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loveharlow · 1 month

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SEVEN - 006

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[7.4k] based on 1x06.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mild violence, gun violence/graphic depictions of gun use, mentions of drowning, arguing, entrapment, references to mild bullying

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ Idk if y'all can tell but I be eatin the kie x sarah x reader drama up when i'm writing like it's too fun to write

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“SORRY, YOU’RE STAYING WHERE?” Kiara asked grabbing a tray of food as John B leaned against the counter and you trailed behind her with a pitcher of drinks. The Wreck had opened for the day not too long ago.

“Tannyhill.” He said shortly, eyes wide and unexpecting as he leaned his forearms on the counter.

“So, you’re living with Sarah Cameron.” Kie said with a tight-lipped grimace.

“Look, the only reason I’m living there is ‘cause her dad bailed me out, alright?” The Routledge boy reassured, following you both out to the table where JJ and Pope were lounging inside of The Wreck. “And it’s way better than foster care which, by the way, is where I was about to go.”

“So, do you have membership to the clubs now?” Pope perked up curiously, legs kicked up on the wooden surface. Kiara sat the tray of fries down while you poured the drinks into each respective cup before taking a stand behind JJ’s chair that was next to Pope’s, leaning your arms over it as you bent nonchalantly behind him, stealing a fry from his hand over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, Pope.”

“What about those golf carts they drive around? You get one of them?” He questioned again, amusement in his brown eyes. “Does it come with a sweater vest or do you have to buy one of your own?”

“Look, you promised.” Kiara cut in disappointedly, returning back to the original topic of conversation. “You said you weren’t with her…” John B just shrugged as if he wasn’t caught in a lie.

“Bro, just own it. She’s got you.” JJ scoffed.

Kiara just ignored the blonde. “If you wanna hang out with her, that’s fine. But I’m letting you know that I’m not doing anything with Sarah.” She continued on, affirming the boy.

“Do you guys see her here?” JB cut in shortly, annoyed. “No? Right, okay. A little focus would be fantastic. We’ve got the map, right?”

“It’s out of whack ‘cause the guy was ganja’d when he drew it.” JJ piped in.

“It’s more so due to the fact that the coast has changed.” You offered, looking down at the blonde. “But it deffo looks like he drew it after ingesting a whole eddie and downing half a bottle of Everclear.”

“We just have to look for the landmarks that haven’t changed.” Pope spoke to no one in particular as he surveyed the map.

“What about the old forts?”

“Battery Jasper.” Kiara threw out with full confidence. Pointing to a clear spot on the map in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Looks were shared around the table before everyone shrugged, you all hopping up and heading outside of The Wreck and into The Twinkie.

“WE’RE IN BATTERY, RIGHT HERE.” Pope had the map pressed up against a rock, still reading it as the remaining four of you looked out at the expanse of land in front of you. Nothing but grass and trees for miles. “So if this is parcel nine, then it’s somewhere northeast of here. Over there.” He concluded, pointing ahead.

“That’s not Tannyhill,” JJ began, squinting his eyes. “That’s a subdivision.”

“Tannyhill Plantation was the entire island.” John B told him. “Over time, it got sold into smaller pieces.”

“So we’re looking for an old stone wall…” Pope pondered, heading back into the van without a word. The rest of you simply followed, loading into the van with JB as the driver and following Pope’s verbal lead. “The road should split up here. You’re gonna take a left.” He said after a few minutes of driving.

John B made an unnecessarily sharp left turn, sending the three of you in the backseat flying against the wall of the Twinkie. After a few curses and groans, you looked to see what was stone wall. “This is it.” Pope claimed.

“Are you kidding me?” Kiara exclaimed, hopping out of the van as the rest of you followed. Looking up at the house, it was immediately recognizable.

“The Crain House?” You asked incredulously, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“Worst-case scenario.” JJ quipped. “I heard that Mrs. Crain buried her husbands head on the property.”

“Honestly, I don’t really believe the stories about this place.” John B shrugged, taking the first step and leading the group through the thick mess of greenery that led up to the house itself. You were constantly swatting leaves and branches out of your field of vision as you walked.

“Which stories did you hear?” JJ inquired.

“The one where she killed her husband with an axe and that she’s been holed up ever since.” Kiara replied. “On certain nights, when the moon is full, you can see her in the windooow.” She teased, wiggling her fingers in a spooky motion.

“Okay, it’s not funny ‘cause it’s all true. I swear to God, guys, this is all real. I knew Hollis.” JJ preached.

“Hollis Crain? The daughter?” You asked, tilting your head in his direction as you dodged a branch.

“Yeah. She was my babysitter.” He told you, holding up the next branch for you to walk under, releasing it just in time to swat Pope in the forehead. “She told me all about it. About her mother, what happened in the house. As a kid, she heard all these stories about how her mother had killed her father. Hollis didn’t believe it. Until that night…” He trailed off.

You groaned at his dramatics, stopping in your tracks to cross your arms and shift your weight. “What night?” You asked, feeding into JJ’s theatrics.

“When Hollis was six years old, she heard her parents arguing downstairs. So, she goes down there to see her mom washing her hands in a sink full of blood. Her mother says she just cut her finger. Next morning? She says her father and her split up. But then, Hollis noticed something — her mother going in and out of the parlor constantly, hands full of plastic bags. Weeks pass and Hollis decides to use the outhouse. And as she’s using it, she looks down, and there, in the outhouse, is her father’s head looking straight back at her.”

“...You are so full of shit.” John B protested, throwing his head back and walking off.

“Wait! Dude…” JJ grabbed his best friend by the shoulder. “You sure you wanna do this? She’s an axe murderer and… you got a cast on.”

“I don’t give a shit, JJ.” John B said angrily. “I’ve got nothing to lose, right?” He threw the blonde’s words back at him. “You guys comin’ or what?” He spat before continuing his journey further onto the Crain property, the rest of you reluctantly following.

Stopping in what seemed to be a garden just a handful of feet from the front door, John B turned around. “Here's the plan. We need to look for the wheat near the water, like it said in Denmark’s Letter.”

