in with the horror was something else: pity. Another reason Ezra didn’t like telling the story, or even talking about it, really. People ended up feeling sorry for him and he hated it. An heroic story of sacrificing his arm to a giant, fanged beast in order to save his crew garnered him much less pity, even if it was obviously a fabrication. But there it was in her eyes, unmistakable. “So… how did you do it?” she asked, with some trepidation.

“I knew I could not manage it on my own, so in desperation I put a call out on the radio hoping that someone in the vicinity would hear me. I cycled through all the channels just hoping I would reach anyone, as risky as it was to broadcast my location in a place where most people's intentions are justifiably self-preservatory. Just as I began to lose hope, I heard someone approach. Weak as I was, I waited by the door of the tent to surprise them should I judge them dangerous at first glance. The tent unzipped and a blaster poked through first, which I grabbed before tugging it’s owner into the tent and shoving them to the floor. You cannot imagine my surprise when I saw who it was: the young girl. Filter spent and near starving. I had no idea if she would help; she still had no reason to trust me, though when she asked if I would have left her to the Sater I told her truthfully I would not have. She must have believed me because she agreed to help. With nothing but a syrette of anaesthetic for me and a small e-scalpel for her, she got the job done. Didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. Cool, calm and collected, the whole time.” He shook his head and smiled, remembering just how levelheaded Cee had been. He’d been so impressed. “I, on the other hand, was a babbling mess.” He chuckled. 

The woman held up a hand to interject. “Do you mean to tell me that a teenage girl cut off your arm in a dirty tent with only a scalpel and a single injection of pain relief?”

“That is the truth, yes.”

“Well, first of all, this story is way more interesting than some tale of beasts and heroics!”

Ezra chuckled. He knew it was, but that didn’t ease his discomfort in telling it. The woman shook her head in astonishment. “So… what happened? Did you find the mercs? Did you find the Aurelac deposit??”

Ezra nodded. “We did. We finally located them and after some hard bargaining we secured passage on their ship in return for harvesting the Aurelac they’d found. It was indeed a bountiful site.” Ezra knew he was seriously skipping over some details of the final part of the story, but she had asked how he had lost his arm, not about the scar on his chest, that still, to this day, ached in the cold. He rubbed at the scar absently as he thought about the last, few, horrifying events on the moon before they finally escaped. This woman did not need to know that he couldn’t harvest one-handed. That they had had to resort to shooting their way out. That he had received a stab wound to the chest and then used a scalpel to the throat in bloody retaliation. That he had watched Cee run into the darkness after he insisted she get off the moon while she still could, only to have her return to him and save his life. Again. The sadness and relief he felt when he saw her and she sprayed his wound with the cream and helped him to the ship. No. She didn’t need to know these details. They were for Ezra alone.

As it was, the woman’s mouth hung open in awe. “And… what happened to the girl?”

Ezra downed the last of his drink and smiled sadly. He missed Cee. He had grown accustomed to her presence in his life and enjoyed being her guardian, as surprised as he was by this. The woman took this response to mean the worst.

“Kevva, I’m so sorry, I--”

Ezra shook his head adamantly and held up his hand, “no, no. She’s fine. She attends a boarding school back in Central. Brightest in her year. We exchange correspondence every week, her missives filled with stories and details of her life and school, far more interesting and colourful than the stories I’ve told tonight. I think she’ll publish a book before she’s even graduated.” He couldn’t hide how proud he was of her.

The woman smiled and it was the first genuine smile Ezra had seen from her all night. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. Eyes that were now filled not with pity, or doubt as they had earlier, but with understanding and kindness. She held out her left hand to better shake his. “Ezra, I’m Ida.” 

Ezra took her hand. “Ida. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, do you have any harrowing tales you would like to recount in return?”

She let out a loud laugh and tossed her head back, her flaming hair swishing under her hood. “Let’s have another drink and see where the night takes us.” She flagged down the barman.

Ezra figured that if he thought about it, there was a lesson to be learned here about the benefits that honesty and discomfort brings, but for now he was happy just to enjoy Ida’s company a while longer.

#Prospect 2018 #ezra prospect #fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

[haljathefangirlcat]

MOR mozalieri angst and galadred jb 👀

OH MY GOD ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU’RE INTO MOR TOO SDFGHJKLSDFGHJKLK

... ahem. These are both really short because I jotted them down as a spur of the moment thing  and I have absolutely no idea when or if I’ll actually make something out of them. So I’m just gonna post everything I wrote for them since it counts as “a little snippet” anyway, lol.

The first one is angsty af and entirely the fault of that part of L'Assasymphonie where Salieri is playing with the knife while ranting about his impostor syndrome and his inferiority complex. Uh, and Le Bien Qui Fait Mal, too, but that goes without saying. If it ever went anywhere, it would probably include very pained love/professional admiration confessions, a idiots in love/mutual pining “wait, no, I’m pining for you but you wouldn’t even look at me!” “are you kidding me, I’m the one pining but I thought you hated me!” moment, and PLENTY of hurt/comfort. I have absolutely no idea about anything else, though, because I don’t even know where or when even the scene I came up with is set... which would be a pretty important thing to know, from a practical standpoint, tbh.

