#and the firebrands are pretty clear too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Note

This is me officially submitting my voucher of “whatever ask I want to ask”.

So! Give me all your thoughts on Zhaozai (and maybe what you think the reactions of certain people would be to hearing about it? Could be Iroh, or Zuko, or (more self indulgently) Jee, or June).

And if you’re in the mood for it, mayhaps you could throw in your thoughts on when Zhao finally gets to deck him 🥺? If not, that’s chill.

For the record I still say you wholly won.

Goddamn. Pretty sure I’ve had a month to think about this one. I won’t reveal everything, har har, nice try. That’s for you to find out when you’re grey and old and I finally publish the first chapter.

And I am OMITTING the spirit aspect because... just scroll down and look at this thing. That’s how long it is without going into Zhao’s messed-up origins. The theory comes later, and Crooked’s been waiting longer than you, so shh, shh...

Major trigger warnings listed as they appear: violence, war/conflict, emotional abuse, loss of a loved one (death, grief), physical abuse, sexual abuse (may be read as hinted at), poor mental health, trauma, suicide (hinted at), bad ending

WELP, let’s get started! They say all great ships are summarized in one quote:

“Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” - Oscar Wilde

Part 1. Wow. Oscar Wilde Gets It.

Ahhh, Zhaozai. I don’t think any ATLA ship is as tied to sexuality as them. The promotion jokes? Infinite, timeless, golden.

Though it may be something to *clears throat, adjusts monocle* pontificate on.

Historically, sexuality has made breakthroughs for social change, so it isn’t as dismissible as we make it: from as early as Eve and Adam, the allure Bram Stoker’s Dracula ascribes to women, prostitution and Victorian-era reform, to the gay rights movement, present and ongoing. But you aren’t here for me to dissect the cultural redefinition of our capacity for (or inclination to) attraction, so let’s jump ahead. It’s understood that love is strange and powerful, no need to harp on that - recognized in our world as much as in fiction. If sexuality aligns with power, there’s no two firebrands that chase their symphony in history like Ozai and Zhao. And in spite of Sozin’s Law? A hot bonus!!

Now imagine the supernova when their goals collide, or worse, conflict... welcome to my OTP!

Something to clear up beforehand, because it’s been bothering me a shit-ton: I loathe Ozai. The combination of asshole parenting, an abusive marriage, and forced dues to an awful authority hits too close to home, and I only take the fucktard in small doses. The dynamic where Zhao falls headfirst into devout obsession leaves a sour, sour taste in my mouth. Deifying a (dick)tator that benefits off the sacrifice of men and women who routinely go through the hell of loss, exhaustion, indoctrination, rinse and repeat... No way is Zhao licking his boots here. In fact, I have it the other way around.

Writing a character as the focal half of a piece isn’t the same as adoring them. Maybe I want to see them skewered through the devil’s horns.

And HEY, what better way to unleash hell than have a ship embody the tug-of-war between an iron-fisted leader and a soldier grappling for his own voice?

I take Zhao, I fill him to the brim with the rebellion and wild nature of a trailblazer, an upstart, a knife to the heart of a sustainable regime. A regime built on undermining the individual and parading the whole, collateral be damned... Now here’s this guy, bent on leaving his mark, processing his grief, wrapped up in soul-searching as Ozai (representative of authority, ideology, fear, take your pick) attempts to crush that spark. An attempt that fails without as much grace as Zhao inversely retains in his last moments, when he chooses not to live, a choice so many soldiers don’t get to make. Dark shit, but I don’t mind my coffee black.

On the other hand, Ozai’s phoenix is put out, and never rises again. Sweet, sweet justice. From the start, he’s after power and validation, seeking completion with Azulon, Iroh, Ursa, Azula, and finally Zhao again. The mythically powerful surface burrows out the emptiness underneath - just like his daughter, he’s a force to be reckoned with, sharp as a tack and deadly to trifle with. Without an empathetic connection, they resort to hurtful means of binding others to them, and not everyone gets as lucky as to break away and find freedom:

I may want to vacuum suck out his organs and mail them to Hannibal Lector, but it doesn’t mean I won’t write a human Ozai, the son who resembles Ilah more than Azulon... which is definitely going to pinch the feels. Zhao isn’t spared either. A soldier aware of the lives he jeopardizes for a selfish goal gets his own bitter end. For the massive fight he puts up, he succumbs to disillusionment all the same, seeing as his prison is a cavernous fog for lost souls.

As for the single greatest reason Ozai hones in on Zhao... you’ll have to wait for the theory ;;

Part 2. How Does Their Story Pan Out?

Finally, we put it all together... Be mindful that most of the trigger warnings come into play here.

🚂 Time to board the questionable age gap train! To have both LuZhao and Zhaozai (🧚 / 🔪 ships that fuel me equally - I can have range!), juxtaposed intimacy with two very different royals, I had to plant Zhao halfway, and favoring the prince’s generation... Five years between himself and Lu Ten, and eleven years between himself and Ozai.

Already starting out messy? They get worse.

Their first interaction is when he’s sixteen. Ozai is young, ambitious, finishing his tertiary years at the royal academy in his twenties. Enter a scrawny recruit, pulled by his ear to the front court - caught eavesdropping on classes and taking fervent notes with a smuggled scroll and ink, writing on large leaves and his own arms when he ran out of room. He wanted to know. That was all - the sentence never had an end. Know what? Unclear. Just, to know.

The boy was out of the elites’ loop, more than impoverished, and he wanted in. Zhao was made of kindling, wanted to stamp his footprint at any cost. This was enough for Ozai, who took him under his wing.

The prince had sown the roots of the New Ozai Society long before incident. From the beginning, he always planned ahead; far, far ahead. Ukano was his second-best option when it came to reliable loyalty, pumped full of such idealism that it would have explained the roundness of his stomach if it weren’t for a love of sweets (his wife would go on to always keep them on hand, among them a box of soft, chewy mochi ;)) Ozai’s first option, however, the failsafe that he believed - knew - would serve him without fail? The excitable recruit who drank up every lesson, believing he was sold secrets at the low price of friendship. And at first, the two start out well enough.

(I always thought he looked like he knew exactly what wheels he was setting into motion...)

*ahem* Then happens Iroh. The brother’s shadow he couldn’t crawl out of, insignificance that drives Ozai onto a path of sharp edges and burgeoning malice. The fire in him rages, and so does the persistent absence of Ilah; thinking it was his duty as a friend, Zhao rages with him, too. It’s them against the world - always was, how couldn’t it be? When Ozai turns on him for no reason, for the few, cold moments that fear washes through him, it’s a world that feels much smaller, almost unsafe. But Zhao stays. Learns under the best instructor the prince can find him, Admiral Jeong Jeong - just as cold and brilliant, though there’s a hesitance about him. Ozai calls it cowardice...

Then happens Lu Ten. Serving with as much vigor as Zhao does, a burning glory within him that radiates more compassion than cruelty. It’s a difficult quality for a soldier to have - as the much younger prince struggles to find his place, so does Zhao doubt his, until a good stopping point seems to be with each other. Kissing, you know, arms around each other and held close... that sort of place.

They laugh, snuggle, trail off to pick tea leaves and berries - Zhao doesn’t worry if he said the wrong thing, took the wrong step. Then Lu Ten dies in battle, dearer to him than life, and they go their separate ways: Zhao retreats into himself, hunting for purpose, and Ozai plans ahead. When they inevitably meet again, he’s in his thirties, and Ozai forty-one, on the throne.

It’s all hell loose from here. Ozai’s, guess what, planned ahead - he always has. Azulon is dead and Zhao is the first to be told why. It’s more lie than truth, and it turns him against Zuko and Iroh for good - the reason for repeatedly associating the prince with treason and traitor instead of solely dishonor. It isn’t the first lie he believes. Dozens more. Lu Ten and his cowardly father, plotting insurrection, with ties to an old group Ozai’s intel only knew as the Lotus.

Secrets, at the low price of loyalty and indebted affection. The Firelord keeps his best, most compliant asset on hand (Ozai that’s not how you get a date, please touch grass), and Zhao slaves endlessly for the greatness he enlisted to achieve. When he finally strips the cover off the first lie, discovers it was soldiers that were sacrificed as pawns, among them his friends... well. That spark of rebellion returns, and it’s inflamed.

Zhao, commander, captain, soldier pawn all the same, now too far into the darkness behind the royal family to escape. The shining pillars of a palace that was first to catch the east-rising sun, its vaulted halls housing glory and great men. Once. Zhao sees the truth, sees all too quickly and disappears before he’s caught in the act - which could only mean he sees too much. Ozai resorts to uglier means of silence. Never death. In his mind, mercy is the closest act to love - he always failed to grasp that there were worse choices. Zhao is worn down, slowly, and despite drawing blood when he bit back, dealing black and blue bruises of his own, clutching the ocean scroll tighter and out of sight... war was simple in just one regard. Win more battles, defeat the enemy. He gives in, chooses not to take Zuko’s hand. To the victor goes the ability to wipe the other from existence.

... Exactly what Ozai does. With awful reluctance. It breaks the part of him left to do it - when the anger wears off into isolation, he’s in Ursa’s shoes for the first time. And when all power slips through his fingers, and Ukano turns on him for family, one ideal he never understood - an ideal Zhao had searched for in him, the admiration in his eyes fading in lieu for horror - he’s as alone as his unlover, surrounded by darkness while Zhao is shrouded in pale, cold light.

Even then, the royal wonders - if his arms were inked with the notes he took, ear craned forward to hear inside the classrooms. If he knew, for all his wisdom, where Ozai’s heart had been throughout the years. A cavity in his own chest, maybe... but cupped in the admiral’s hands, a bloody, beating thing, was the only gift the Firelord ever wanted to give.

Too late.

Part 3. WELL UH... Conclusion??

Whoops, didn’t mean for that to get so long. Or weird... half blab and half commentary?

You asked for reactions. Hmm... A large part of Zhaozai is how silent the killing is. A leader that injects their image into every facet of life in order to solidify control - an invisible invasion, a prison with no bars, and then slow, careful suffocation. You know. But if word were to surface somehow...

Iroh would be, appalled? A gut-instinct for a lot of people, I’d say. His tie to Lu Ten, to share the same cord where his son had been their greatest hope, would be quite the *Iroh 👌🏼 fingers* stirring content to explore. Zuko, I see as more upset than concerned at first - maybe propelled onto the path of looking for honor elsewhere than his father’s approval. When he becomes Firelord, he personally makes sure soldiers are given the opportunity to seek mental care, and secures outreach centers for those in trouble.

Jee, ahhh. Don’t know if the SS will make it into my writing in fully-fleshed form, but if I am kind enough to give Zhao friends that aren’t dead when he needs them... Probably the fic wouldn’t get its proper dark ending - probably Jee would stick Ozai in the damn ground or die trying. (Now that’s something I’d read... have I mentioned that I despise Ozai? I feel like I have.) There’s an opening scene trapped in my head now where Zhao’s perfectly hoity-toity until Jee claps him just a little too hard on the back...