“What kind of water? Like, pond water?” Pope replied.

JJ chuckled. “Bong water?” He tried to joke. John B just twisted his face and ignored at his childish tactics.

“Look, I don’t know, just look for water.” He demanded before continuing to lead the group. He crept around the foundation of the house, crouching in front of a small entrance that led under the structure. “C’mon, it’s the only place we haven’t looked.” He urged the four of you, turning on his flashlight and crawling through the entrance as the rest of you piled in, single-file behind him.

You coughed as you stood to your full height and dust filled your lungs. The crawlspace was filthy, smelly, and festering with mosquitos. You clicked on your mini flashlight, scanning the space.

“There’s not even water on the pipes.” JJ judged, rubbing his palm against the pipes that were so dry, the interaction sounded like nails on sandpaper.

“There’s not a drop of water here...” Pope said, irritated.

“Know why we didn’t find it?” Kie sighed, turning her sights to John B. “Bad karma.”

“God, here we go…” JB rolled his eyes.

“We had a good thing going. And then you decide to rope in Barbie and now, trail’s gone dry. Coincidence? I don't think so.” The brown-haired girl mouthed-off.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you about Sarah. What the hell’s the deal with you two?” Then his eyes landed on you, standing a few feet behind Kie between Pope and JJ who were also listening in on the not-so-hushed conversation. “You three.”

“I just got bit by three fatass mosquitos, I’d like to opt out of this particular conversation-” You spoke with a snarl, swatting another mosquito that flew across your vision as Kie’s voice sounded out again, cutting off yours.

“Nothing’s the deal.” She spat, offended.

“Is it because I kissed you? Is that your problem?” John B’s head whipped to the side when Kiara’s palm made harsh contact with his cheek, the remaining three of you making simultaneous ‘O’ faces of shock from the sidelines.

“Stop treating me like I’m some girl who’s obsessed with you instead of your best friend who’s actually trying to look out for you.” She reprimanded sternly.

“Did you, uh, hit me?” John B grimaced, turning back to face her. Kiara simply held up her right hand, her backs to the three of you.

“Skeeter.” Was all she said.

“Skeeter?”

“Yeah.” Then John B was slapping her back. You threw your hands up in the air as Pope exclaimed and JJ chuckled at the two.

“Woah, hey!” Pope threw out, then John B was holding up his right hand, this time with his palm on display since he was facing you all, presenting a flattened mosquito stuck to his palm.

“Skeeter.” He retorted firmly, eyes squinted. They started playfully slapping each other’s faces and arms back and forth as the remaining portion of you went back to looking once the show had ended. You flashed your light up and down, side to side but still nothing. And the mosquitos were eating you from the inside out…

Mosquitos.

Why were there so many mosquitos in a basement?

Aiming your flashlight down, you started tapping the toe of your foot lightly against the ground, catching a certain blonde’s attention.

“Tap dancing, are we?”

“No. Mosquitos.” You dismissed him in your focus, stepping up onto a wooden platform and tapping your foot on top of it. It sounded hollow. You paused, kneeling on top of the structure and knocking on it, still hearing that same hollowed-out echo.

“Yes, princess, there are mosquitos everywhere.”

You sighed, shining your light through the crack in the planks but it was pitch black. “Mosquitos swarm near water.” You told JJ. “Still water. They need it to hatch eggs. So, why would so many mosquitos be in a basement with seemingly no water?” You almost sounded like you were talking to yourself with the way you were mumbling, looking for something small, your sights landed on a small pebble in the gravel under the house, picking it up before dropping it through a space between the wood. Planting your ear against the ground, you waited, until seconds after dropping the stone, you heard water splash.

“You find somethin’?” JJ asked, you being unaware that he was still watching you. You turned to him with your full attention now.

“Help me move this.” You whispered to him, already starting to pull the planks up in a frenzy. The other three pogues seemed to notice that the two of you had found something and started to help move the planks until a good chunk of them were out of the way.

The five of stared down as a well stared back at you, a least a couple dozen feet deep.

“Well, well, well…” Pope muttered in the ring of silence.

“That was a good dad joke.” John B told him, never taking his eyes off the well, a smirk breaking out on his features. “We’re gonna need a really big rope.”

“NO FUCKING WAY.” Kiara spat, pacing the patio of The Chateau — Sarah Cameron was sat next to John B, presenting as unbothered as ever. You sat on the farthest cushion right across from JJ and Pope. “You brought her here? So what? She’s in on this now?”

John B looked to his two guy friends for help, Pope simply shrugging his shoulders and muttering an ‘I dunno’ before JJ threw his hands out. “All I care about is her cut coming out of your share.” He directed at JB, pointing his finger for emphasis.

“This is our thing.” Kiara scolded, pointing to everyone but Sarah to further prove her point.

“I’m just a tad uncomfortable with this…” Pope added.

“When are you not uncomfortable?” John B tried to defend the blonde girl.

“I rode here on the back of JJ’s bike pretty comfortably.” The curly-haired boy sassed back from JJ’s side.

“It’s true. Most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.”

“We were all comfortable until you brought her.” Kiara shot out, not making eye contact with Sarah, who had finally had enough.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Was the first thing the blonde girl had said since her arrival.

“I mean, you could always go home. Just a thought…” You spoke nonchalantly, shrugging from your seat across the patio. Sarah eyed you meanly before looking at John B, scoffing.

“I told you.” Your eyes squinted and your head tilted to the side.

“Told him what, exactly? That your a liar?” Kiara argued before Sarah’s attention whipped around to her.

“No, that you’re a shit-talking bitch.” She told Kie, turning to you next. “And you’re a lying slut.”

Chaos broke out — voices over voices, JJ and Pope betting money as the three of you argued over one another.

“When have I ever lied to you, Kiara?!”

“You get somebody close to you for like a month and then completely turn your back on them-”

“I’m a slut? I’m sorry, how many boyfriends have you cheated on? This year alone?-”

“Everybody, shut up!” John B stopped the arguing. “Kie, Y/n, you are my best friends, right?” Both of you just looked away, giving him his answer but not the satisfaction of hearing it. “And Sarah, you’re…”

“...Say it.” She said, a sly smile on her face.