TW FOR SELF-HARM AND VIOLENT IMAGERY

He’d only ever thought of what it was like to love like that. To feel the bright-bladed knife plunge and twist and dig inside his chest, tenderly cut through quivering flesh and sinew, saw his ribcage open to open up his heart to the burning beauty and white-hot light streaming in from above. To seek that pain and hide away from that pleasure, and curse the man who was the cause of both while cursing himself for letting him hold such power over him, for loving him and for hating him, for always failing to live up to him, to be like him.

He’d never spared one thought to consider what it might be like to be loved like that. To be made aware that your very existence was a spring of endless suffering for one who claimed to feel an ever-growing affection for you, to be made into an obsession in the black of night and an ivory idol bathed in golden sunrises, to become an inescapable curse. To have that much power, and not rejoice in it or even want it. To not be cruel enough to stomach it.

Mozart didn’t need to mock him with his brash laugh or hurl cold words at him. It was the softness in his voice that made guilt well up in his gut like pouring venom into a bowl until it overflowed; it was the sadness in his gaze that cooled his heart until he shivered. It was his own shame at himself, washing over him once again in new, sudden, crashing waves for new, sudden, piercing reasons, that brought him down on his knees, brought his head in his hands.

And Mozart, he came down to him. He lowered himself and crouched on the floor to reach him. Put his arms around his shoulders for a moment, then drew back and took Salieri’s wrists in his hands, holding them gently, gingerly. Scared, or disgusted, or perhaps just careful not to stain himself with his blood. It was starting to cool. It felt sticky, dirty.

«Come with me,» Mozart said, and drew Salieri’s hands away from his face. Some distant part of Salieri’s mind felt he should not allow that so easily, but the rest of him just felt tired, so he did. How strange that even though he was the one shaking, his breath ragged and hitching, it should be Mozart to cry. He wanted to laugh at the sight, but found he couldn’t. He could only let himself be dragged up to his feet, and then into a chair when he started feeling lightheaded.

He even obediently raised his hand and stayed put as Mozart ran to fetch warm water, soap, and clean cloth.

The second one is, once again, inspired by one of your fics. ;) Remember when you wrote that artist!Jaime/tattoo artist!Brienne fic where they bonded over Arthurian characters and I was like, “someone should introduce both of them to the concept of Galahad/Mordred because they’d love it so much for their own different reasons?” Ideally, this should be the fic where they actually get introduced to it... if it ever went somewhere.

The basic plot would be: “Jaime was overjoyed when he found out he could pour his old love for all things Arthurian AND his passion for drawing into fandom. His first fanart were all very dramatic, very romantic Mists of Avalon -inspired Arthur/Morgana pieces because he identified with that due to his ‘fated’ relationship with C., but as that started to go sour, he branched out into edgy, purposefully badwrong Arthur/Morgause stuff. Eventually, he found out about Galahad/Mordred and got really into the whole ‘doomed man on the path to making all the wrong choices finds redemption through connecting with another misfit with a high moral drive and noble nature who may have his own issues but believes there’s something good in him for some reason’ aspect of it. That’s when Brienne, budding fanwriter mostly into gen stuff due to romance bringing back bad memories, found his art and unexpectedly got hooked to the whole ‘noble-hearted and justice-loving misfit can’t really connect with anyone on a deeper level until he meets snarky, sad not-so-doomed man who actually sees HIM beyond both the brave knight thing and the ‘will never fit in anyway’ thing’ aspect. Now, they regularly chat through comments and tags and the occasional message. But things get more complicated when Jaime, who actually lost a hand in an incident years ago and had to relearn to draw after that while suffering the ableism of the usual suspects, finds the courage to post selfies on his blog both with and without his prosthetic hand to show the world and himself that the hardships he had to overcome don’t mean he’s less of a person or less of an artist or less in any way. That’s when Brienne goes from finding him interesting and funny and actually pretty charming to finding him HOT. Which scares her a whole lot due to her past experiences. But that’s okay because they’ll never see each other irl anyway, right? Unless they find out they actually live in the same city and Jaime asks her to meet to work on a collaboration they’ve been thinking of for a while but never really got to work on until now...”

And here’s what I currently have:

But then Mordred is staring at him again with those too-green eyes of his, except that this time there’s no mockery or coldness in them, and Galahad’s been warned again and again not to get too close to him and he’s been told over and over that he can’t trust him, but now he thinks that maybe, maybe he really does understand –

 Brienne stares at her screen. She actually described Mordred’s eyes as gray. Didn’t she? Usually, she picks dark gray, or dark brown, or dark. And yet, in this one story, they’re suddenly green.

Okay, time to take a break from revising. She gets up from her chair, rolls back her shoulders, and goes to grab a snack and a glass of water. She tries not to wonder what’s gotten into her – but she doesn’t really need to anyway, because she has a feeling she already knows.