June, biiiish. I could see her and Nyla hunting Ozai to the ends of the earth. Westley’s speech to Prince Humperdinck in The Princess Bride, but not one word of it is bluff. Same for Azula, should she end up bonding as quickly with Zhao as I think she would.

And does Zhao ever get to deck him? Yes, yes, they end things with a few loosened teeth in Ozai’s mouth, several heated Agni Kais, but as I said... win the battle, lose the war. That’s what Zhao seems to be to the fandom, isn’t it - the loser? My goal is to highlight every inch of struggle behind it. It’s what he and so many others would deserve - not just soldiers, but all victims of post-traumatic stress disorder and manipulative abuse. If I can do an angle as sensitive as this one proper justice, dig my fingers into the aftermath, the unhealthy patterns, it would mean a lot personally.

#HEED THE TRIGGERS SAVE YOUR SOUL #ukano + sweets and also being ozai’s bff once........ the best idea to come out of this while writing #fuck that goateed shit #zhaozai #ask tag #long post

22 notes · View notes

ad1thi · 3 years

Text

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year.

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long.

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift: @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

#adi's rec list #mcdanno #stevetony #buckytony #brucetony #rhodeytony #zukka #samtony #january - june #there's so many different ships on this #and different authors #and it spans three fandoms #so hopefully you guys enjoy this!!

98 notes · View notes

seymour-butz-stuff · 3 years

Link

Just as the COVID-19 pandemic transformed the country and Donald Trump transformed his body into a Carl’s Jr. grease trap, Trump himself has all but Brundlefly’d the Republican Party—to the point where I don’t know what the fuck it is anymore.

What are the GOP’s principles? Well, four years of Trump showed us what they aren’t. They don’t stand for fiscal responsibility or family values anymore. Small government? We spent much of the last year watching small-government principles at work. Only they weren’t small-government principles so much as incompetent-government principles. And Americans were not impressed.

Is the party a sturdy bulwark against socialism? Well, that kind of went out the window when the government started sending free money to people with no questions asked. People liked that, and so now Republicans have to explain why blowing up the deficit was a good thing when the benefits went to the already wealthy but a disaster when they flowed to we the people.

Are they about standing up to cancel culture and “woke” politics? Yeah, that’s closer, even though they show their hypocrisy every damn day by advocating for the cancelation of entities, like Major League Baseball, that they’ve deemed insufficiently—er, what’s the word?—woke?

So who—and what—is the future of the Republican Party? One is tempted to say Donald Trump, but come on. Look at the guy. He’s basically an ill-tempered braunschweiger with a glitchy Play-Doh Fun Factory for a heart. Seeing him shamble through life is like watching an old Mr. Magoo cartoon. It’s only a matter of time before he falls down a manhole and we forget about him forever.

So what’s left? Matt Gaetz, essentially.

This occurred to me as I read Abigail Tracy’s recent Vanity Fair profile of Gaetz. The piece makes clear that Gaetz isn’t as interested in doing the job of a House member as he is in pretending and performing. Which, it occurs to me, is all the Republican Party as a whole is interested in anymore.

Gaetz’s recent sex scandal may end up being his Waterloo, but until The New York Times reported that he’s being investigated for the alleged trafficking of a 17-year-old girl, he was, for all intents and purposes, the giant, frat-boy face of the GOP. And he seemed to come out of nowhere, like black mold in your basement.

Like Trump, Gaetz’s milieu is the media. A regular refrain from him is “stagecraft is statecraft.” And his book Firebrand lays out a view that a prominent profile is more powerful than a leadership position. “It’s impossible to get canceled if you’re on every channel,” he wrote, dismissing criticism from former Speaker of the House Paul Ryan that he appeared on television too much. “Politics, they say, is show business for ugly people. The real question is who writes the scripts and produces the acts. You are governed by the theater geeks from high school, who went on to make it big booking guests on the talk shows,” Gaetz writes. “Ignore them and they’ll ignore you, and you’ll go nowhere fast.”

Yup, it’s all theater. Never mind working on behalf of your constituents.

Gaetz is a natural showman. And with a reality-television star in the Oval Office, the Trump-era—defined by performative politics—was made for him. His focus on appearance was present throughout the day I spent with him. My first in-person glimpse of the congressman was him applying concealer in front of a large mirror in his office. Later, in a greenroom at CPAC, he would express glee at a Dyson hairdryer, which he told his chief of staff, Jillian Lane Wyant, “changed my life.”

[…]

“I think that a lot of people who watch Fox News daily were familiar with me last year,” he said. “I think this year, as a consequence of impeachment…a few more folks seemed to recognize me.”

Yes, they did. And now even more people recognize him.

As Tracy notes in her Vanity Fair piece, Gaetz originally entered Congress a nobody who felt a little intimidated by the accomplishments of his veteran colleagues. He was so run-of-the-mill, in fact, he initially supported Jeb! Bush in 2016. But, as he tells Tracy, “We have managed to get it right since then.”

”It,” of course, means being a showboating, self-aggrandizing asshole.

And while there may still be a few GOP fossils who are more interested in governing than blowing shit up and blaming Democrats for the pile of cinders, Gaetz isn’t one of these, and there are plenty of folks ready, willing, and able to step into his role when he’s gone.

They know they have nothing left but distraction, so get ready for more Gaetzes. He and Donald Trump have shown this vicious hallelujah chorus of gas bags the way.

Gaetz himself might not be the future of the party, but his clones are hatching as we speak. Many are already here. And the further off the rails the party goes, the more they’ll want to punish the rest of us with their performative perfidy.

”This guy is a natural. Sometimes I laugh so hard I cry." — Bette Midler on author Aldous J. Pennyfarthing via Twitter. Need a thorough Trump cleanse? Thanks to Goodbye, Asshat: 101 Farewell Letters to Donald Trump, Dear F*cking Lunatic, Dear Pr*sident A**clown and Dear F*cking Moron, you can purge the Trump years from your soul sans the existential dread. Only laughs from here on out. Click those links, yo!

#gaetz for prison #matt gaetz #gaetz #savethechildren #saveourchildren #from matt gaetz