“...You’re my girlfriend.” John B proclaimed, a boy-ish grin on his face. You couldn’t help but groan and throw your head back, all eyes turning to you as you brought your angry gaze back down.

“You met her like three whole days ago, John B.” You fussed, crossing your arms over one another. “What happened to using her for information? And I quote ‘getting what we need and cutting her loose’?”

“...You said you were using me?” Sarah asked her “boyfriend” sadly.

John B shook his head in the smallest of motions, avoiding her eyes at all costs. “No.”

“Yeah, you did.” Pope refuted his claim. “You said those things...”

“Look, love just walked in, okay?” He tried to reason with you all but you couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

“Three days!” You laughed out.

“I didn’t expect it, it just kind of happened. And I’m not gonna deny it.” He continued, ignoring you.

“Well,” you got up from your seated position, hands slapping your knees. “If Clueless is in, count me out.” You told him, hands in your back pockets.

He shrugged like a child. “I’m not choosing, if that's what you're getting at.” He stated bluntly. You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek and looking around before deciding to walk off, heading for the dock.

“JUST CONSIDER IT.” JJ threw out the idea from his place beside you, leaning against the wood of the pier in front of The Chateau, Kiara and Pope having a separate conversation in front of you.

“I’m not considering anything, JJ.”

“You don’t have to like it. None of us do. But John B isn’t willing to choose and we can’t do this without you.”

“John B clearly can. He knew how we felt about her and he did everything we advised him not to do.” You snarled, looking out at the water. “None of you know her, not really. You think I just up and decided to hate Sarah Cameron one day? No.” You scoffed. “She creates a false sense of security and then when you start to rely on her, she uses it all against you.”

You both sat in silence, JJ not wanting to question you any further for the moment.

“What if he chooses her?” JJ asked you after a couple moments passed. You brought your eyes back to his, wind blowing your hair in your field of vision, voice small as you spoke.

“Then he’s a worse friend than I thought he was.”

YOU DECIDED TO MAKE YOUR WAY HOME AFTER WHAT WENT DOWN WITH JOHN B. You didn’t intend on making him choose between you or Sarah but you felt as if this whole thing had spiraled out of control. Maybe the biggest part was that you felt lied to. He promised there was nothing happening between them and when it came down to it, he couldn’t even make a decision between two of his life-long best friends and a girl he met less than a week ago. Something behind his logic, or lack of, struck a nerve within you.

Opening the front door to your Figure Eight home, you were greeted with two muddy paws against your thighs.

“Aww, Marley!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands out to the sides. “What did you get into?” You shook your head, patting the stains on your denim shorts as you kicked the door closed behind you and walked to peer out of the patio door, seeing holes galore in the backyard. You looked down at the animal, hand on your hip. “You know, she’s gonna flip.” You told the dog as if she could reply back.

Her fur was covered in brown and black, muddy paw prints left behind by her pattering feet. You just sighed, bending down to scratch the top of her head as she leaned into your hand. “Guess it’s my fault for leavin’ you. I’d go crazy if I was stuck here alone with her, too. C’mon,” You threw your head out in the direction of the garage door. “Let’s hose you off so I can cover your tracks.”

You started walking but stopped when you didn’t hear Marley trailing behind you. You peered back over your shoulder to see her sitting patiently. “No, absolutely not.” Was your reply to her pleading puppy-eyes, a whine leaving her closed lips. “I am not picking you up, Marley. You’re a big girl, c’mon.” The golden retriever made no move. “I’ll give you a treat after. You wanna a treat, girl?”

Her ears perked up in the slightest of motions and suddenly the medium-sized dog was sprinting towards you, basically running into the garage door that was still closed. You just giggled, opening the door for her to run out and hop into the metal tub in the parking space that was bought especially for her. Tying your hair back and grabbing the length of the hose, you started to hose down your mess of a dog.

YOU WERE SOAKED BY THE END OF MARLEY’S BATH. You smelled of Pumpkin Spice pet shampoo and wet dog, strands of golden hair stuck to your arms and legs as you rinsed out the tub and let it flow down the driveway. The dog in question was probably running a muck in your room where you’d locked her so you could clean up in peace — covering up the holes in the backyard to the best of your ability and mopping the floors.

Once the dog-tub was water-free, you kicked it back to it’s original position in the corner of the garage. The sound of your mother’s SUV pulling up into the driveway could be heard as you turned the hose off and put it away. She must not have seen you in the dark of the garage as she got out of the car, heels hitting the concrete as she slammed the driver’s side door shut. Her cell phone was pressed between her shoulder and ear and she fought to get her purse up onto her arm.

“I don’t care what you do, Cameron. Or how you do it for that matter. Just do something because this is both of our asses on the line.” She spat to whoever was on the other end of the line — Cameron? Maybe it was a new hire at the office.

Her eyes shot up and seemed to finally register your presence, a look of shock filling her features for a moment before it faded into something else. Something more irritated. “We’ll talk about this later. Hopefully, you’ll have gotten rid of the problem by then.” Was all she said before hanging up.

You had turned back around at this point, focused on putting Marley’s bath supplies back into their respective cabinets and shelves.

“I didn’t expect you home.”

“Neither did I.” You replied bluntly.

“You know, it’d be nice if you could be home more often. You still have responsibilities, and that dog does whatever it wants.”

You stood to your full height, facing her now as you crossed your arms. “I could say the same for you.”

She scoffed, shifting her weight. “I have work. A job. You just run around with your delinquent friends all day and night. Your room is empty for days on end.”

You shrugged, jutting your bottom lip out. “What are you lonely, or something? We barely talk when I am home.”

“You want to talk? Let’s talk.” She crossed her own arms, staring you down.

“Not really-”

“I heard John B had a pretty nasty fall from The Hawk’s Nest last night and you and your friends were there.” You veered your neck back at her statement, a look of offense written across your face.