Not that there’s anything bad about it. In a way, it only makes sense. He’s the artist who got her into the ship in the first place, and they’ve had a few pleasant conversations in the notes to his posts and, eventually, in the comments to her fics. So, it’s not that big of a deal if she associates him with these characters. And… well, recently he’s started posting selfies on his tumblr. And fine, she might have some sort of pathetic little celebrity crush – is that even the right term? Is he a Tumblr celebrity? – on him. Truth to be told, it’s not even as pathetic as the crushes she’s had when she was still in school, because at least he’s never insulted her or made fun of her looks, and she’s reasonably sure he wouldn’t even if he ever had the chance to. Which he won’t get, but anyway…

Anyway.

Apparently, the lines might blur when she’s distracted. Big deal.

#wip meme #my fic #otp: on se reverra #janiedean #ask

[alyssa-ward]

Return to the End

[ Following Bared and Stolen Souls ]

Anger. Panic. Frustration. Pain. It all came flooding through as the link ripped violently open without so much as a 'Hello, how are you?'.  It’s a shock to the woman in the dagger, snapping her attention to Riley as the single word comes through in Alyssa’s mind. "Fuck..."

"What happened?" Alyssa, still reeling from the mental assault of Riley’s emotions, she lets her own worry come through.  The last thing she remembered was Riley telling her they were getting the soul tonight.  Clearly that’s gone wrong.

"You remember how I said 'if everything goes according to plan blah, blah, blah..." Laughter both heard and felt with a dark undertone that puts Alyssa on edge. "Well, that was my first mistake. The second - and this one's a doozy - was assuming that insufferable prick's bodyguard had turned in for the night after the shift change. Because of course, the one fucking night he doesn't..." More laughter, but the pain is still visible, audible too in an exhaled sigh. "Plans change, we adapt, we survive." The words spoken like a mantra, repeated over a couple times before she regained her focus.

"Can we just kill the bodyguard too?" Alyssa interrupts the repeated mantra, trying to not let too much of her concern or thoughts show through the link. But she's worried.  If Riley dies here, this is the end of it.  Enough to make someone think they might be cursed. "I can make use of both...you okay? Hurt?" She pushes off the stump with the wolf, and a moment later she's standing before Riley's soul, studying it for harm.

"Just took a lucky shot, I'll be fine," the reply is pained, but it doesn’t seem overly labored. "Didn't even make it to the mark before this bastard blindsided me," and then quieter, as though not directed at Alyssa "...throws punches like a damn Gronn..." "The bastard's big, but he's slow. I've been leading him to the outskirts - figure that'll save me from having to dispose of a small giant in the middle of the city." Another pause to slow her breathing and better clear her thoughts. "You ready in there..?"

"Don't die on me, I'll start to think carrying me around is bad luck," after deciding there's nothing she can do for Riley's soul she returns to the clearing, already gathering power into herself. "I'm ready. He might still try to take a few swings after you cut him but he'll go down fast."

"Me? I'm too stubborn to die." A lighthearted joke in the midst of chaos is almost too appropriate for the woman delivering it. "As for our oversized friend, I'm not too worried ab-..." Riley's words cut jarringly short, but the link remains open.  Whatever just happened, she’s still holding the dagger. A flash of blinding rage in the wake of sudden shock, and then the link starts to flicker, weakening in waves that become increasingly more pronounced with each second that ticks by. 

“Riley?” Alyssa’s worry rises and flares as the connection wanes.  She’d only meant the death thing as a joke.  "Riley stay with me. Don't you die on me. I don't want to have to explain to Kat at the end of this that I got her friend killed."

There’s a distinct lack of fear from the other side. Instead, an almost eerie sense of calm, felt even as the connection continues to wane, and in that surprisingly serene break in the chaos, Riley's voice comes through her thoughts, clear as day. "Hope you're okay with a bit more than a cut..."

Relief across the link from the warlock as the voice comes back through. "More than okay, just get me his blood."

And then the action requested comes through clear as a bell.

The trees in the Darkened Woods of Alyssa’s mind part.  As every time before, the vibrancy of the soul the blade has stabbed into is intoxicating.  Her mind blanks, hands thrown outward to entangle the bodyguard’s revealed soul in chains of fel and soul magic, purples and greens leashing her hands to the very essence of the man.

Whatever happens outside of the blade is lost to the Warlock.  Even Riley’s soul dims at the corners of her vision as she puts single minded focus forward.  She can feel the man’s suffering as she tears out his soul, the chains binding and tightening as it condenses and draws into her extended palms, forming yet another perfect little purple crystal.

Alyssa stares down at the crystal in her hands, shoulders trembling as she has once again given in to her addictions.  Riley’s voice, raspy now, snaps her out of it. "Will it work..?" The question ended with a grunt, and the trees to the now empty clearing that was the bodyguard close once more.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out. It's going to take some work to separate the usable stuff out of this. His soul is not a very bright one." the reply is distracted, Aly’s mind is already racing with next steps.

"Sorry about that..." Riley murmers, her voice straining with the effort before she returns to purely mental communication. "If there's nothing salvageable, I'll find something better," tone is cold, but not disingenuous. "Otherwise, we continue with the plan, and make our way to Uldum."