7 notes · View notes

lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Traditions ||| Prince!Yeosang x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, a bit of angst but a happy ending Warning(s): inferences to death (succession) and natural disaster tragedy Word Count: 4005 AN: Happy Birthday Yeosang blessed elfin prince. Just thinking about how princely he appears was the only inspiration for this entirely. you can tell i find yeosang beautiful and i will not apologise for that. feminine-presenting Reader Royalty AU

~~~

Wind whistling outside the murky visage of dark stained glass, you made your way through the long corridors to the dining hall. The cold air that nipped at your cheeks was only rebuffed by the delicately carved firebrands that lined the walls, hooded by rouge.

Even though you wished you had taken Beatrice up on her suggestion that you wear a dress that would match one of your several coats, you couldn’t say you entirely regretted your decision. The way the silver tresses that entwined across your waist was worth the goosebumps beneath long draping sleeves. The amaranthine shine gave you the firm yet free light that reflected in your eyes, gracing all who could see with not only your true colours but also a sight for sore eyes. You’d always suited the soft violet silk, for years having been a private signature that made you feel unique behind closed doors. It did not provide its own form of stability to the people, however, quite like the vermilion did. Knowing that in these times they needed it in every capacity, you garbed yourself in red for the world, while violet remained a treat.

Besides, you knew there was another benefit to the tremors of shiver that ran up your spine and pooled at your exposed shoulders.

Taking the last corner you could finally see the large oak doors that led into the hall in the dim light. They were closed, but a thin sliver of gold broke through their seal, its promise of food inviting you in. However, a few feet away from the corridor’s end, something else stole your attention entirely. A shimmer of auburn in the thick of the night.

Distracted you slowly made your way over to the nearest window, excitement pooling in your chest and fluttering like a bird wishing to be set free.

one pair of small but intricate heels that had been clicking against the rich wood behind you suddenly slowed. Peering back without hesitation, you saw your second lady in waiting’s grin glimmer in the auburn light as she skipped to the nearest window. Forcing yourself to look beyond the hazy reflection of yourself, you chased the lucrative gold that pierced the night. Your eyes began in the wrong place, too high, where the road began to sink into the distance, but they quickly trailed down to the castle-side, where you spotted, far below, a carriage flickering beside firelight. A warm smile you’d come to know well warmed upon your lips.

“He’s early,” you announced to the air, feeling slightly guilty when the guard stood firmly by the door offered you a startled look

“Who is, Your Royal Highness?” he stuttered, a panicked undertone as he assumed that you’d been talking to him.

You chuckled, feeling relieved as he visibly relaxed, “Why, Graves, my husband of course!” It was clear that he tried to hide the surprise in his expression, not realising that he shared with you.

“I know, absurd right?” you said, sweeping over to the door as he returned your grin at last, before imploring to him in a whisper, “I won’t eat you, Graves, I promise. I’m not like my father.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed in acknowledgement.

Praying that the interaction would dispel any residing fears, you passed through into the dining hall, tall and imposing. You hadn’t liked it all that much, it was too tall and grand, with chandeliers the size of sleeping quarters and columns whose cracks were filled with molten silver. It was a bit much, especially just for a place to eat, but you knew how much worse it could be. You’d seen your older sister’s, you’d seen the drapes of handwoven silk cast in bright crimson and the intricacies of the hand-carved floorboards, dictating the legends of the early days. As vulgar it was, it was how your father built castles for his kingdom, and it was no wonder that it would be the one you would inherit.

Ignoring the painted ceiling you ran your eyes along the long mahogany table at the numerous platters dotted across its surface at both ends, lids retaining heat and disguising the beauty inside. You wondered why they always made so much for you when you never ate it anywhere near it all. The firelight from the large hearth that filled the room with a homely scent of warmth and tranquil danced across the varnished floor, painting it with muffled shades of gold and pink. And there, on the other side of the hall was a shadow that disjointed said light.

Tilting your head up confidently, your fingers interlinking at your waist, you found the man who you had waited for every time, waiting for you.

Having shed his onyx coat and draped it across the back of his chair, you were blessed with just how well suited the deep azure of his kingdom. The satin across his back almost glittered in the light, adorning his neck that craned to let him look off to the left. His shirt was tucked neatly into black leather trousers, that you caught yourself staring at for way too long for the ‘checking for stains’ excuse to run even now (you were pretty sure he hadn’t believed the excuse in the first place anyway, but he hadn’t asked you to stop nor ever brought it up again, and you were pretty sure you’d caught him a few times staring at you so, who were you to complain?) that then slipped into comfortable laced boots. He had to have changed, he couldn’t have possibly worn them outside in such poor weather, and the thought just added to how your heart fluttered—he didn’t have to dress up at all, especially since he would have to go out again tomorrow.

His hand lifting from his hip, he removed his sword in its scabbard and leant it against the wall, before finally turning around.

Even at such a distance you were awestruck. Those gorgeous eyes that stared so knowingly at the world now gazed over at you, leaving you feeling a new shade of vulnerable that had taken a while to get used to, but now you weren’t sure you could live without. As with that vulnerability came his gentleness, the curve of his full lips that uttered sweet things despite his stoic nature, and the touch of his hand that rose to meet yours when you addressed the people. He had confused you at first, worried you the next as neither of you spoke. Now you understood his insecurities and threw any misinformed regrets to the side. Now you could see how his hair seemed to effortlessly curl to frame his face but also to carry a crown.

His fringe then was mottled with damp, his hat adorning the chair with his coat having had only so much success protecting him from the rain. But he still looked ethereal as he always did, and sounded it too.

“Your Royal Highness,” he greeted as he was taught, a deep bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Even though the awkwardness had subsided between the two of you, you still greeted each other like this, despite what you’d discerned.

“Your highness,” you returned, unable to hide your wince. Why couldn’t you greet each other like you wished you could? Ignore the rings on your fingers and the arrangements made by family and do it all properly.

He smiled at you and waited for you to take your seat, deep eyes following your every move. You sighed mentally, feeling the small doubts begin to regrow in your mind. Perhaps you’d misjudged entirely and your affections led you to just reach into the dark and cling to the first light that appeared.

Taking your seat, your eyes not leaving his, he at last drew his chair back at the opposite side of the table. You let him get comfortable before removing the closest lid to reveal a huge portion of neatly sliced venison seasoned with a variety of spices and coupled with copious vegetables—half of which you didn’t recognise. It smelt delicious and you took the cutlery into your hands, but with your mind preoccupied with another important matter you didn’t feel like eating at all.

While you ran the sharp edge of your knife across the tender flesh, Yeosang tucked straight in, not that you blamed him. His journey home had been long, sustained mostly on fish that would only remind him of home—that and your cooks being truly something special.

“So, dear husband,” you announced across the long table with a coy smile, timing your words just right so he would have his mouthful when he had to answer you, “how was your trip outside Cresciel’s borders?”

“Hmm...” He noticed the mischief in your lips, opting to take his time mulling your question over as he chewed even slower than before. It was moments like these, where he played along with you and teased in return, that questioned whether doubts should be sown. “It was long, mostly tedious. Earl of Blouze is an utter nightmare.”

“As usual,” you chuckled, the same mix of sympathy and humour bubbling in your chest as when you had found out who he would be travelling with. Yeosang hadn’t found it amusing and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon while the packing began. He looked adorable with a pout on his lips though, and you only cooed at him six times. “And Caillteo?”

He nodded. “Recovering well for how much damage was done. The mines are back up and running again, a good harvest this autumn and they’ll be back on their feet without aid. The people are still on edge but they seem hopeful, and you were right, Caillteoans are tough: they’ve leapt into construction and sharing resources between themselves fairly.”

“That’ll be Xena’s example,” you noted, taking a sip of your drink. Surprised at the sweet kick, you coughed before laughing at yourself, “they’re always leading by example—I’m fine Yeosang, really.”

You spotted the worry in his expression through how it turned blank. He’d explained it to you, bathed in the gold of the afternoon sun that did little to ease his mind. He didn’t want to panic the person in concern anymore than they perhaps already were. That had been the day where you’d run your fingers through his hair, locks smooth as silk and scented of the roses found on the mountainsides. He had softened in your embrace, letting you hold him delicately in the peace of the royal garden, closing his omniscient eyes that were cursed to catch too much. It had proven that just trying to be the stable option for the nation resulted in a chaos of the mind. You wished he would rely on you more. You were used to it, your sister confided with you her plans to disappear, your mother on the will, your cousins when they visited. You didn’t get the choice in some of those circumstances, but you were willing to take on what Yeosang needed.

You felt heat flush to your face. Since when had you become so attached to him? This hadn’t been what you had expected to happen at all.

“Yes, they truly are. I listened to their grievances, they were furious at how little respect they had received from Cruter, and extremely thankful for the aid we sent them. It was vital for them to get the waterways up and running again, otherwise it would have flooded the sewage system further and...” he came to an unexpected halt, as if a weight had rolled onto his tongue and forced it still. You placed your knife upon the plate quietly, inclining to listen to what finally followed.

“Yeosang?” you murmured, though due to the distance you couldn’t be sure he even heard it.

“...Xena was glad to see where my allegiances laid, that seeing me gave them and Caillteoans hope. They wanted me to make it clear to you that their kingdom’s alliances are with you—us—alone.”

“They’ve turned away from your grandfather completely?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that filtered into your voice, but watched him carefully as you spoke in response to it. “He’s turned his most loyal—?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Yeosang interrupted, eyes turned towards his food. He’d paused eating, a cut of meat levied on his fork and he stared it down as if it were Cruter himself, “and I think they know how my father’s reign is going to go.”

He took the bite as if out of spite, digging in thoroughly once again. Meanwhile you were left frowning. “Have they managed to predict Idina too, do you think?” After he didn’t respond, you straightened your posture, worry beginning to sink in. “Yeosang? I don’t rule Cresciel yet, and if the plan falls apart I won’t have much power at all! A-as far as anyone else is aware, my sister is going to inherit the—”

“I don’t know,” he finally replied with the shake of his head, his frown mimicking yours, “that’s all they said.”

With eyes met across the vast mahogany dotted with silver and the firelight, silence seeped into the room, only dispelled momentarily by the crackle of flames.

Your thoughts gathered in your brain, clustering and talking over one another, interjecting and splitting, producing more and more like a disease. If others could work it out then it would only be a matter of time before your father would, and that would put both your sister and you in danger. Even being a beacon of calm for the future to the people and surrounding kingdoms wouldn’t be enough to hold your plans together, and if things went truly wrong, not only would you be at huge risk of losing your husband and all the arrangements your marriage made, but there would also be mayhem for the innocents you had subtly promised would be safe.

Your breath came out ragged and you swallowed it to steady. The situation was sticky, but you would pull through. You’d make it work. The King of Caillteo was on your side, and that strengthened what you had. Cruter could hardly have endeared himself to his subjects through his ignorance towards the tragedy—especially since word carried that the angered storm had affected the outer towns upon his Siyanirean borders too. With that in hand and your plan just in the waiting process, it wouldn’t be long before Yeosang was King in his grandfather and father’s stead and the kingdoms were united, working peacefully instead of warring like they always did.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wondered why your nerves wouldn’t simmer down. You’d gone over the plan hundreds of times, and things were moving in your favour—both should have eased the sudden attack of worry. But they didn’t, and you were left with bruise-purple divots in your palms, and quivering fingers. You wanted them to be held still, you didn’t like the sight of them fragile. You wanted to be held, by Yeosang—no other would do, as no one else understood it all. He was the only one who knew the details of the full plan, knew what the pressure was like. But he was on the other end of the table.

It seemed ridiculous that a table and a (comparatively) short distance was holding you back. There were no physical barricades, the grandiose chairs tucked in neatly, the food too cold to even eat and get you to stay. Yet, even though your feet twitched, your body didn’t move to go to his side and ask for comfort, like you’d given to him that golden afternoon before.

“Did you miss anything,” your mouth spoke out of the blue, “while you were gone?”

Had your husband looked up he would have noticed the disjoint between your calm tone and your stony expression. But he didn’t, not yet.

“Not my ship if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, assuming you were teasing him once again. After finishing another bite you stared as his face softened, “Though I guess I missed some company.” When you didn’t speak up, voice trapped in your throat as your brain ticked over what he meant, he continued, “The nights were cold, so I thought I missed the warmth of here. They were also quiet, and so I thought I missed the sounds of here but... the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this castle is just as quiet as the other ones I stayed in, and when I added blankets it made no difference.

“And then I had to speaks to others and, well... every time I met with the nobles, it felt as if they looked down on me, as if I wasn’t really one of them despite my claim. I knew it shouldn’t surprise me, as my grandfather is, well, my grandfather and no one knows just how poor my father’s health is but... even the people didn’t believe I was the real deal, and they were the nice ones. Others I’m sure couldn’t comprehend I was capable of making a difference at all.”

As he trailed off, with your eyes hazy you countered plainly. “And you wanted me there so they somehow wouldn’t? If I was there they wouldn’t look at you at all.” You would have winced at the harshness of your words, consoled him with an apology and the distraction of food or a change of scenery, but you didn’t. You cursed yourself for being selfish.

Yeosang however didn’t seem to take it to heart, trying to explain clearer. “No I mean... it’s easier to chase the doubts of my own abilities away with you at my side. Because you believe in me.”

After cleaning his plate his pretty eyes flicked up to take you in at last, only to become flecked with worry. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Debating and answer in your head you remained silent, gaze dropping to your lukewarm food without a single chunk missing. Clutching your hands together in your lap in an effort to control the quiver in them, you avoided his stare. “I really mean that much to you?”

Out of your peripheral you caught his nod. “Of course. You’re my closest friend, my rock, I don’t think I could have ever succeeded like this without you.”

You peered up at him at last, to catch the sincerity on his features. The apples of his cheeks had a blushed hue, so did the tips of his ears. But you couldn’t make out the etches upon his lips, or the birthmark adorning the corner of his eye. He was too far away, all because of stupid rules. “Then why are you so far away?” you poised.

There was a heavy silence that seemed to even mottle the crackling in the hearth. Your gaze trailed over to the dancing flames, warm and dynamic like the flushes of first love—like your heart.

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.”

Your head whipped up to him as soon as his words graced the air and the creak of wood scraping across wood resonated through the floor. Yeosang, with footfalls cautious, was making his way across the dining hall towards you. You straightened your back, mouth agape but with no words to fill the space.

Even though it felt like the journey took hours, he was suddenly at your side, brow creased with concern as he placed one hand tentatively on the back of your chair.

“Y/N, I...”

“I missed you too.”

Chin tilted up you took in the sight of the man you had married properly. How his jaw curved, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed, how his hair slowly fell out of place to cover his eyes while he peered down at you. Months of past worry trickled through from your subconscious as you remembered the anxieties you’d had about your marriage. You trusted your mother’s decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t interrogate yourself nightly on whether you could be happy being married to a man you didn’t love romantically, one that you didn’t desire sensually.

You hadn’t slept the night before the castle doors opened to welcome in your chosen suitor. You’d been informed it was a tough and arduous selection process but you had blanked most of it out. With a stone-set face you had been helped into a dress of your sister’s—flowing scarlet with gold lace at the neck—before adorning your neck with an amethyst necklace despite the advice you were offered. Then you took those wide grand stairs down to where your soon-to-be fiance waited, arm interlinked with your sister’s. She had smiled and said something to you, but you hadn’t paid any attention—this time for a good reason.

After days on end of worrying, you were confronted with a meek young boy who could easily have been mistaken to be years younger than you. Garbed in rich navy, he stood prostrate at his father’s side, his posture displaying confidence as he was instructed while his stare flit upon the engraved ground. When you had taken the final step and swept across the varnished pearl beneath your feet your families greeted heartily while you stared at the boy who eventually worked up the courage to stare back. ‘He isn’t real’, had been the first thought to flash in your mind. After all he had full cloudy cheeks and wide set dark eyes that made him look as if he was borne of another realm. You wondered if the pink blemish upon his temple was a sign of that: a deity’s way to prove that he was in fact human and not an angel. Eyeing him up and down you had found a body just out of proportion to be considered finished, but you guessed he would grow, and fit his elfin face one day in the future. Overall, he had washed your worries away and replaced them with a newfound curiosity that you hadn’t mentioned to him before.

Of course, you had been right, he did grow. His shoulders broadened and chest filled out while his cheeks retained the majority of their softness. He grew then to become more open, a smile flourished on his lips and once that happened it was only a matter of time. Regardless, despite all his changes that young boy was still there, still watching carefully, even now.

Yeosang stood at your side quite like he had done all those years ago—back rigid, eyes trailing away from where he wanted to focus them. And it softened your heart, practically turned it to pulp, when he finally spoke in a voice completely different to the boy from your past, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

You watched as he bit his lip disappointedly, as if he’d admitted something wrong.

“Me too,” you breathed, dispelling his worry and turning it into a startled expression as you stood with him. Your fingers came up to his collar, straightening it out absentmindedly as you met his eyes properly this time. “Forget the rules, forget the traditions, Sangie?” you suggested in a whisper.

He nodded, a smile rising to his lips so bright that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands gently, he dipped in to let your lips finally meet, a hum bubbling through your chest in satisfaction. He was finally close to you, and he felt so different from what you’d imagined. His embrace pulling you close he radiated warmth. His lips tasted of the berries that he had drank and his touch was so fluid and soft across the skin of you back. You didn’t mind, you liked how wrong you were.

Because he kissed you just like the tradition didn’t dictate, and though it had been the arrangements of others that brought your love to you, it was time to do it your way.