“What’re you keeping tabs on me now?”

She just shrugged and shifted, pointing her chin towards the ceiling as if she knew she had you cornered. “Word travels fast on the island. The real question is what were you kids doing up there in the middle of a thunderstorm? Everything I hear about that little posse of yours is dangerous.”

All you could was laugh humorlessly, pushing yourself off of the garage wall and heading for the door back inside of the house. “I’m not doing this with you.” You told the woman, shaking your head.

“Answer the question, Y/n!” She called after you, following you into the three-story house and slamming the garage door closed behind her.

“No! I’m covered in mud, water, and dog hair and you’re pissing me off!” You were practically stomping up the stairs. “Everytime I come back to this house you interrogate me. Calling my friends delinquents as if these aren't kids you’ve known for years!”

“Well, clearly I have good reason to-” You stopped at the top of the stairs, turning and staring down at your mother who was still at the bottom, making no moves to follow you up.

“Maybe it’s time I question you because I have a fair few of my own.” You spat. “How did you find about the Hawk’s Nest because there were only six of us there when it happened? When did you and Shoupe get all buddy-buddy? Or better yet, how’d you manage to scrape up the money to buy a house on Figure Eight so suddenly? And don’t think I’m dumb enough to believe my father’s life insurance was enough to cover it.”

She didn’t say anything. Anything at all. Your mother just stared up at you with a look on her face that you’d never seen before it. It was angry, dark — borderline evil. It made your heart thump out of your chest and your knees get weak. It was a look that a parent should never direct at their child.

With one last glare, you turned your back and went into your own bathroom to clean yourself up, not neglecting to slam the door behind you.

YOU SIGHED AS YOU HOPPED FROM THE HMS POGUE ONTO HEYWARD’S BOAT. After your shower, Pope had picked you up from the short pier in the back of your house with Kie lounging in the boat. He said something about JJ and John B needing a tow after conking out in the middle of The Marsh.

Approaching Heyward’s boat that was still in the middle of The Marsh, you and Kie edged towards the front of the HMS Pogue, preparing to step off. Extending your legs, you made it onto the other boat without fail, Kiara following you into the Alp where the two boys in question were.

“What did you do?” You asked annoyed, still reeling from the events of earlier — both of them.

“The alternators not…alternating, anymore.” JJ told you, throwing his hands out.

“Did you check the plugs?” Kiara suggested, stepping in front of you and approaching the boys as you leaned on the entryway.

“No, you should check ‘em. Give ‘em whirl.” They handed her whatever tool they’d been using, stepping away.

“You guys are useless…” You let the two guys walk by you, stepping further into the space with Kie. “Uh, is this a joke? There are no plugs, like at all.” She muttered.

Suddenly, you heard water splashing, turning around and walking back out to see that JJ and John B had jumped into the water and were swimming towards the HMS Pogue that was getting farther and farther away.

“What’re you-” You started, cut off by the sound of banging coming from below the deck of the boat.

“John B! John B, let me out!” Came an unmistakable voice. In a haste, you lifted the hatch in the floor, coming face to face with Sarah Cameron. Not giving her time to speak, you just huffed and ran towards the edge of the boat.

“What the fuck?!” You yelled at the three boys across the water, Kiara and Sarah on each side of you now. Both equally as angry as you. “Are you serious?”

“Get your asses back here!” Kiara demanded.

“We can’t!” Pope shrugged with a sly smile. “Not until you three work out your issues!”

“You can’t just leave!” Sarah tried.

“There’s food in the cabin and JJ rolled a blunt!” John B shouted back. The three of you ignored them, kicking off your overalls and stripping down to your bikinis.

“This is ridiculous…” The blonde girl muttered under her breath, kicking her shorts off of her ankles.

“Well, I’d rather drown than be here with you, so…” Kiara retorted, taking her shirt off.

“Fine. Be my guest. Maybe you’ll finally shut the hell up.” Sarah shot back.

“You don’t even know where you’re going.” The two girls continued arguing as the three boys drifted farther away.

“I don’t care.” Was all the Cameron girl said back before jumping into the Marsh water, just as Pope revved up the engine on the smaller boat and they sped away. Sarah cursed them before turning around and swimming back to the boat, screaming and going under before popping back up.

“Ah! I got stung by a jellyfish! Shit!” She cried, still swimming back to the boat.

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, fixing the ties on your swim suit. “Maybe next time don’t jump into The Marsh.” You reprimanded meanly.

“Thanks for the advice, after the fact.” She retorted, climbing onto the boat and sliding against the side.

“It’s not like you listen anyway...” You shrugged, leaning against the boat.

“Kiara, you know what they say about curing jellyfish stings,” Sarah ignored you, talking through heavy breaths and looking up at the brown-haired girl. “You have to pee on me.”

The girl simply cringed. “I have a better idea.”

NIGHT HAD FALLEN AND YOU WERE SURE THE GUYS WEREN’T COMING BACK FOR THE THREE OF YOU ANYTIME SOON. The night air was cool and Sarah was high off of the weed left behind, courtesy of JJ himself. She’d been laughing and talking about nothing non-stop for the last hour.

Kie was sat next to her in the cockpit of the boat while you sat on the hardtop, swinging your feet.

“Hey,” Sarah piped up, interrupting her own giggling. “Would you rather…have, I was imagining you like this just now, it was pretty funny.” She was directing the question at Kiara. “Would you imagi- would you rather…have nipples for eyes or have eyes for nipples? Imagine if you get really old and your nipples, your boobs get saggy, your nipples, if they were your eyes, you could see if your shoes were untied.”

She attempted to laugh it off in her impaired state but took the hint when Kie gave her a side glance, no humor present in her expression. “Is this like your first time smoking or something?”

“...No.” Sarah said lowly, looking down.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You muttered, annoyed by the girls incessant laughter and talking.

After a couple moments of tense silence, Sarah attempted to speak again. “Hey, Kiara…”

“Oh my God.” She cut her off. “Enough the ‘Hey, Kiara’ bullshit.” She turned her entire body to face the blonde, a hard look in her eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

“...Why’d I do what?” Sarah played dumb.