"Agreed," Alyssa replies. "How long will it take you to travel? I couldn't even estimate how long this will take me, because...time and all." Her inability to determine durations from within the dagger goes unsaid. "I'm going to strip this soul apart, I'll fuel myself with the bad parts, nothing will go to waste. Whatever good there is in here, I'll see if it can strengthen the wolf." A pause before she adds, "I'm sorry Riley. There's every chance I could be wrong about all of this. I could be misunderstanding what Kat sent me. This may not work at all but I don't have many ideas."

"I've got a connection that'll set me up with a portal, so I could be there as early as tomorrow morning. From there, it'll take some time to travel to the right camp, but I figure... if we can just find her, we might be able to buy a little time for you to utilize whatever tricks you've got up your sleeves." A pause. "Metaphorical sleeves, of course." The attempt at levity seems to cut through her previously chilled tone in favor of something slightly more welcoming. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, Alyssa. Not as far as I'm concerned, at least. If this doesn't work, we'll just have to figure out something that will. It's as simple, and as complicated as that."

"It's nice to work with someone who shares my feelings on the impossible. If nothing else works I will find my way into the Shadowlands and pull her out myself. She's not gone. I don't accept it." Riley's levity, and determination makes her smile, a warmth that can be felt across the link through the weapon. "We'll figure something out. Simple and complicated as that," she echoes the other woman's words, finding a liking for them.

"Seems stubbornness is a trait we share in spades," Riley’s reply makes Alyssa smile to herself.

About to end the conversation, to turn focus fully to the soul, something else strikes Alyssa.  Something put off too long. "Could you do a favour for me, before you leave Stormwind? We are in Stormwind right?"

"Your tab's starting to add up, Alyssa," Riley’s tone is teasing, but it’s not unfounded either.  Alysa already owes a great debt to this woman. "You name it, and I'll do what I can."

"I'll pay it if I'm ever alive to make good," amusement bleeds from the Warlock in return, before her tone sobers. "When I died, my home burned down. It was a...cautionary measure. I don't think my brother knows what happened to me, he's been left with nothing but the mystery. Could you have a letter delivered? Just something simple. Alyssa is okay, she misses you, she'll be back eventually, something nice like that?"

A somber sense of understanding emanates from Riley's side of the link then, and her gentle nod is almost felt. "Of course. You tell me where it needs to go, and it'll be done."

"Thank you. He's lost enough, he shouldn't have to lose his sister too. Not yet." Appreciation can be felt in return. She gives the address, a townhouse in Old Town near the fountain, and the name, Damien Ward.

"I'll make sure he knows you're still here, until you're able to tell him yourself." There's a faint flicker of hope in Riley's tone, despite the many uncertainties that lie before them. That handled, the subject turns back to the most pressing matter. "I'll give you some space to get to work while I take care of things out here, and check in with you once everything's in order. Yeah?"

"Yeah, I appreciate that. I'll let you know too if I make any breakthroughs. You make a good partner...we'll find her." As much for herself as for Riley, as her attention shifts off the conversation and onto the soulstone she now holds. Splitting apart a person's soul into its base elements is taxing work, and a slip up could cause whatever she has to escape into the shadowlands, so for now, she is silent and focused.

Theory and practice are very different things.  Alyssa finds as she works that if this were the real world, if she was in her physical form, this task may be wholly impractical.  “Y’really not goin’ t’elp me even a little are you?”  She asks the wolf, without looking up from her work. The soul shard now dances through the air, shattered into a million little motes of flickering crystal shards, like glitter on the air of her consciousness.  If she truly breathed, rather than the false life she lives in her dagger prison, she would inhale the dust of it, but here it is safe.

Though she can’t extract actual memories from a soul, what she can see is intent.  The glittering motes of the bodyguards soul are washes of intent.  She begins the slow process of work, hands extended out to manipulate.  The bits of colour dance about with subtle gestures of fingertips.  Steady concentration slowly separates the motes out into clusters along a timeline, capturing bits and pieces of brighter light from childhood, from times of innocence.  Darker along the ends of a life lived in sin and anger, of dark deeds.  A flick of her wrist motions the entire back half of the man’s life to coalesce into a ball of inky dark glitter that drifts into her palm and is simply absorbed.  The wolf won’t need those parts, but she can use them for strength.

Sifting through the rest she pulls on moments of intense emotion.  On the hints of a first kiss.  On the warm memory of a mother caring for a sick son.  On the thrill of freedom of a first coin made honestly.  These glittering bits and pieces she plucks from the myriad array of crystalline fragments before her, slowly and painstakingly pulling every drop of goodness and light and justice out of this battered soul that she can.  

Some motes darken at her touch, her own corruption bleeding through and ruining them, those she absorbs for herself, redoubling her efforts to create a small clean pure soul.

It feels like it’s been days.  A week or more.  Of every moment digging through the atoms of the universe that made up this man.  It can’t possibly have been though.  If so much time has passed, Riley would have stopped her, chimed in.  Regardless of the true passage of time, Alyssa holds, floating above her palm a small crystal, all but radiating light to a near painful degree.  More pure and just than any soul has any right to be, let alone one from the source she took it from.