~~~

AN: I was going to make yn a duchess bc like princess is overdone and then i got confused and like shite just bc im british doesnt mean i understand the royal family one bit, let alone the hierarchy of titles

so yeah yn is a princess wbk

also this is much longer than the other presents only bc i got carried away i realise i like royal aus and this just wrote itself i promised myself i wouldnt do this with bday presents but oop

any names of the staff at the royal household were randomly generated place names were made using various words put into indifferentlanguages.com + the word combiner on wordunscrambler.net (so any resemblance to rel places is unintentional)

(also none of yeosang’s relations are based on any of his real family of course, theyre just made up. i imagine yeosang loves his family very much and so this is just creative license)

~~~

Masterlist

50 notes · View notes

vinculafidelis · 3 years

Photo

LYSANDRA AETOS is a UNKNOWN year old PANSEXUAL, FEMALE, SHE/HER, here in Firebrand City. People say they look a lot like PIPER PERABO. They are JUST but can be A PERFECTIONIST. They are a GORGON SUPERIOR in Firebrand and they work as a GORGON DEPUTY IN THE COUNCIL.

Lysandra isn’t quite clear on how she came to exist, the ancient drawings and stories on vases and temples only telling her she carried royal blood in her veins just like all Gorgons did, she was raised away from the direct lineage of the three main Mothers though her clan said they were directly related to Euryale and thus they carried the same name.

II.

Misunderstood, feared, and vicious, gorgons weren’t fit to mix with civilization so Lysandra’s clan lived away, guarding sacred temples and treasures in inaccessible terrains. She was raised to fear and hate humanity (and pretty much everything that wasn’t a gorgon) knowing that what made her different was going to be her undoing.

III.

However, Lysandra had been born with a heart that was softer than what it should have been. She was curious, she was gullible, she was adventurous, she was trusting, she was too diplomatic, even for an ancient Greek. She wanted to always listen to all sides of an argument and try to find a middle ground, everything should always have a solution to benefit all parties involved equally.

IV.

But like all gorgons, Lys stayed living in the sidelines, in the shadows, as humanity advanced and took over the world. Like her sisters, she became a product of nightmares and fiction that protected history and treasures and magic to keep things out of men’s destructive hands. Gorgons had two goals, protect and not let their species die, so with that came Lysandra’s second biggest purpose in life: motherhood.

For centuries she had helped her sisters raise their little babies. She had been part of the joy of the pregnancy announcements, of the hope that it brought when their numbers increased in the slightest, of the pure happiness when a new gorgon was born. And by the Gods, Lysandra knew she had been created by Gaia to be a mother and bring her own army of little gorgons to Earth.

VI.

It was an arrow to the abdomen during a battle that rendered Lysandra eternally infertile and made her lose her unwavering faith on the fair planet she had once adored. Justice didn’t seem to be happening on its own, maybe she had to take matters into her own hands. The gorgon’s heart started hardening, maybe humanity did have to suffer a little more after all.

VII.

While turning into a snake-like monster wasn’t diplomatic enough to solve problems, Lysandra turned into a ruthless politician, with an unhealthy obsession with justice, control, rules and laws. Whenever the word “treaty” was mentioned, Lys was there, ready to write and argue.

VIII.

Then there was Sabine. They belonged to different clans and had crossed paths over the centuries. There had been stolen glances. But it wasn’t until the Pre War times when they actually started working together that they fell in love. And Lysandra fell whole for the first time since that arrow. And then Sabine made her the happiest being in History by agreeing to carry a baby for both of them. There was a nursery, lullabies in Greek, tiny fingers and toes, 3 am feedings, Persephone, a happy family of three, promises of forever.

IX.

Then there was a Treaty. Then a War. And then nothing. Lysandra was not in favor and could not agree with the enslavement of humanity. With taking up arms. There had to be another way. Even if humanity was not listening. She was inflexible, she was blinded by her morality, by her erudition, by her pride of not being able to find another solution. Sabine took the other side. Sabine took the opposite side of Lysandra. Sabine took the baby and disappeared.

Legend has it that when Medusa was beheaded, her sisters’ cries turned stone to sand. When Sabine left Lysandra, a neighboring farm was mysteriously found completely turned into stone. And every night since then she has cursed her name with every fiber of her ancient being, terrified of the monster she will become if they cross paths again.

XI.

With her own heart petrified, Lysandra turned into an even more obsessive, by the book, square and lawful deputy gorgon. She travelled the world trying to perfect treaties, laws and agreements between species, humans and whatnot. Anything to distract her from the pain in her chest and to return her some semblance of control. Now, her new personal project is the city of Firebrand.

#firebrand.bio #❝ the baggage ❞ - lysandra.#/this is better than anything i wrote in college or like ever

2 notes · View notes

slavecharliehayes · 3 years

Text

CHARLOTTE ‘CHARLIE’ HAYES is a 22 year old BISEXUAL, FEMALE, SHE/HER, here in Firebrand City. People say they look a lot like FLORENCE PUGH. They are RESOURCEFUL but can be SHORT-TEMPERED. They are a HUMAN SLAVE in Firebrand and they work as a BLOOD BAG AT HELLSGATE

Charlie is the youngest sister, her brother more than a decade older than her. She was born hearing whispers of supernaturals--a cat actually overhearing conversations, an earthquake not actually a natural occurrence. Vampires, witches, demons, all whispers that seems completely made up. Until they weren’t. The war started when she was just a child, confused and scared. Something killed her parents when she was barely ten, one ripping her father apart and the other bleeding her mother dry- all right in front of her. For some reason, be it pity or amusement, Charlie was spared.

Her brother took care of her from then on, trying to keep them safe and hidden during the rest of the war, but once humans officially lost, their lives again changed forever. She was twelve when she started slave work, doing simple things like cleaning and other chore work, was at least in her teenaged years when she (and her body) were used for more. She hated it, hated all of it. She could remember clear as day the laughter the demon let out as her father’s head was lopped off. Remembered her mother’s screams as she was bled dry by a vampire. She was only a child, but she vowed then and there to never trust the supers- and to always be ready at a moment’s notice if a Rebellion ever managed to take hold.

Now at 22, Charlie is working at Hellsgate, a club she’s been at for too long to even remember. Her life literally revolves around feeding the very creatures that ruined her life and she hates every second of it.

At least the free booze to numb herself helps. And the occasional hookup.

whole lotta rage in a little body. 5′2 but attitude 6′1

despite being younger (and smaller), Charlie’s not afraid of a fight any chance she can get.

definitely has a case of sticky fingers every now and then.

she’s never been in love or even had any sort of romantic connection with anyone. she doesn’t even know how to equate sex with anything other than another thing Superiors sometimes expect from her. At least it feels good.

she has nightmares every now and then from seeing her parents murdered, but she keeps them to herself.

cigarette smoke, black leather, cheap whiskey, and bloodied knuckles are pretty much her aesthetic

@firebrandbios

#bio #firebrandhq.bio

2 notes · View notes

drones-of-innocence · 4 years

Note

Has anyone requested Mario x Peach for the ask yet? Because I am! Yahoo!!!

I will gladly do Mario x Peach!! This one got pretty long, sorry about that!

Who was the one to propose:

Mario did!! Technically he did in canon already haha, but I think he’s got the heart and the showmanship to put together a proper proposal for his Princess. It was adorable; he caught her completely by surprise, because she figured if he was going to ask, it was going to be before all their friends as the center piece for a wonderful celebration. Instead, he was quite simple about it. She recognized his nerves. His hands trembled just the slightest, his voice caught in his throat, and his breath seemed to shudder whenever he addressed her. Still, when he invited her to the lake on a lovely summer evening, she had no idea what his plans were. They often spent their evenings alone together anyway, whether it be on the lakeside or on her balcony. They were dating, after all. The fireflies came out just when the stars did. She should have known he would have asked her in his own simple, charming way. Mario cleared his throat, and spoke briefly of the future. He couldn’t manage to give a long, elaborate speech like he thought he should. So instead, he got down on one knee, and offered the ring. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, my Princess. Will you marry me?”

Who stressed more over wedding planning:

Again, this one has to go to Mario. Peach has no qualms about being under the spotlight, speaking in public, or organizing large events. Mario, on the other hand, didn’t even know where to begin, especially with Toadsworth stressing him out over proper behavior and manners at a royal wedding. He was going to marry a whole entire Princess!! The only person possibly more stressed than Mario had to be Luigi, who’s extreme sense of empathy went out to his poor brother. Both of them were just two little balls of nervous energy during the planning.

Who decorated the house:

So they don’t technically live together? I see Mario splitting his time between the castle and his house, but Peach can’t exactly leave her castle whenever she pleases. But she does visit. If they could have a house together, I see Mario as the one who could put a room together. Neither of them are master interior designers, but Mario has at least had experience, having moved between several apartments in he and Luigi’s past. If Peach were in charge, she would hire someone else to do it more likely than not. But Mario, being somewhat of a penny pincher by habit, would rather take care of things like that himself.

Who does the cooking:

Luigi does the cooking! Just kidding haha, but Peach has food provided for her whenever she pleases. In the Mario household, Mario cooks breakfast, and Luigi, self proclaimed as “il maestro della cena,” will not allow anyone else to cook dinner. So when Peach visits, or even when the brothers visit the castle, he insists on taking over the kitchen. He’s more than happy to cook for his family; he was very thrilled to be the first to point out that now he is Peach’s brother-in-law.

Who is more organized:

So Peach is more organized in the classical sense; her room is always very tidy, her notes very easy to read, handwriting neat. She has lists and agendas and calendars and journals galore. But Mario is organized in a different way; his thoughts can be very scattered, but he is excellent at mobilizing/organizing emergency responses, prioritizing and getting things done. In the event of a disaster, Mario is your man. He can literally survive in the wilderness with nothing but his wits. He naturally regulates his own sleeping and eating habits, which he can adjust and adapt to his situation as need be.

Who initiates bedroom fun:

Okay, so...I made a vow that I would never publicly do or make anything NSFW for characters that belong to a franchise aimed at children, even discuss headcanons. So I will construe the meaning. Peach and Mario have lots of fun in her bedroom because it’s sort of closed off from the rest of the world. They can read, relax, nap, whatever you can think of. It’s a sort of safe haven for them. Peach is often the one who suggests going back to her room, as Mario is too polite to be the one to bring it up. The proposal alarmed him at first, as the bedroom in his world was a very different place than it is to him now.