“We were best friends.” Kiara started solemnly. “We stole beers from your dad’s fridge, we watched movies together, we cried about boys...” She reminisced. “And the next thing I know, the entire school thinks I have a crush on you because you started a rumor that I did.”

“It was just a joke.” Sarah tried to dismiss, rolling her eyes.

“To who? Because it wasn’t funny for me. And when it spun out of control? When it went from people saying I had a crush on you to saying I tried to kiss you? To saying I was stalking you? That I had a shrine? Was it still just a joke then?” She reprimanded. “You never even bothered to clear it up. Just fed into it. You just cut me off like nothing happened. I mean, really, what did I do?”

You continued watching the interaction happen from the hardtop of the boat. “You liked me.” Sarah blurted. “...When people get close to me, I feel trapped. And…I bail. And then I blame them for it.” She got out, turning to look Kiara in the eyes. “I’m really sorry…And I miss you.” Then her eyes were on you. “Both of you. Do you think there’s a chance that we could be okay again?” She was looking at Kiara again.

“Honestly. I don’t know.” Sarah simply nodded and bit her lip, accepting the answer before turning her sights to you once more.

“Y/n?” She called. You assumed she was waiting for your answer to the same question, all you could manage was a huff of air to leave your lips.

“What a bunch of bullshit.” You breathed out, an incredulous smile on your face as you looked away for moment. You could hear Kiara sigh.

“Y/n-”

“No, Kiara. If you want to forgive her, by all means be my guest. But me and you?” Your eyes were on Sarah, glaring at her. “We will never be ‘okay’ again.” You mocked.

“What do you want from me?” Sarah spat out. “I apologized-”

“You apologized to Kie. Not me.”

“Well, I’m sorry. For…whatever I did.” She slurred, slouching further against the inside of the boat.

“Whatever you did?”

“You were the one sneaking around with my brother, Y/n!”

“And you're still downplaying the situation! That’s not what happened nor is it why our friendship ended and you know it.” You disputed, anger filling your tone.

“Our friendship ended because you tried to make the situation into something it wasn’t.”

“You never even considered the possibility that what I told you was true. You called me a liar, turned me into the school slut-”

“He’s my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not a bad person, Sarah!” You said with finality in your voice. “And if you can’t see that, then maybe that makes two of you.” Was the last thing you said before hopping down from the top of the boat and disappearing around the corner, away from the two girls.

THE THREE OF YOU SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BOAT, WATCHING THE BOYS ARRIVE AS THE SUN CAME UP. You’d slept in the helm of the boat while Kiara and Sarah slept out in the open. You hated to admit how lonely you felt hearing them giggle in the middle of the night but it was quickly overshadowed by the memories of what was said between you and Sarah. A small part of you wondered how Kiara could forgive her so quickly. So easily.

“Let’s not give them the satisfaction of thinking this worked.” Kiara whispered to the blonde next to her. You simply kept quiet. Because for you, it didn’t.

“So, did you guys, you know…” Pope led on as the smaller boat parked next to the bigger one. You said nothing as you hopped off the edge, from one boat to the other.

“Reconcile our differences?” Kie finished for him.

“Nope. Not even a little.” Sarah shook her head. “But we’re…willing to work together?” She said, turning to Kiara who nodded in agreement as they both stepped onto the HMS Pogue.

“You know what? That’s victory.” JB cheered, dapping up Pope. “You guys ready to jack some loot?”

YOU ALL WAITED UNTIL IT GOT DARK ONCE MORE TO RETURN TO THE CRAIN PROPERTY, FULL PREPARED THIS TIME. Rope, pulley, flashlights. You were equipped with the gold-mine starter kit and ready to throw John B down into a well beneath a murder-house.

Parking in front of the house but still out of sight, John B hopped out of the driver’s side to round the van and open the side door, pausing. “I wanna say thank you guys. Seriously.” He told the five of you whole-heartedly. “It means a lot to me that you’re here tonight.”

“Of course, man.” Pope assured him softly, giving him a special handshake.

“All right, we done with this circle jerk?” JJ cut in. “Can we go do this?”

“Let’s go get that wheat in the water.” Pope exclaimed, jumping out of the van first, followed by Kie, then Sarah.

“Weed? I’m up for weed.” JJ said, letting you get out before him. You rolled your eyes, a small smile breaking on your face as you climbed out of the van. The first one in hours.

“Wheat, J. He said wheat.” You corrected. You all formed a sort of single-file line, hopping the fence one by one. You all walked as quietly as you could through the tall grass and bushes, sticking as close together as possible. Out of the blue, a light in front of the house lit up your frames, the six of you scrambling to duck and hide, turning your flashlights off.

“Why would a blind lady need motion sensor lights?” You hissed frustratedly confused.

“Let’s throw a rock at it.” John B offered. You all looked at him stupidly.

“That’s a really good idea. Let the axe murderer know that we’re here.” Kiara said sarcastically.

“Do any of you have a better idea?”

“What about the breaker in the circuit box on the porch?” Sarah asked. “We used to play hide-and-seek here as kids and if we were brave enough, we’d go all the way up to the porch.”

“No, no, you’re not going into the house alone.” John B protested.

“I’ll go with you.” Kiara volunteered herself before turning to you. You simply raised a brow as if to ask ‘what?’. Only then did you notice that the rest of the group was staring at you as well, then you got the hint, smacking your teeth.

“Christ, fine, I’ll go, too. Just… stop looking at me like hungry orphans.” You mumbled, getting up and walking towards the house, slightly crouched.

“We’ll wait for your signal!” Pope whisper-shouted as the three of you disappeared into the thick of the bushes. You let Sarah lead the way, seeing as she had an idea of where you were going and what you were looking for.

“She must have a generator plugged into the main power supply.” Sarah informed from the front of the line. The three of you crept up the porch steps, the wood creaking ever so slightly as you did. You aimed your flashlight at the circuit box in question, using your empty hand to open it. You quickly noted a problem.