The freshly born have done more wrong and seen more trauma than what she holds now.

The moment of truth, Alyssa approaches the sleeping wolf with shaking steps.  “Y’ready f’this?  I’m countin’ on you t’take it and do...somethin’.  Anythin’.”  Her hands extend out, floating the crystal towards the wolf, carefully not touching it lest she taint it with her own essence.  The glowing crystal presses against the white wolf, and then sinks into it as Alyssa’s woven magic infuses it into the creature

A glow begins beneath the fur of the white wolf, beginning from somewhere inside and then radiating along its body, rippling beneath white and grey with a brilliant light.  Aly finds herself covering her eyes against it, a grin lighting lips, excitement as something begins to happen.

And then her face falls.  The energy infused burns away, eaten up by the sleeping creature.  It dims, fades, and puffs away, and all the hard work is gone.  The moments of painstaking extraction snuffed out in a small puff, with no sign or trace of the magic she put into it.

Alyssa sighs, slumping down to the forest floor to rest head against the log, and await the next time she sees Riley’s soul visible in the woods.

"Riley? I don't have good news," time has passed, who knows how much, but the woods part, Riley’s soul revealed, the link re-established.  Alyssa wastes no time.  Her voice dejected and lost.

Clear hesitance from Riley. Not surprising. "I'm afraid to ask..." she finally says, bracing for what's to come.

"It won't hold the energy," the news could be worse. Alyssa didn’t kill the wolf. She didn’t take away any shred of hope, and yet, she feels in many ways like there is none. "There was some reaction, but then it simply burned off what I put in and we're...back to where we were. Maybe more power? But I don't know how long we have to keep trying things. Best to just find her." The temptation to ask for more is there.  Kill a priest, a paladin, bring her a better soul, try something bigger...but she’s not ready for another failure, nor is their timeline.

The equivalent of a long, deep sigh could be felt, a definite sense of begrudging acceptance. "Of course..." It comes quietly, but Alyssa with their connection still hears it well enough. Still, the disappointment didn’t seem directed at her. "Alright. Alright- at least we know now, yeah?" Riley pauses, letting that small sliver of reassurance hang by a thread for a moment. "We'll stick with the plan. Get to Uldum, find her, and... whatever comes after that. If an opportunity arises between now and then to try for something a little stronger..?" Another pause. "Well, I've never been one to pass up a good opportunity..."

"That all suits," Alyssa certainly isn't defeated, but she'd hoped for a breakthrough. The lack of one shows in her tone. "Yes, if we get the chance at something stronger, we can take it. Otherwise...well if we find Kat we will go from there? I have no idea what to do Riley."

"We just need to focus on what we do know." Riley’s words make Alyssa smirk.  What they know isn’t much. "Take this whirlwind of shit one step at a time..." Once again, she seems to be making an attempt at convincing herself just as much as she was Aly. "Are you alright..?" The concern, for a moment, surprises Alyssa, but then, they do seem to be establishing a rapport. "I'm just about packed and ready to go, but... are you ready for this?"

"I appreciate you asking. I'm as alright as I can be. No harm done, I'm recharged a bit off what I took from that person if anything. I'm just...tired emotionally." As if that wasn't evident enough in her bleed into the link.

"At least something good came from all of that..." The sentiment in Riley’s words feel genuine, as opposed to leaning towards sarcasm. "You? How are those injuries?"

"I'm fine. I don't want to come off as a prick with the whole 'I've had it so much worse' routine, but... I really have had worse. Just a couple bruised ribs and a whopper of a headache."

"I actually don't think I can say that right now," some amusement about the situation comes through in Alyssa’s reply. "Surviving the end of Gilneas was close, but I think my current situation is about as bad as I've gotten." Being dead and trapped in a dagger is...its own sort of special.  

"Alright. I think you win this one..." An attempt at a lighthearted tease to add to their brief moment of levity before she also shifts her attention back to their looming journey.

Alyssa lets attention shift back to the topic most relevant, "I'm ready as I will be. I think it's on you now, I don't know what else I can do beyond supporting you until she's found."

"I've got everything squared away here. All that's left to do is lock up and head out - with any luck, I'll be ankle-deep in sand within the hour." This she does not seem happy about, despite her phrasing.

"Going to have to go see Uldum for real some day, if I ever get out of this. I've only ever been as a kitchen accessory," Alyssa's trying to stay light, it's easier that way. "I'm here. We'll get through this."

"Hey, for what it's worth, you make a good-looking knife - these engravings are gorgeous." Riley falls into a pattern of light banter as though it's second-nature. Perhaps it is. "Hold tight in there, Alyssa. I'll see you on the other side..." Perhaps a poor choice of words before the link is severed, given what they're about to walk into.

"Thanks. Good genetics," she jokes back. And then once more the link is gone, and Alyssa returns to waiting.