Who suggested kids first:

Peach suggested children! This was to Mario’s shock, as he never thought he would ever really have the privilege of being a father. Mario, over a good deal of time, taught her about conventional family values on his world. He mused to her, seeing similar values echoed in the Mushroom Kingdom, that survival of the species definitely has something to do with it. But something about the way he spoke inspired her to wonder what she would be like as a mother. She knew all along he would be a good father; he’s excellent with children and he clearly loves having them around. But she wanted to experience what he spoke about, how a mother’s love is stronger than anything he’s ever seen.

Who’s more dominant:

It’s about 60/40 with Peach often being the more dominant one. She’s the sole monarch of an entire Kingdom, so she’s used to taking charge. Mario, who drinks more than his share of respect women juice, doesn’t mind in the least. He defers to her often, and actually prefers for her to make the difficult choices. The only time he’s the one making decisions is when it comes to adventures and survival, where his leadership shines.

Who’s the cuddler:

Mario! Mario loves cuddles; as he’s often fighting off enemies and running into not-so-friendly people, he doesn’t get much tender contact. Hugging Luigi used to be the only way he could meet those emotional needs. But with the Princess, he can get all that he could ever want. He’ll never admit it to anyone else, but he adores being the little spoon. He feels completely surrounded by her, and safe. He doesn’t often get to feel completely secure in that way. Of course, he’s also more than happy to provide her with that security too. Even before their relationship, Peach liked to sit close to Mario; his Firebrand makes his body unnaturally warm, so he’s nice to be close to.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:

If not cuddles, then baking! Both of them adore sweets of all kinds. It was one of the things that allowed them to bond so quickly and so closely. Peach is fantastic at baking, and Mario always provides the best feedback to her creations. He can bake, too; he enjoys making his favorite Italian sweets for her.

Who comes home drunk at 3am:

Well, honestly I can’t fathom a world where either of them would do this. Peach has too much responsibility toward her Kingdom, and Mario likes to be in control of all his faculties. Now, this doesn’t mean the brothers don’t get a little buzzed sometimes; you know how much Italians like their wine. It’s just another way the brothers can relax and have fun in the privacy and safety of their home. So they might invite the Princesses over for a night of board or card games and wine. Just adults being silly, nothing crazy. Mario notably becomes a wonderfully sensitive romantic singer once he’s had some to drink, but he also forgets to speak English when that happens. His entire goal becomes making everyone laugh as much as possible. This is also the sort of scene where Mario and Luigi act out games like ‘The floor is lava,’ ‘Don’t let the balloon touch the floor,’ or they literally pretend they’re in a war zone and one of them ‘dies’ dramatically while the other is like “sometimes I can still hear his voice.”

Who kills the spiders:

Mario will fight anything to protect his Princess. But Peach doesn’t like to kill anything. This means Mario does this weird thing where he tries to intimidate the spider into leaving, reason with it, something, until Peach reminds him that he can just take it outside.

Who falls asleep first:

Mario can literally fall asleep anytime, anywhere. If you leave him idle long enough, just like in the games, he might nod off. Normally, he’s very goal driven, like when he’s trying to rescue Peach. But focusing that long and hard is very tiring. He gets rest when he can, because he doesn’t know when he’ll have to go without it next.

Their relationship summed up in a gif:

So this is Sheeta and Pazu, from my favorite movie of all time; Castle in the Sky. These two capture Mario and Princess Peach, I think, because of their persistent optimism and hope throughout the film. And their sheer joy! Look at that, they embrace each other with such fervor and relief that they’re safe and that they made it to their goal! Pazu is such a wholesome sweetheart who prioritizes Sheeta’s safety, and does whatever he feels like he can to protect her. Sheeta does the same, albeit in more thoughtful and clever ways. As Pazu put it, “if my head were any harder, you could use it as a cannonball.” That pretty much sums up Mario and his headstrong nature. Sheeta wants the best for everyone, and does not hesitate to put herself in direct harm’s way if it means sparing those who she loves. She gives herself up repeatedly, hoping it would save Pazu. And Pazu, from the moment he saw her, wouldn’t let her go on alone. Their dynamic is very similar to Mario and Peach; they both want to do the right thing, and they can’t do it without each other.

Thanks so much for the ask!!

#Yahoo!!#Ask #Mario and Peach #My OTP ahh #I spent too much time on this haha but I really enjoyed it!#So thanks again!!#Nintendo #Mario #Princess Peach #Heacanon #Ask meme #Silly thoughts

50 notes · View notes

witharsenicsauce · 4 years

Text

Chosen Stories From the War #30: Lady of the Oasis

(Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of gore, and parental abuse)

Nazira plucked a single dandelion from the sandy field that overlooked their humble lake. The sun was glittering over the water today and beating down on her own skin harshly. She pulled her hood up, keeping her olive skin covered. Bright green, nearly yellow eyes trailed over the oasis, and the old stone buildings that surrounded it. It was a lazy day today, and everyone was moving slowly.

She moved into the shade so she could remove her cloak, the thick garment making her hot. Under the simple fabric was a long, silken dress of burgundy that sat low on her shoulders. Golden jewelry adorned her hands and her neck, and on her arm, hugging her supple skin, was an arm bracelet in the shape of a golden cobra. That one, she kept close.

Her long, black hair pulled out of her face by a silk headband, Nazira’s snake-like eyes scanned the bright streets and took in everything she saw, filtering it through a mind programmed to assess combat, to never stand still. Majority viper, nearly half the population. Sociable. Interacted with the other species. Hard to isolate. Easy to communicate with. Next, human. Surprisingly small population, unsurprisingly unpredictable. Easy to talk to but hard to communicate with. They really liked the snakes. Use that. Less than 10% former ADVENT troopers. Exactly one Muton, named Ginnethoi. Shot in the jaw, had a speech impediment, could communicate via rudimentary sign-

Nazira sighed, squeezing her eyes shut as she leaned against the ancient stone wall. She wished she could be like her brother, but even then, she knew how hard he’d had to work to be able to turn his brain off, to get some semblance of peace.

Speaking of.

She made her way down the long narrow pathway towards the small, almost indiscriminate temple that sat a ways away from the main village. Despite its unassuming features, as she stepped up to the opening she found the walls covered in graffiti: drawing made in ancient Egypt, runes depicting the Theban triad of Amun and Mut and Khonsu. The inside was swathed in darkness, and she found as she stepped inside, it was cool, a blessed respite from the sun. Smokey incense filled the air, and nearly inaudible breathing echoed from within.

Nazira tapped loudly on the rock wall. “Ding dong!” She sang, and laughed at the grunt she received in return. No other sound followed, so she stepped farther into the darkness. “Are you awake, Zafar?”

“Unfortunately.” Her dearest brother’s voice came to meet her, and with that, her snake-like eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. He sat cross legged on his mat, facing the back wall of the temple where the stone shrine had been crudely rebuilt, and the weathered stone statue of Khonsu would be unrecognizable were it not for the inscription above him. Zafar had lit a candle before the altar, and his wavy black hair was loose from it’s ponytail, and looked wet after the anointing from that morning.

“I saw a suspicious vehicle above our little village.” Nazira cooed. “You know what that means.”

“That it’s time we come out of hiding.” He agreed, getting to his feet slowly. His chest was bare, and she quickly handed him his shirt and coat. “...You really think they’ll accept us?”

“I’m sure of it.” Nazira put a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder. “If they embraced the Skirmishers, they are meant to help us.”

“Humans were meant to do many things, Nazira.” Zafar’s golden eyes met hers, pupils wide in the low light. “And each time they failed.”

“Not every time.” She punched him lightly. “You’re so melodramatic.”

“I am pragmatic.” He scolded her as he began to button his shirt. “Something I wish you had inherited, Nazira.”

She surged forward and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “You worry too much, it will wrinkle your pretty face.” She fastened her own cloak again and took her brother’s hand. “I believe it is time we reveal that face to the world.”

“Well, I guess it is only a skip and a hop away from Carthage.”

Jane sighed at the analogy. “Can you just say yes or no like a normal person, Commander?”

“Oh but Jane, I’m not normal~” Senuna giggled. She began to toy with the stack of papers on her desk, flipping through them absentmindedly. “Hm...and you said…?”

“They’re not registered with the Resistance Council.” Jane said. “Of course, it's not entirely unusual. But they’re also...not human.”

Senuna raised a brow at that. “I didn’t realize there were other Skirmisher colonies.”

“They’re not Skirmishers. Well, not in the way we know them.” Jane crossed her arms. “...It seems like some of the other species imprisoned by ADVENT have followed suit.”

“The others?” Senuna mused. “Well if Verge managed it…who is the leader?”

“They have two leaders.” Jane clarified. “Zafar Ba’al-Peor, and his sister, Nazira. He doesn’t show himself often. She’s a little bit more forward.” She cleared her throat. “I’m told.”

Senuna nodded slowly, her eyes seemingly glazing over as she contemplated this. “...This could be a trap.”

“It could be.” Jane admitted. “Could be ADVENT.”

“Or it could be a group of people who want to help.”

“Whatever your orders are, we’ll follow.” Jane confirmed, nodding as she did. “You haven’t led us the wrong way yet.”

“That’s the spirit.” She stood and patted Jane’s cheek. “My dear girl~”

“I’m not a child, Commander.” Jane looked away.

“Sweetheart, I held you as a baby, cut me some slack~” Senuna giggled and tossed the files back onto her desk. “Okay. Call Bradford in here and let's see what he thinks.”

“You’ve already made up your mind.” Jane protested.

“Yes, I have. But Bradford made me promise to at least consult with him first.” She winked. “And convincing him I’m right isn’t that hard.”

“I think you’d be really pretty if you curled your hair.” Malinalli said as she collapsed back on the booth. Her hair was still damp from the beach, and Pangu waddled up to her and sat at her feet, sniffing her slippers.

The Shrinemaiden stopped combing her hair briefly, looking back at her human friend. “...Really?”

“Mhm.” Malinalli picked up Pangu, who snorted and settled on her chest. “It’s already got some curl to it. If you used a bit of styling product to enhance it, it would look incredible.”

Kon-Mai stared at her for a moment, her eyes falling away as she considered those words. “...I suppose…” She conceded, finally, going back to running the comb through her tangled white locks. The strands were so fine, it was hard to untangle them without ripping them out of her head.

Her brothers were both dressed in their sleeping clothes: Gur-Rai was lounging across the booth, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with an illustration of Courage the Cowardly Dog plastered across the front. Dhar-Mon was sitting much more politely, wearing both his silk pajamas and a very comfy looking robe. Firebrand had made him some hot chocolate as well, and it all looked very cozy.