“Where are the breakers?” Your face twisted in confusion, visually following the wires that were connected to the box. “It goes inside.” You said annoyed, pushing the circuit box door back closed. You turned back to the two girls behind you, a weary look shared amongst the three of you before Kie took it upon herself to carefully open the gate in front of the back door, twisting the knob quickly but quietly.

Pushing the door open, the three of you slid inside swiftly as the door creaked, making your face twist. You all treaded carefully through the dark home. You nearly jumped out of your skin when a cat yowled beside you.

“Shi- get out of here you mangy thing!” You whispered, pushing the feline away with the toe of your shoe. You follow the wires on the ceiling to the location of the breakers, Kiara wasting little time in switching the generator off, the house and surrounding areas going pitch black as she did.

You all let out sighs of relief, small victorious smiles breaking out on each of your faces. “We should probably get out of here now.” You advised, the other two agreeing. You hadn’t even lifted your foot to step away before a whirring sound echoed throughout the house, the three of you throwing yourselves against the wall and out of sight of whatever was around the corner.

You could barely hear one another breathing, contemplating whether you should stay put or make a break for it. It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of heavy-breathing and what sounded like a cane hitting the floor accompanied by delayed footsteps.

You could feel your heart in throat as you tried your hardest not to move a muscle, the footsteps growing closer by the second. Fear rushing through your veins when you heard a voice call out.

“It’s late, Leon.” An old, raspy, elderly voice spoke — Mrs. Crain. “Too late...” She coughed, cane still hitting the floor ferociously with every step. You swore you could’ve cried when the woman in question rounded the corner, standing right in front of you three with no clue. “I can hear you, Leon. I’ve been waiting all night!” She screeched, whipping her head in your direction so fast you were surprised her neck didn’t snap in the process.

Her teeth were yellow, her hair was dead and gray, and her eyes were white. Pure white. The three of you screamed simultaneously before booking it in the direction you came. You don’t know how you ended up splitting from each other but you did. You ended up in some old dusty study-type room, the only exit being a window. You ran over to it, using all your strength to pull it up but it wouldn’t budge.

“Where are you, Leon?!” Her voice scratched your ears with the way it echoed. You cursed as you continued pulling at the window, eventually giving up and running out of the room. Fortunately, you ran in just time to find Mrs. Crain swinging aimlessly at Kiara with a fire poker. You took the opportunity to grab the object when she swung it back once more, snatching it and throwing it across the room.

Sarah entered just as the old lady turned around and gripped you by the arm, the blonde grabbing Kiara as you pushed Mrs. Crain off of you and ran into the room with the other two. Sarah closed and latched the door shut, Mrs. Crain banging from the other side.

She’d managed to find the stairs the led under the house where the guys were, you and Kiara following her down in a hurry.

“Guys!” All three of you called, sprinting through the crawlspace.

“Woah, what’s goin’ on?” JJ asked as you accidentally ran into him, the blonde stabilizing by your upper arms.

“Mrs. Crain is up there. She’s trying to kill us with a fire poker.” Kiara breathed out.

“We locked her in the parlor but we have to go. Like, now.” You said frantically.

“Okay, code red.” JJ said, releasing your arms and heading back towards Pope. He leaned over the well, shouting down. “John B! Get back on, man!” The rest of you grabbed the length of the rope, using all of your man power to pull the boy back up when the you all fell, the rope pulling up nothing.

“Where is he?” Kiara panicked, crawling to the well to lean over it. “John B?!” His voice came back up but no one could tell what he was saying. It was just a faint echo. His next words were clearer, however — he was calling your names.

“He’s drowning! We gotta pull him up!” Sarah assumed the worst as you scrambled to grab the rope again.

“John B? Get back on the rope, we’re gonna pull you up!” Pope called down into the well. Once JB affirmed that he was secured, the five of you began pulling once more, much more synchronized this time. You were using all the strength you had to pull him up when a gunshot made your ears ring.

You ducked, as did the rest of the group, your grip on the rope loosening. Pope and JJ hurried to tie the rope so it wouldn’t drop any further as you all scurried around the crawlspace, hoping the blind woman would think you were gone.

Only problem? None of you knew how to shut the hell up. Another shot rang out and that’s when you all decided you had to make a run for it. You saw John B’s muddy hand gripped the edge of the well before you bolted, knowing he’d be a little behind but just fine. You sprinted out into the yard, practically launched yourself back over the gate and threw yourselves into the van.

JJ started the van without John B inside as more gunshots sounded, the boy running behind his own van for dear life.

“John B, come on!” The boy caught up, launching himself into the back of the van and sliding the door shut as JJ sped off.

“Everyone okay? No bullet holes?” JJ questioned from the driver’s seat.

“I think I’d know if I was shot, right?” Kiara asked, hands patting her frame.

“You look disgusting.” Pope breathed out, the statement directed at John B who looked more like a mud-man than a teenage boy.

“And you smell even worse, my God.” Your face winded with disgust.

“What the hell just happened?” Sarah ran her hands through her hair, throwing her head back.

“All-time Pogue Hall of Fame, baby!” JJ cheered, giving you a high-five as you basically sat back to back as he drove.

“That bitch is possessed.” Kiara said.

“How can she move that fast?” John B breathed out, and you wondered how he could talk without minding the substance all over his face, including his lips.

Suddenly, John B pulled something from his pocket or under his thigh, it was hard to tell when he was the same color all over. “What is that?” You asked, squinting your eyes as he used his thumb to wipe away the debris on the object, revealing the unmistakable color of gold. “...No motherfucking way.” You scoffed.

“We did it, baby!” He whooped, holding the gold bar up in the air. “I did it!”

“Oh, my God!” JJ supported him as he drove, eyes looking back when they should on the road. The van was filled with cheers, so loud you were sure any houses you passed on the road could hear.

“You guys were gonna be rich!” Kiara broke through the cheers. “Like Kook rich!”