[ @blue-eyedraven ]

[ Mentions of @kat-hawke​ & @dardillien-ward​ ]

#ic #rp #the dagger #blue eyed blade #isolation

[cursed-ice-spirits]

The Selwyn Conversation

When a confrontation with a pureblood fanatic leads to Summer Charn ( @thecursedvaultchild ) slipping out she’s a Selwyn in front of Rebecca Lord, this brings in a few realizations about the truth of Rebecca’s family as she studied with the Slytherin late at night. So what happens?

An ache crawled across the back of her neck the longer she sat against the wall. Wincing, Rebecca rubbed it and tilted her head back, hearing small cracks snapping. Blowing her hair out of her face, she huffed down at the huge book set in front of her, her eyes flickering over to the clock. It was late enough that the library closed. At this rate, they won’t get anything done. 

She and Summer had teamed up together to research the Vaults on their own. Seeing as the library wasn’t an option and they had to continue studying, they were hidden away in her hideaway, pouring over books and making note of information important for their research. Rebecca would have an easier time but... the confrontation Summer had with the pureblood bigot kept drifting back to her mind. It bothered her enough that she found herself glancing back at Summer, not knowing how to bring it up. 

It’s not that she's angry Summer didn't tell her. She never cared about the Sacred Twenty-Eight and she doubted she ever will. It’s that Summer’s grandfather, Rodolfo Selwyn apparently, hired her to watch over his granddaughter. 

And she had no idea how to bring it up.

Is my family really important enough for a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to hire constantly? I can bet on a Noble family but a Sacred Twenty-Eight? I don’t know… Mum, I wish you can answer my questions. 

"I can feel you looking at me, Bex." 

Rebecca flinched, realizing she was staring a little too long. Caught. Of course. She wasn't being discreet. Dammit Lord, that's your entire job description. 

Summer didn’t look up from her note taking, her finger stopping at a line in the book, her quill jotting down a note. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, her wand stuck in it. She looked tired, tired enough that she didn’t have the strength to be bubbly and bright.  "And I can tell it's not because I'm so beautiful and you're in awe. I'm silver-haired from the curse, not blind with old age. What's grinding your gears?"

Letting out a breath, Rebecca’s hand slowly drew into a stop, carefully setting her quill down. "It's about earlier today. With that dick ranting about blood status? You said you were a Selywn."

Summer pursed her lips, not looking pleased she brought it up. "Yeah. I did. What about it?"

"Nothing. I just didn't know until today."

Rebecca knew Summer was from a noble family but... she had no idea she was from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. How to explain that her grandfather hired her to watch over her? How to explain she's from a family of assassins?

Summer shrugged, tapping the edge of her quill against the book restlessly. "Well, of course you wouldn't. That's my mum's name, not my da's. It's Summer Charn after all, not Summer Selwyn. I get enough attention for other things, I don't need to draw attention to my family."

“I can understand.” Rebecca bit her lip. Summer was probably curious. Rebecca never gave the impression that she cared about blood status, so what prompted this conversation? Should she answer that silent question? 

She debated for a while, before reluctantly giving in. Summer won't judge, won't she?

"My mum did business for noble families before she got ill," she said quietly, which was true. Her mother did do business for them. But as an assassin. "I've heard Selwyn thrown around a couple times, so I'm just curious. That's all."

Summer sighed, pushing the book away and leaning back. "That would explain a few things about you. And I'm not surprised, Grandda is involved in a lot of business of the families." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm more comfortable in Knockturn Alley than I'd ever openly admit. It's not… easy being from that kind of a family."

"I know. Mum always looks a little off after meeting with some of the families," Rebecca said, sounding tired. She's never allowed to sit in meetings with clients and the only reason she was allowed to hear Rodolfo out is because the assignment was for her specifically. 

About Summer. 

Summer fidgeted with her quill. "Yeah, the prestige and the expectations and the drama. It... it doesn't help that I'm the last of the Selwyn line. Grandda expects a lot of great things from me. I know he cares and he worries, but I just wish it wasn't, y'know, multiplied because of what family we are. It's nice to come here and get away from it all."

You have no idea how much, Summer, Rebecca thought, thinking of the assignment he gave her. You have no idea.

Rebecca released a shudder thinking about the training she went through. The summer before fourth year was fucking hell. Last summer was okayish but she still hated it enough that coming back here took a weight off her shoulders. 

"Here is great isn't it? We have friends here."

"It is." Summer looked over at Rebecca, a weak smile flashing over her face. "You're a Caldwell though. Things can't be very easy back home for you either."

Rebecca flinched violently. She didn’t tell Summer her mother’s surname. She opened her mouth to ask how she knew, until she remembered Rodolfo. 

Of course. If that man knew her mother as well as she suspected, and if Summer did mention her to him, then he would've heard about her mother’s marriage to her father, and recognize her surname. 

She snapped herself back to reality and relaxed her shoulders, leaning over her book and resting her chin in her palm, fingers grazing over her scars, hidden with charms. She thought of her Occlumency protecting her from the spirits, protecting her from her connection and sighed, shaking her head. "Not really."

Summer set down her quill and scooted closer. "Bex. Who hurts you? They've got a curse with their name on it." 

A surge of dread formed in her stomach. The conversation turned. To her. Great. Her face reddened with shame, keeping her eyes away. "It's nothing."