“If we are all maximizing our comfort…” Verge came over, wearing a very large t-shirt and nothing else to cover him “then I should be able to remove this.”

“Absolutely not.” Kon-Mai said.

“Why?”

“We are in public, you cannot go nude.”

“I do not have genitals!” Verge exclaimed as he crossed his arms.

“If the other soldiers see a naked Sectoid on board, who’s to say they won’t mistake you for an enemy and shoot you?” Gur-Rai cut in. “We’re keepin’ you safe, Verge.”

“...That is one of the better excuses I’ve heard.” He admitted, crossing his arms. “Still an excuse.”

They heard footsteps, and Kon-Mai looked up to see Jane enter the room. The two swordswomen locked eyes and Jane nodded.

“Hope you’re all comfy.” She said. “We’re on the move again. The Commander needs you three up bright and early tomorrow.”

“Why?” Gur-Rai asked as he plucked Pangu from Malinalli’s lap. The possum let out a squeal, then settled around his shoulders.

“Another settlement needs our help.” She chuckled. “A nearby haven has cropped up, and they’re asking to make contact.”

“I thought the Templars were our regional contact.” Malinalli asked.

“The Templars…” Jane blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Well...Molly, you’ve seen them interact with normal soldiers. Would probably be best if we had a contact that didn’t try to fight everyone we were trying to make peace with.”

“Fair.”

“Hm.” Jane nodded in satisfaction. “The Commander wants you three to greet them personally. Thinks it’ll ease negotiations.”

“How will three great, grey monsters make negotiations any easier?” Dhar-Mon spoke up, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

“These people aren’t... “ She hesitated. “...They’re not...I...hm.” She shrugged. “Commander’s orders. Believe me, it’ll make sense when you get there.”

“In that case, we should turn in for the night.” Kon-Mai got up from her heat and pulled her sweater on, covering all exposed skin. “We must sleep well and early, greet the world with a fresh face.”

“Our faces? Fresh?” Gur-Rai laughed.

He meant it as a joke, but Kon-Mai felt the sting in her chest when he said that.

The night in the desert was unusually dark. The Avenger drifted lazily through the sky, like a bird floating on water. But despite the peace, sleep did not come easily.

At first Kon-Mai felt that the pricking on her skin might have been a sunburn, but soon she realized that the heat was not coming from her skin, but inside of her. As she laid back on her bed and tried to sleep, her breath kept coming in shorter and shorter bursts, cutting her esophagus with each movement. She sat up and noticed she was shaking, and she needed to do something but was unsure as to what…

She laid back and closed her eyes, deciding that if she wasn’t able to sleep, she could at least rest. It was better than nothing.

The night passed much more quickly after that, and soon Kon-Mai felt the prickle of red light gracing her eyelids. She opened her eyes, the bright orange sun cutting into her window. She wondered if she had managed to fall asleep. Her bones still felt so tired though…

She stood and dressed in her armor, noticing how utterly quiet the ship seemed to be this morning. Around this time, she would usually hear Bryni banging pots and pans together as she cooked breakfast, and alarms going off to wake the first round of morning duty soldiers. But there was none of that today. She didn’t even hear the ship’s engines, and that was a constant.

Kon-Mai power walked to the door, not bothering to pull back her hair or even to tie her yukata properly, and swung it open to reveal a sudden burst of cold, purple light.

As she darted out into the hall, calling for her brothers, a wave of fear came over her. The door behind her had disappeared, as had her armor, though instead of being left unclothed she looked down to see she was once again clad in her old, torn ADVENT armor, the chestplate half cracked and discarded. Around her the Avenger morphed into the pillars of the inner sanctum.

She tried to turn around and run back to her bed, to hide like a child from a monster, but the door was gone and an infinite drop off the walkway was all that remained.

She looked to either side, analyzing the unfortunately familiar surroundings. At one end, she saw the metal path extend far off into nowhere. She had never been down that way before, and the emptiness of it terrified her.

At the other, not 50 feet away, was an apparition, glowing red, in the shape of an alien woman she knew all too well.

Abyzou.

Kon-Mai wanted to run, to turn and sprint down that hallway until she faded into shadow and nothing. But her feet brought her forward, out of her control. She stood before her mother, a demon glowing crimson, and dropped to one knee.

“My sweet girl.” Abyzou’s voice dripped with malice. “What is THIS?”

Kon-Mai looked up, only briefly. This conversation felt familiar to her somehow. “I am so sorry.” She whispered.

“What was that?”

“I am so sorry, Vox Abyzou.” Kon-Mai said, louder, her voice shaking. “I could not help it.”

“Look at you…” Abyzou raised one long, gnarled finger, also dipped in red, and yanked Kon-Mai’s head to attention, grabbing her by the chin. “Look at your face.”

Kon-Mai didn’t dare look, but she brought one hand to her right cheek. It stung, and her fingers came away bloody. Her lip felt numb.

“It will not leave a scar.” She tried to assure her. She knew it hadn’t: the cut had healed and the scar had faded and even then, she was later “killed” in an explosion and brought back fresh and clean once again.

“Look at your body.” Abyzou hissed. “Your calloused hands. Your bony hips. Look at you.”

She looked down now, and like a magnifying glass she saw every flaw, every bruise and cut and bone. She was not as thin as her brother, but her hips were wide and protruding, and the skin under them dipped in like a crease before moving to her fleshy thighs. Across her belly, there was that long scar she had given herself, inflamed and red and oozing purple and green. Even in this nightmare, she could smell that nauseating sweetness.

“There is so much wrong with you.” Abyzou ripped her hand away. “How could my precious blood have birthed something so utterly deformed?”

The words stung. “I won, Vox Abyzou.” She rasped out, knowing this conversation by heart. Every word was burned into her memory. “I destroyed the entire convoy. All the soldiers. The train is safe. You are safe.”

“And you expect praise?” Abyzou made a sound that could have been a laugh. “You were simply making up for your many, many shortcomings. A train? As if that will save us from our demise. As if that will help.” She clenched her fist, and Kon-Mai flinched. She could feel her heart racing, the temperature in her body growing hotter.

“Mother…” Kon-Mai collapsed forward on her hands, writhing in agony. She tried to keep silent, but couldn’t help the whimpers as Abyzou’s infernal magic cut into her cells and stripped her of her life. “Please have mercy…”

“Be SILENT.” Her mother’s booming voice echoed on the chamber's high walls, and with it, the pillar of purple light slammed into Kon-Mai. “THAT is what I want from you. To be silent. Be STILL. I wanted a beautiful jewel to look upon, and all I have is broken glass! That’s what you are.” She hissed, wringing her hand so hard, glowing ichor dripped past her fingers. “You are broken.”

Kon-Mai gagged as she felt her heart burst, her ribs break and her lungs pop. Her vision was fading fast as she desperately tried to get her breath back, driven by nothing but a primal, human need to survive. Her body was crumbling around her and as she let out a scream…

She sat up in bed. The sun was barely up, and the distinct shades of yellow and pink met her eyes. She heard the gentle hum of the ship’s engine, the bustle of soldiers in the bar, talking and laughing…

Kon-Mai put one hand to her chest, her heart still racing, but definitely still beating.

The Avenger touched down on shifting sand. The heat and light in the distance gave the illusion of a sea of water, vapor rising in the air, but anyone who looked out onto the dead landscape would see that it was dunes alone.

The bridge came down, and there they stood: XCOM’s pride and joy. The Commander in front, clothed in sheer white, glowing in the sun. Beside her, Bradford, Zhang and Jane, at attention, like always. And behind them, towering like pillars, the Chosen were clad in their armor.

Kon-Mai felt like she was floating, perhaps because of the lack of sleep or the heat. Her brothers stood on either side of her but she dared not lean on them, for the heat was bad and they both had enough to carry as it was.

For a while after they landed, the sand remained empty and barren, a deserted landscape with no one in sight. Jane looked over to Bradford. “We didn’t get stood up, did we?”

“Look.” Zhang answered instead, pointing out into the sand. At first, there was nothing, then Gur-Rai craned his neck.

“Someone’s coming.” He said.

Kon-Mai squinted against the bright sun, and slowly but surely, she saw a figure drawing closer and closer, moving gracefully and lithely like a snake. As it approached the ship, the figure of a woman was distinguishable, her head covered by a loose, pink hood, partially obscuring long black hair. She was tall, and her body was thinner than Kon-Mai had ever seen in a human, almost suspiciously so. Her long tunic was a soft burgundy color, and under her hood, Kon-Mai could feel her green eyes scanning over them.

The woman stopped just short of the ramp, eyes landing on Gur-Rai, and a smile of absolute delight came over her face. “My dear!”

Gur-Rai blinked, meeting her eyes in confusion. “Me?”

“You don’t remember?” The woman smiled warmly. “I had heard the rumors...but I never thought I would see you again!”

He blinked, narrowing his eyes for a moment. “...No way.” His face broke into a wide smile. “Nazira?!”

“It is me!” She took down her hood and shook out her long, silken hair. “In flesh and blood!”

Gur-Rai shoved past Jane, almost knocking her over, and ran down the ramp, practically tackling Nazira in a hug. It was then that Kon-Mai realized she was nearly as tall as he was, though still light enough that he was able to pick her up and spin her around like he was dancing with her.

“It’s been so long!” She cried, her voice muffled from her face being buried in his shoulder. “There were rumors you had left the Elders, but I dared not let myself hope!”

“But hope is what brought us here, my dear~” He pulled away, turning to the confused group (and the very annoyed Jane). “Brother, Sister, you never met Nazira, did you?”

“Was she one of your many liaisons?” Kon-Mai descended the ramp and bowed to the strange woman, who was still shorter than her, but not by much. It was a weird feeling. “I cannot say I remember you, Nazira. I am sorry.”

“Well, you wouldn’t even if we’d met before.” Nazira chuckled. “I have changed quite a bit.”

“I’ll say~” Gur-Rai let out a wolf whistle. “I didn’t know you set up shop out here in bumfuck nowhere.”

“Oh, this place is actually quite lovely. You just have to find it.” She turned away from the Chosen and looked up. “Hm. I wonder which of you is the Commander.”

“That would be-” Bradford began, but Nazira cut him off.

“I was kidding.” She extended her skirt in a curtsy. “Commander Senuna. I have heard so many stories about you.”

“All of which are true, I’m sure.” Senuna said with a giggle. She began to descend onto the sandy plateau, beckoning her present company to follow. “Is it just you?”

“My brother awaits your arrival back home.” Nazira replied. “He’s a little bit paranoid—too paranoid if you ask me. But he insists.” She turned around, staring out into what they thought must have been empty desert. “Come come, follow me.”

As they drew deeper into the heat, the vapor of mirage began to dissipate, and before their eyes emerged an array of stone houses, rising up out of the sand and dust. Around the houses, like a ring, were fields of green grass and flowers that sat as a barrier between it and the harshness of the world around. Within that ring of green and the maze of stone, a glittering blue lake sat like the pupil of an eye.

Nazira led them in through a stone archway, which opened up to winding stone paths and dry houses made of clay, decorated with colorful cloth and tents.Bradford looked around nervously. “Why are there so many snakes here?”