“Full Kook!” Pope started, the rest of you joining in joyously. The Twinkie had never been more lively or celebratory. After days of being chased, shot at, arrested, jumped, and targeted — you all had done it.

You had found the gold.

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sordidmusings · 3 months

Text

A Coronary Tale - Chapter 1 (Sanji x Reader)

Chapter Summary: You have been hiding away in The Wood, biding your time with the company of your three dear ravens. Fearing those who could find you should you leave your new home, you settled yourself deeply in with the trees and rocks and river, building a quiet routine. Unfortunately, you were wrong to expect no one else to enter the abandoned woods.

Themes and tropes: slow burn for her/lit fuze for him, hidden identities, witchcraft, curses, political pit of vipers, lost royalty, witch hunts, nonverbal gestures of love

A/N: Howdy doodie I finally done did this 😩 My addition to @fanaticsnail's Storyteller collab with the tale of The Three Ravens! I am shuffling stuff around quite a bit and I really hope that you all enjoy my changes and additions! What we have here is an absolute train wreck of a meet cute so that's a start lol The title is a reference to one of the songs I had in mind writing this and definitely the main one with lyrics, A Coronary Tale by Dana Sipos

@fanaticsnail also gifted me the mood board and much much cheering on (Love you sweetheart 🖤🖤🖤)

Wordcount: ~5.2k

Warnings: fem!reader, bit of blood, descriptions of injury but no gore, you're like a little feral maybe, Sanji's kinda into that too at least

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Another twig snapped and your breathing stopped. Every nerve threading through your body pulled your mind from one place to the next: under the skin of your palms, scraping against rough bark; in the balls of your feet, throbbing from their recent pounding at the ground; in the depths of your lungs, burning for oxygen but turned still as stone in fear. Mostly, though, your mind lived in your ears, desperately sifting through the forest ambience and calling ravens for clues of your hunter.

Enough moments passed to release your lungs from their stalling and you began planning your next steps. Your burrow was far but that was good; you had more time to make sure he couldn’t track you there. You had been leading him East, away from your home, since he’d chased you across the river. The last you’d heard of him was due Northeast of you. If you headed exactly opposite him, you’d be back at your river, able to follow it down to your stuff and scramble back to your hide.

The weight of the risk settled down on you and kept your body from following through with your plan. What if he circled back to find your trail again? What if he was waiting for you at the river, knowing you’d likely collect your things?

You shoved your forehead into the scabbed bark of the great oak that hid you. The calming breath you hissed out held the hint of a whine and you cursed yourself further for the noise. Each moment he was more likely to turn back. Each moment he was closer to finding you.

Scrunching your face in a snarl towards your fear, you shoved yourself off the tree and ran westward.

Traversing the Wood was second nature to you by now, but you’d only flown through it with such great speed one time before. You moved much more like a fleeing elk than the panicked rabbit you were then, even with your fright measuring close to that of your memory. Your eyes and body knew the trappings of the woods before your mind could even name them; thorny vines were ducked, wayward branches were parried, felled trees were vaulted. Even your long dress wasn’t a hindrance; you simply gathered the skirts high and tight to free your legs and keep the cloth from stretching branches. The only thing slowing your race home was your adrenaline beginning to weaken beneath the force of your exhaustion.

You burst forth from the Wood’s edge, scattering leaves and dirt and noise in your bid for speed over stealth. You could see the river close now, only a stretch of stony shore between you and safety. Not a single stride shortened despite the shrieking of your muscles or the begging of your lungs. You were beginning to boil in the heat of your blood pumping in your hands, feet, and head, but you would not slow, not even with the new glare of the sun making the air feel even more hostile. Your flight would continue as long as the flutters and caws of the ravens urged you on.

“Wait!”

You shrieked in response and slid right into the swirling current before you. Still furious and frigid with late spring melt, the river overwhelmed you, forcing a gasp from you at the shock to your system. Water flooded into your open mouth and nose, choking you as you spun until up was left, down, and sideways. Despite flailing for a chance at breath and life, your mind kept screaming, West, west, that came from the west!

Your saturated dress sunk you deeper in the toiling water. It gave the chaotic current more purchase to rip and tug you in every direction, bouncing your limbs off all the river’s hidden weapons. Rocks tripped your sandaled feet at every attempt to find footing and thudded against your shins and arms with each turn in the water. Skeletal branches from long submerged trees scraped at you and grabbed at your skirts. Each new hold on the cloth only ended with another old seam ripping and releasing you back to the whims of the river.

Reigning in your sense, you curled into a ball to keep your feet from shoving beneath a rock, trapping you, and to protect your head from smashing in on any of the great boulders that lurked under the water's surface. Just when your world was fuzzing away at the edges, one of those boulders found you and punched the last bubbles of air straight from your lungs.

Before the current could take you further, you used the last of your strength to spin and scrabble at the rough stone’s surface. The moment you got a grip you summoned every ounce of life in you and heaved.

With a crouping cough you broke the surface of the water. Great lungfuls of cold water scraped their way out of you. Through your heaving and gasping you drug your upper body to splay across the sun baked stone. It burned into your cheek and you couldn’t help but be thankful for the distraction from your raw throat and skinned fingertips. Everything but that sensation began to swirl and drift away into a distant fog.

Within that fog was a warm embrace. It wormed around your chest and lifted you away from the grounding heat under your cheek. You whimpered, agitating your tender throat, but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything further to protest. Sweet shushing soothed your mind, quickly replacing the comfort of your stone and covering the distant cawing. As you floated away, the steady rhythm of each hush set your sore lungs to breathe in soft waves.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun pierced right through your eyes the moment you opened them. Wincing them back shut, you changed your goal to taking stock of your injuries. Your whole body was throbbing, muddling the deeper hurts in a constant protest that sounded with each beat of your heart. Through the cacophony, you heard your right ribs screaming, your throat moaning, and your fingers sobbing.

You flexed your hands slowly to test them. They trembled and ached at your orders but followed through with no great spike in pain. Next, you shifted your torso in a minute rock from side to side. Your ribs punished you spitefully for the motion, but there was no telltale crackle of bone and you were able to keep breathing throughout your shimmying. Lastly, you began sucking in a deep breath to attend to your throat and lungs. You began hacking halfway through, earning more ire from your battered side.