"Rebecca." Summer’s gaze was stern. It reminded her of Rodolfo, but warmer, which didn’t help. "You might not have realized it, but I'm observant. You abhor physical touch, you flinch when anyone puts their hands up, and you have a charm on your face. What's going on at home?"

"Who the hell told you about the hand part, Ethren?" Rebecca grumbled, folding her arms and remembering the argument she and Ethren had about the Ice Vault. 

"Don't blame, Eth. The dunderhead doesn't even realize when he gives stuff away to me. It's both infuriating and endearing." 

"Of course he did," Rebecca sighed in slight fondness. "It's just..." She paused, risking a glance at her friend, "Things were not okay after my brother left. Not at all."

Summer gently placed an arm around her. Rebecca paused, then allowed herself to lean into her. They’ve been friends long enough that she felt comfortable enough that she didn’t feel the need to flinch away. 

"I see." Her gaze turned distant. "Close relatives causing trouble is never fun. Always complications."

Rebecca stared down at her feet. "Yeah it sucks." 

She started this whole thing wanting her family back. She remembered being a first year; angry, traumatized, desperate, desiring to get her family back at all costs, thinking that if she gets Jacob back—everything will be okay…

How naive she was. 

"You're my friend, Bex,” Summer spoke, her voice soft. “If you ever need anything, just let me know. I wear a lot of hats. Hopefully at least one of them is useful to you."

Rebecca shifted and turned to her, cracking a tiny smile. "Thanks but I'll be fine. I've survived this long, I can survive another year." 

She’s been through hell. She has an ice curse but… She's not dead, that's a bonus. 

A trace of a frown flashed over Summer’s face. "Fine isn't happy and healthy, Bex. But... I know when to stop pushing. I can see I can't change your mind." Then the frown faded and she smiled faintly back.

"Thank you, but like I said, I'll be fine," she insisted. There’s no way in hell she’s telling Summer about her home life. There’s no way. She had talked about it exactly once before and that was a special case that was not going to be repeated.

 "Let's continue studying okay? This won't finish on its own."

Summer bit her lip. "Just... promise me you're not going to spread around that I'm a Selwyn. I trust you won't, but… People just don't need to know."

There was no hesitation on her part. Rebecca mimicked zipping her lips, smiling. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I've been keeping my curse a secret from everyone for so long after all. Besides, I'm Caldwell. I wouldn't want that passed around."

Summer chuckled. "All right, let's finish this studying."

#this one has.... slightly more tea tehe #rebecca lord #summer charn #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfic #hphm fanfiction #hphm fic #lunar writes

[quidfree]

Hi! Thinking of Dumbledore + Sirius, do you think Sirius would feel sympathy for Dumbledore if he knew about how torn he was btw his siblings + feeling trapped? I judged him harshly at first, but now I think about the difficulty about losing both parents + sibling, but not wanting to sacrifice everything to step in as parent + guilt that comes with that. I do think Dumbledore loved his siblings + I was happy when his bro said he did a good job with their sis before her death.

hi! this is an interesting one hm

the thing abt dumbledore is that i’m pretty sympathetic to him all things considered- i’ve never really taken the time to explain my feelings about him on here but i definitely don’t think he’s snape levels of “fandom should see he’s irredeemably terrible!”, though i have a lot of qualms about him. he’s certainly not the hero rowling thinks he is, but he’s also not the guy rita skeeter says he is, to put it succintly.

on the one hand, i do think canon mostly fails to acknowledge that he was very manipulative/calculating and made a lot of very cold (or just plain terrible) choices- everything to do with sirius, for one, as well as the whole dursley situation. i know there’s a couple of reasons harry had to live with them (supposedly...) and i can’t be bothered to go into them, but even then i never understood why he couldn’t have done to petunia what he does in OOTP (?) sooner- send a letter to scare the shit out of her and remind her to treat harry decently or at least leave him to his own devices. like, there was so much he could have done in the years between the potters’ deaths and hogwarts- that squib neighbour was already spying/reporting for him, so he was fully aware of it all, idk. i just find that whole thing exemplary of his callousness. it’s more unforgivable to me than raising harry knowing he might need to die for the cause- because that was necessary to defeat voldemort, but giving harry an escape from abuse was so avoidable. his handling of other characters also doesn’t paint him in the best light, sirius as most obvious suspect- there’s a good piece on tumblr about sirius being a liability in his eyes because he’s not loyal to dumbledore or his cause above all else, but to the potters (and ultimately harry) and his own code, and i really think it’s the best reading of dumbledore’s handling of sirius in OOTP, because i always found that kind of insane. it’s brain-dead obvious that the worst thing to do with sirius (especially if you were worried about his unhinged state and whatnot) would be sticking him in grimmauld place- even if they had to keep him hidden, they could have let him floo between order hideouts! see other people! prowl london as a dog! it’s insane that dumbledore of all people would be that dumb about it, so it makes the most sense to me as him locking sirius up where he’s the most contained.