“Snakes?” Dhar-Mon looked at the ground and staggered, scared he was going to step on one of these mystery snakes.

“He means the vipers, Brother.” Gur-Rai chuckled. As he gestured around, the other two Chosen did notice the multitude of serpentine women, some wearing head coverings and holding back their hoods, some cloaked in modified human clothes, but not a single one holding weapons.

“The snakes are here for the same reason as everyone else.” Nazira deliberately turned and stared Bradford down. “To escape from the tyranny that is ADVENT.”

He said nothing, but Gur-Rai saw his hand move to his gun.

They came to one slightly larger house near the center of the small town, shaded by intricate red rugs that looked similar to ones they had seen in Nuwa’s room at Vorontsovo. Nazira pushed aside the cloth that blocked the door and stood to the side. “Brother, I’m home and I brought friends!”

As they stepped inside, the surprisingly cool air hit their skin first, causing most of the company to shiver. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Kon-Mai saw that the inside, though made of the same clay, was neat and swept clean, with more colorful rugs covering the bare concrete floor. At a low table on the other side of the room, she saw a man with long, wavy black hair sitting with his back to them. In his hand was a steaming cup of tea: she could smell the peppermint and it gave her some vague comfort.

“Ah.” He said as he rose to his feet, straightening up to reveal his tall, thin, lanky figure. He turned, and greenish-yellow eyes scanned the room, landing on Senuna. “And so the mysterious Commander shows herself. Welcome to Dakhla Oasis.”

“It is an honor.” She smiled, and her teeth flashed pearly in the low light. “I assume you are Zafar Ba’al-Peor?”

“Yes, I was the one who sent word to you.” He confirmed. He scanned the room, and Kon-Mai could see his mind processing everything at a mile a minute. His gaze fell on Gur-Rai and…

“Damn it.” He sighed. “You again.”

“Oh come on now.” Gur-Rai walked right up to him and socked him in the shoulder. “You missed me~”

“I will miss the peace and quiet more.” He growled, but Kon-Mai saw just the hint of a smile on his face. “Please keep your unholy transgressions with my sister to an indoor noise level.”

“Oh, I’ll be quiet as a mouse, Zafar. I’ll make no promises for Nazira~” Gur-Rai snaked one long arm around Nazira’s waist.

“Stop that, you dog~” She giggled.

“Yes, stop it please.” Bradford snapped. “You can play later. It’s time we got down to business.”

“Of course.” Zafar sat at the narrow end of the table, and Senuna plopped down criss-cross-applesauce across from him. She leaned forward, a smirk on her face.

“What do you need from me?” She asked.

The afternoon seemed to drag on, in that way it does when one is experiencing something unpleasant like a class lecture. Or, in this case, a debate gone very, very awry. While Jane, Bradford and Zhang stood behind their Commander, backing her up in the event that Zafar foolishly tried to attack, the Chosen hung back: Dhar-Mon and Kon-Mai relaxed by the doorway, and Gur-Rai was sprawled across a nearby couch one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. Nazira sat beside him, laying back comfortably on his chest.

Senuna raised her cup of tea to her lips, eyes unmoving as they met Zafar’s golden gaze.

“Well?” He pressed, his tone anxious.

“You’re asking for a lot.” She admitted.

“It is nothing short of what we need.” He assured her. “We have access to supplies; food and water and there’s an Elerium deposit in the mountains of Al-Wahat.” He was trying to maintain a calm demeanor, but from the tapping of his finger on the table, she could see he was anxious.

“I know. But 100 soldiers is too much for us to spare.” She shook her head. “As it is, we only carry about 75 with us on the Avenger. The rest are stationed at other havens, and they’re already spread thin. Most don’t have more than a few.”

Zafar chewed on his lip. “We are being targeted by ADVENT.” He elaborated. “I only ask for what we need, and I would never ask this of you without offering all I could in return.”

“I can spare 50, at most.” Senuna said.

“It is not enough!” He snapped. Before Senuna could react, or Bradford could draw his weapon though, he sighed and sat back. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” She looked at him sympathetically. “...How have you been sleeping?”

“Poorly.” He admitted. “It is not me I fear for. I may be taken back to ADVENT. I will suffer, but what is the suffering of one man? It is my people I fear for: the Vipers have eggs here, and many are already nesting. At least one human couple has children. Besides them, the denizens of this oasis simply want a place to live in peace, and if ADVENT finds us they will all be dashed under a trooper’s boot.”

Senuna sat back, and Bradford spoke up. “What did you do that makes you such a hot commodity?” He said with resounding snark. “I kind of doubt you’re more important than the Commander.”

Zafar turned his golden eyes on Bradford. “It is not what I did, but who I am. Who…” He gestured to Nazira. “Who we were. Our mere existence could incite rebellion. You’ve seen it with the Skirmishers.”

“Indeed.” Nazira rose from her seat. “Imagine if the Elders old forgotten pets suddenly rose up and usurped them.”

“Old forgotten…?” Bradford narrowed his eyes.

“You really don’t see it?” For the first time since they arrived, Zhang spoke up. “Look at their eyes, Bradford. They’re snake eyes.”

All of a sudden it clicked. The tall, lanky bodies, the black hair, the eyes, “You two are Thin Men!”

Zafar nodded, almost in relief, but Nazira crossed her arms, her confident smirk just a bit tense. “You’d be right, although ‘Thin Man’ is hardly the appropriate term for me, at least nowadays.”

“I don’t recall any female infiltrator units.” Zhang looked at her sideways. “There was only the Thin Men, was there not?”

“I’m well aware of that.” She fiddled with her tunic as she searched for the words. “The Elders changed us into the image they saw fit, with no regard for who we truly were. They stole us away from our home, molded us to their liking, and assigned us an identity. An identity that I knew was not mine.” She met his eyes with confidence. “I’m a woman now, I always was, and I always will be.”

“That is fair.” Zhang nodded. “That does leave the question of how you two escaped.”

“Each ADVENT unit has a chip.” Jane said. “I assume yours malfunctioned, like the rest?”

“Perhaps. One of the human engineers assumes it’s some kind of hardware rot.” Zafar spoke up. “Nazira’s broke before mine did, but mine followed suit quickly after.”

“Rest assured, Commander, we are chip free.” Nazira settled back into the loveseat, leaning back against Gur-Rai’s chest.

“That’s quite a story.” Senuna laced her fingers together. “You truly think ADVENT is hunting you? Don’t they have better things to do? Like hunt me?”

“I would have hoped so...no offense, Commander.” Zafar cleared his throat. “But before coming to Dakhla, Nazira and I were accosted constantly by ADVENT soldiers and troops. I would very much like to believe we are safe here in hiding, but I can’t be sure. I can’t take that risk.”

Senuna seemed to ruminate on this. “I’ll see what I can do to help you, Zafar. I can’t promise anything, but...maybe I can call in a few favors.”

Zafar’s face seemed to relax immensely. “...Thank you, Senuna.”

She nodded. “In the meantime, would it be possible for my soldiers to deplane and relax for a bit? Your city is lovely and they’d love to explore~”

“After what you’ve agreed to? Please.” He took a sip of his now cold tea. “It’s the least we can do.”

“So what is it you do for fun in this lonely little town?” Gur-Rai asked as Nazira took his arm in hers and dragged him through the streets. His siblings followed behind at a distance, walking slowly to give the two a wide berth.

“Farming, fishing, guard patrol…” She sighed and flipped her hair. “It is incredibly dull here, but maybe dull is what I need.”

“Really now? Haven’t found someone to replace me yet?”

“Replace the Chosen Hunter?” She cackled. “A few have tried. None can measure up, figuratively and literally.”

“Thank you…” He trailed off. “But I don’t go by ‘Hunter’ anymore. XCOM calls me Darkstrider.”

Nazira was silent for a moment. “Hm. I always figured your name was the one thing the Elders gave you that you liked.”

“It’s not bad…” He shrugged. “But let’s face it, I was never good at hunting.”

“Well, you found me.” She giggled.

“Yes.” He nodded. “And then I let you go.”

“You made the right choice.” She assured him. “I would have suffered a slow demise in the Elders’ grasp. Out here, people know who I am and actually respect it.”

He brushed a lock of long, black hair behind her ear. “I am glad you regret nothing, Nazira.”

“I only regret not knocking you out and taking you with me.” She said. “More for your sake than mine.”

“My sister would have hunted you down.”

“Maybe she would have actually found us.”

“Not likely, she can’t see six feet in front of her own face~”

“I can hear you!” Kon-Mai snapped behind them.

Nazira broke into a laugh and led them farther down the narrow streets, towards the oasis in the center. To one side, one of the houses was topped by a tall, magnificent tower with a makeshift satellite atop it. She stopped for a moment, pointing up at it. “That’s what we used to call your people.”

“They’re my people now?” Gur-Rai chuckled.

“They always were.” She beckoned them toward it. “Come, let's get out of the sun. I am burning out here.”

“I agree.” Dhar-Mon sounded hesitant. “But perhaps one of us should check on the Avenger?”

“Didn’t I just say that’s a radio tower?” Nazira raised a brow. “We can call them in there.”

“I…” He blushed, turning briefly purple. “Yes...you did.”

“His girlfriend is on the ship~” Gur-Rai leaned over, barely bothering to whisper.

“She is nothing of the sort!” Dhar-Mon was blushing so hard, he looked like a grape. “I am worried about all of the personnel! Not just Malinalli!”

“Girlfriend or not, she sounds lovely.” Nazira used her shoulder to heave aside the huge stone door that marked the entrance to the tower. “Come, we can place a call to them inside if you are so desperate to see her~”

The inside may have been narrow, but it was far from empty. The stairs leading up top were but an addition on the side: in the center was a maze of stone shelves that held various books, from fiction to technical know how, including a very worn out “Radio Communication for Dummies”.

“Are you not worried this will start a fire?” Kon-Mai asked.

“Not at the moment. All the electrical gear is at the very top.” She looked over the two. “I assume you know how to operate a radio? Or would you like to browse our collection?”

Dhar-Mon began to open his mouth, most likely to take her up on that offer to read books, but his brother cut in. “They’ll be fine, right guys?” He gave them a look. “Why don’t you go upstairs and put in that call.”

“But I do not-” Dhar-Mon was once again interrupted, this time by Kon-Mai sighing.

“Of course, Brother.” She sneered. “Protect yourself down here.”

“Oh I will.” He winked as Nazira pulled him into the maze of books.

Kon-Mai took her older brother by the arm. “Come. They want some time alone.”

“Well that is fine.” He grumbled. “But I still do not know how to use a radio.”

“I have some experience.” She assured him. “If we put our heads together, we can most likely figure it-”

Dhar-Mon snapped his fingers. “That is it! Psionics! You are a genius, Sister.”

Kon-Mai smiled. “Is that all I am?”

“No.” He put a hand on her back, both as comfort and to protect her from what was becoming a steep drop. “You are kind and beautiful as well.”

Summary: At the beginning of the chapter, we are introduced to a character named Nazira, who examines her hometown while reflecting on it’s inhabitants. The haven is made up of Vipers and humans at least, with one notable Muton. Suffering from a headache, she abandons her current thoughts and joins her brother, Zafar, in what appears to be meditation at an ancient temple, dedicated to three Ancient Egyptian gods. Nazira tells Zafar she saw the Avenger today, and the two agree that it is time to make contact, though Zafar is nervous in doing so.