on the other hand, dumbledore was both a quirky schoolmaster and a wartime militia leader, and i think a lot of the weirdness in his character is bc rowling set out to write a much more child-like series than she ended up writing. dumbledore is a pretty iconic guy in the books, manipulations included- he’s such a chessmaster, and he has flair, as kingsley would put it. most importantly he clearly tries very hard to orchestrate the best possible outcome for the entire world- not based on arbitrary beliefs or personal whims, but because he’s sort of the main bastion of hope in the wizarding world. i don’t necessarily think his actions in this context are all excusable, but he’s a war-time leader, and pretty much knows it’s all down to him- although the order is certainly competent, it’s a very ragtag group of people dumbledore holds together, and in terms of skill, knowledge and aura he’s their biggest asset. he’s already been through a wizarding war where he probably set out to murder the love of his life, another wizard supremacist wackjob! we know he’s long past egoism- he’s genuinely For The Greater Good, and he clearly cares about harry; his choices are undoubtedly not made lightly. it’s also important to note just how bad wizarding society as a whole is on these issues- even the most muggle-friendly wizards are remarkably ignorant about them (arthur weasley), and everyone else is at least marginally bigoted; bigotry is built into the fabric of their society, and their government is extemely complacent/corrupt, so the order and their ilk are very much on their own, while people like the malfoys are tolerated despite the open secret of their wartime alliances. dumbledore has a tough job, and he doesn’t know all the things the reader knows. so i think the op-eds calling him Just As Bad As Voldemort or whatever are missing any nuance.

then we get into dumbledore’s backstory. it explains a lot about him, i think. it’s interesting to me that he’s so consistent as a character- he has always been about The Greater Good, and he’s always had an ego, but as a child he let the latter dictate the former and as an adult he forever attempted to substract it from himself lest he repeat the same mistakes. some more questionable rep from ms rowling in having her (1) gay character be the guy literally seduced into wizard supremacy by his evil boyfriend, but i always liked that beat of a very isolated extremely intelligent character drawn into a warped sense of righteousness- it’s also very consistent of dumbledore to believe he’s doing the best for someone when he’s not really thinking about that at all, which is the case with his sister. obviously his family’s story is tragic, and then he gets pulled into this fake vision of a better world, validated in his brilliance, and then there’s his mother’s death, and then his sister, and suddenly it’s all come crashing down and he spends the next years of his life slowly realizing he’s the only one who can stop a project he might have been overseeing once. aberforth lays into him for it, and fair enough, but jesus, what a shitty spot to be in fresh out of hogwarts. i don’t know if it’s because i’m an older sibling, but i can understand the horrible burden of knowing that it’s always on you to think of yourself second, even when you’re inches away from the best thing in your life.

getting sidetracked- the question was about sirius and dumbledore. the thing abt LMV is that i try to keep my own opinions out of it; the marauders-dumbledore dynamic is a difficult one. they all respect him endlessly, and in school i think they adored him, but as a wartime leader it gets complicated. i think in canon their relationship was better, just a little strained (and a little more for others) bc of his style of leadership- you know, keeping secrets, playing games etc. in LMV, though, his machinations got them personally into some shit, so i wagered things would be more terse. james i think thinks most positively of him, as he is wont to do so, except where he is somehow at odds with sirius, because his loyalties there are clear and he is far more violently protective of sirius than he lets on. lily is a close second, because she’s a big picture thinker and gets how hard his job is, but she tends to be wary of his reasoning. remus is a more distrustful person by nature, and dumbledore using him for werewolf stuff wears him down. sirius is not a fan of authority, does not like secrets, and hates people using him as a pawn, so things are most strained for him, obviously. i think a lot of dumbledore introspection in LMV is from sirius’ POV, somewhat accidentally, so he gets a harsh rep.

to finally get to the specifics of your question: would dumbledore’s backstory get sirius to sympathise? arguably not much. sirius is a tricky guy, esp because i write him in a period that we know nothing about. he’s not a cocky slightly feral 15 year old, and he’s not a traumatised 30 something prison escapee; i try to get a plausible balance, so i don’t lend sirius in LMV so much of OOTP sirius’ world-weary wisdom. he’s 21, and in a war where the other side are wizard nazis he’s mostly related to somehow; he sees things in blacks and whites almost necessarily. so either you’re good or bad, trustworthy or not. peter crossed the threshold, so he’s dead to him; regulus turned himself in, but he’s one of them, so sirius doesn’t know what to do with him. sirius might understand how hard it is to have younger siblings you love fiercely who don’t understand your commitment to a higher goal, but dumbledore was on the wrong side of things that time, so i don’t think he would draw any sympathetic parallels- i don’t see why he of all people would feel bad for where dumbledore’s youthful aspirations of wizarding supremacy lead him, despite his good intentions. he’s not very forgiving of bigotry, i think especially because he’s cut all ties with his own background so harshly.

tldr; i feel for the guy, and his life was fucked, but sirius probably would not, and dumbledore got enough unwarranted hero worship considering his dodgy actions that i don’t resent sirius for holding that grudge.

#qui repond #lmv #sirius #dumbledore #meta #hp #so loong