On board the Avenger, Jane informs Senuna that Zafar has made contact, and Senuna agrees to meet with them at their home. Jane goes to the Chosen, who are relaxing after their day at the beach, and inform them that Senuna wants them present for negotiations, to which Dhar-Mon and Gur-Rai comment that their faces may only serve to scare them away. That night, Kon-Mai has a nightmare about Elder Abyzou, who made several disparaging comments about the former’s appearance in the past, which Kon-Mai still holds onto.

Landing in the desert, the group meets Nazira, who is revealed to have been one of Gur-Rai’s old flames, and they are excited to see one another. She leads them to Dakhla Oasis, where she introduces them to Zafar and negotiations begin. Zafar wants 100 soldiers to guard the oasis, and Senuna informs him that that is not a possibility. Zafar is adamant, saying that as he and Nazira are escaped Thin Men, the Elders accosted them regularly, and he fears his people will be caught in their wrath. Zhang expresses some confusion towards Nazira, who clarifies that she is a woman, despite the gender the Elders assigned to her while she was in their service. Impressed with the story of their escape, Senuna agrees to call in some favors, but makes no promises as to whether they’ll be able to help. In return, Zafar allows the Avenger’s crew to rest and relax at the oasis.

(Well, I meant to wake up earlier to post this but I hit snooze too many times and now it’s late afternoon! Oh well, at least it’s out, and I’m quite proud and excited for this arc of the story. Thing are about to get very, very exciting.)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom war of the chosen #cw gore #cw abuse

7 notes · View notes

letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 4 years

Note

Okay, if it's too much, don't answer that's fine. I'm not American and I've read so many different things about the political stuff that's going down over there, some saying Biden is the same as Trump, some say he's even better than Bernie. I got not clue how to sort that Joe Biden guy, sooo... Could you help us non Americans out a little? So far it's just looking like everyone is standing around a dumpster fire, shouting stuff that's not really comprehensible

Jesus Christ this was something to wake up to this morning. I’m gonna be honest, it’s not my job to educate you or anyone else on this matter, you’re all adults (supposedly, I’m doubtful about a lot of you) and Google exists. But I also understand that it can be intimidating to dive into the wide world of the internet and it feels easier to ask someone you trust or feel that you know, so I’ll do my best to be concise and explain.

Everyone is standing around a dumpster fire shouting stuff that’s not comprehensible because people, my darling, are idiots.

“No, Mads, people aren’t idiots!” A person is not an idiot. But people are. Put us in a group and we’ll happily self destruct in the most spectacular fashion possible.

Biden is nowhere near the same as Trump, people just live in an echo chamber and refuse to look at the facts. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how awful Trump is. It baffles me that people are saying Biden, who happily supported Barack Obama and played second fiddle to him for eight years, is the same as the man who’s putting children in cages.

Here is a breakdown of Biden’s policy plans should he be elected. Very different from Trump’s, as you can see. To quote this post here:

“It's important to be critical of political figures, especially during a primary election. Joe Biden has been in politics for a very long time, and his record is by no means spotless. There's lots to criticize, politically and personally. But having Biden in the big chair instead of Trump changes the entire game.

Look at it this way: if Joe Biden wins, a democratic Congress gets a clear path to passing real, lasting progressive laws. If Joe Biden wins, Ruth Bader Ginsburg gets to retire, and be replaced by a young firebrand who will make Neil Gorsuch and Brett Kavanaugh's lives a living hell for the next 40 years. If Joe Biden wins, all of the horrible executive orders Trump has enacted are gone, on day one: family seperation, abortion bans in VA hospitals, EPA funding gutted, global warming denial in NOAA, removal of LGBT+ protections, all GONE in January 2021. If Joe Biden wins, all the Trump shills in the government disappear: I'm talking about new people in the CPB, the Justice Department, the FTC, and everything other federal agency. With Biden instead of Trump, we're going to be fighting for Medicare for All vs. Obamacare, instead of Keeping Obamacare vs. Stripping Away Any Kind of Federal Insurance. We're going to be fighting for the Green New Deal vs. Having a Functional EPA, instead of Gutting The EPA or Having No EPA At All. The fight is way different, and we get to pull the conversation further left - where it belongs.

This election is just as much about getting rid of the Republican stench in the Oval Office as it is electing a particular person. So yeah, be critical of Joe Biden, but please don't lose sight of what President Joe Biden would actually look like versus President Trump.”

People seem to be forgetting that when you vote for president, you are, supposedly, not voting for One Supreme Leader Who Makes All The Decisions Ever. Putting Biden in the Oval Office is more about putting in a man who will pass the laws that a liberal, democratic Congress will put in front of him. A man who will actually listen to his advisors. It’s about putting in someone who won’t appoint a bunch of judges that will screw over everyone for the next, oh, three decades.

I don’t want Biden in office. I wanted Elizabeth Warren, for fuck’s sake. Whose policies were the same as Bernie’s, by the way, for all you bros out there who say you aren’t sexist. The last thing I want is another old white man, for the love of whatever you worship. But the idea that someone who supported and worked under someone like Obama is somehow the same as a Neo-fascist egomaniac is... ridiculous. It’s truly ridiculous. Not that Obama was perfect, far from it, but under his presidency we were making progress on things and my God, I wasn’t scared for the lives of just about everyone I know.

As for Biden versus Sanders, the argument that Biden is better stems from the fact that while Sanders has helped move the party left with his presidential campaigns and he makes pretty speeches, he hasn’t actually done anything in all his time serving as an elected public official. If you actually go and look at his track record, he hasn’t passed many laws or helped enact a whole lot of others. Everyone’s making a big deal about how he “saved millions of lives” with his big speech but actually, sorry kids, politics are not Hollywood and you don’t save the day by making a speech and miraculously everyone votes on something. Senator Michael Bennet of Colorado and Schumer actually talked to people, convinced them on it, and got the votes that secured the unemployment bill being passed, and that’s what saved lives, not someone yelling (no matter how passionate or eloquent their yelling is).

It’s great to yell about how the system is corrupt etc but you have to actually follow those words with actions, and Sanders, historically, is not good about compromising, working with others, reaching out to others, being on a team. And that’s exactly what you need to be able to do in politics to get anything done. There’s an episode of Leverage called “The Gimme a K Job,” where Sophie spends the entire time running back and forth between politicians getting them to compromise and quid pro quo for one another so she can get them to vote on a law. I recommend watching it. The situation is played for laughs, but it’s also brutally honest. You cannot get anything done in politics (or in a lot of things in life) if you aren’t willing to work together and bargain and give some to get some, and Sanders isn’t, and that’s not good.

Now, Sanders has done a lot in his presidential campaign to move the Dem party left and he’s really stirred up younger voters, and those are both good things. If you look at Biden’s policies in the post I linked, you’ll see a lot of them are more liberal than most people expected, and that’s probably because Biden and his team saw everyone supporting Sanders’ policies and went, “oh, okay, this is what the people want.” Which already shows that Biden is willing to listen to the people more than Trump and his party are.

And then there’s the more personal side of things. Sanders really left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because some of his supporters were so extreme in their support of him, to the point of acting like he’s the only person who could possibly save us, when honestly that’s not how democracy (or socialism, frankly) works. The whole idea is that all of us, working together as a movement, are what makes change. The people all standing up together and demanding that lawmakers do this, that, and the other thing. Sanders extremists, known as “Bernie Bros,” acting like Sanders is their One True Savior has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. In my experience, people don’t like being shouted at and told they’re idiots. And in my experience, one single person isn’t going to save you. And nobody’s perfect so furthermore acting like someone is perfect is only going to annoy everyone else around you and set you up for disappointment down the line.

There are a lot of people out there feeling attacked by Sanders supporters, and so frankly, they’re glad to see the back of him and throw support behind Biden, because they’re just sick of dealing with his extremist followers.

If you want to tear the system down completely then gold star to you, but the fact is otherwise you have to work within the system to change it. And I don’t see any of these people yelling on the internet actually doing the work to organize a revolution. It’s fun to yell about your opinions, it helps you feel better, it helps you feel powerful and heard. But the real work is done in volunteering, in protesting, in running for local offices, in doing research and then voting for your mayor, your governor, your senator, your state representative. Those people, as the COVID-19 epidemic is proving, actually often have more direct power to help or harm you than the President does.

People have more power than they think, but they’re just refusing to use it, and they’re refusing to think critically and to do research on the policies of candidates. I’ve seen people calling Biden a “serial rapist,” for crying out loud, which, whether he assaulted a woman or not, is not true. That’s like if I killed one person and suddenly everyone was calling me a mass murderer. People like to exaggerate, to bloviate, and to think in black and white. It’s disappointing, but true.

One final thought, for both you and actual Americans: look at how non-Americans are viewing the United States election. We are not the center of the universe (although we like to pretend we are) but we do have a huge impact on the global stage, and other countries are begging us to elect someone other than Trump. You want to claim we’re not the stereotype of the selfish, self-centered American? Than put your money where your mouth is and look at the non-Americans who are asking us to please, please, please elect someone else. Do it for them, if nothing else. The world is bigger than just us.

Biden isn’t perfect. One could argue one way or another on the Sanders v. Biden debate. It really depends on your personal opinion. But when it comes to Trump v. Biden, it really shouldn’t be rocket science. One of them has allowed racism, sexism, and xenophobia to thrive. He’s literally responsible for thousands of deaths (and counting) through his mishandling of the COVID-19 pandemic. He’s backed us out of the planet-saving environmental agreement that everyone else agreed to. He’s enabled corrupt, selfish politicians to have their way. He would appoint judges that will strike down everything from refugees to abortion rights. He’s destroyed our international relations, nearly started a war, and I actually don’t think he knows how to read.

And his name’s Trump.

That’s the difference.

#mads answers things #politics #this is the one and only time I am explaining this #all other questions will simply get a link to this post #yokoo-chan98

18 notes · View notes