“You’re awake!,” a relieved voice chimed. Gentle fingers traced your face, continually brushing from your skin into your hair. “Thank goodness. You haven’t been out long; it's only been a minute since I pulled you from the river.”

Your heart kick-started again, not caring the least bit about the man’s attempts to seem non-threatening. His claim as your savior did little too; wishing you death and wishing you harm were two separate things. Your pain quieted to a whisper as your awareness shifted to scouring the space around you for information. The ground under you was solid and your palms felt warm stone. The constant swish and rumble of rapids filled the air. I’m still on the riverside. Calm breathing sounded quietly from your left, only a foot beyond the fingers still caressing your face. He’s already recovered.

“You gave me quite the scare there, Bichette. I thought the river took you,” he whispered to you. “I’m so glad I ran back to the river instead of continuing in the woods.” The genuine care and worry in his tone only made your distrust grow. You instead trusted the continued caws from the treeline. His touch disappeared and you heard the grind of his shoes against the rocky ground as he stood up.

“Keep resting, Mademoiselle, I’m just going a short way down the river’s edge to see if I can spot us an easy way back.”

You counted each step he took away from you, every crackle on stone ramping your anticipation higher and higher. The roaring of your blood in your ears grew to match that of the river but his footsteps still cut through. You slowly bent your knees up to remove your sandals and plant your feet on the ground. Despite their exhaustion, your muscles listened when you tensed them. Your count was nearly there. Thirty! You flung yourself onto hands and knees then bolted.

“Stop! Please!”

You were much slower than before, having to drag the weight of your water-logged clothes, half-drowned body and freshly abused skeleton with you. Your lungs couldn’t keep up with even the diminished speed of your strides and you had to fight with each breath not to cough, yet the urgent calls of the ravens circling you pushed you on. The man’s thumping steps were quickly catching up, but you were almost at the treeline.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, chérie, please stop,” he tried again, begging through panting breaths.

One raven sped ahead of you and landed on a large branch with another loud call. You zeroed in on his choice - an old maple spreading high over its neighbors. Its branches started far above the ground, but that was no problem for you, even now. Your switch from sprint to climb was seamless; one step launching you from between the maple's snaking roots and the next propelling you just that much higher with a bare foot catching deeply against its sturdy bark. Ignored the warnings from your hands, you used knots and lumps for handholds, hauling yourself higher and letting your feet follow the same path. You didn’t let yourself slow until you were well mingled in the smaller branches of the tree, nearly forty-five feet in the air. The way the distance shrunk your pursuer gave you a small bit of comfort.

“I’d climb up there but you’d just jump out, wouldn’t you?” he called up to you.

As if to prove his point, you widened your stance and bent low, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The three ravens flapped their wings in threat of flight. It was all mostly for show; your body was at the end of its rope.

“Ah, Bichette, what has you so scared?” he asked, voice and eyes mourning.

You bared your teeth at him and hoped that he was too far to see your watery eyes. The aches of your body were becoming too much; your bruised ribs stunted every breath, your flayed hands trembled and bled, your scraped toes weren’t far behind their damaged state, your abused throat burned at every scrape of air in and out, and your shaken head, as well as all below it, thudded with pain. The worst of your worries though was the wooziness creeping in on the edges of your mind in the wake of your adrenaline rush. Also the man below you, wrapped in his absurdly expensive clothes, which were just as soaked as your torn rags.

“You’re a strong one, I’ll give you that.”

You held your shaky snarl. The ravens flapped and cried.

“But even you need food, water, and rest after a chase like that. You nearly drowned,” he pressed, desperately trying to make you see reason. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mademoiselle, I promise.”

You continued to stare down at him with all the ferocity of a caged animal, and he sighed.

“You’re also going to want to get out of those wet clothes. Your laundry on the shore should be dried by now and I dropped my food there as well. There’s plenty to share. I can help you back to go get it,” he persuaded. “I’d go get it myself, but I don’t want you to disappear.”

You’d hold my clothes hostage to find me again, you grumbled internally. The three ravens stilled and took their time looking down at the man. After their analyzing, they took off, leaving you feeling truly cornered and alone. The man saw your face crumble as you watched them go and he ached for your sorrow.

“Well, neither of us are going anywhere, so-” he blew out a long breath and looked down at the tree’s base “-might as well get to know each other.” He found a spot he deemed worthy and settled into the cradle between two large swells of roots. He craned his head back to check on you and found you still staring down at him. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your teary glare to the lost look you sent the birds; both had him wounded.

“I’ll start,” he offered patiently, looking down to his hands fidgeting with his gold rings between his bent knees. “My name’s Sanji.”

He waited a good twenty seconds but received no response. He looked back up and you stared down.

“Can I have your name, chérie?” he pleaded gently.

He was met with more silence.

“Okay,” Sanji relented. “Okay, Mademoiselle, that’s fine. I’ll talk for both of us for now.”

He settled in deeper against the tree, continued his fidgeting, and wished he had his cigarettes.

“I’m a chef; feeding people is my greatest joy,” he started earnestly. “I was sailing the seas, feeding a patchwork crew. Our captain managed to find trouble everywhere he went, dragging us along with him toward his ridiculous dream.”

Sanji paused. You watched as he raked a hand through his shiny blonde hair and attentively took in the way his face softened into a fond smile. Craning further for a better look, you managed to see the sad scrunch in his brows conflicting with the upturn of his lips.

“He was dragging us towards our own foolish dreams, too, though. I want to find the All Blue,” he admitted. He looked up in time to see your incredulous look and the curious tilt of your head. They made him burst out in bright laughter at the dramatic shift in expression from you. You hated how pretty he looked like that.

“Yeah, that’s what I expected; most people think it's a fairytale.” He calmed his chuckles and asserted delicately, as much to himself as to you, “I know it’s out there though. It has to be.”

You fought hard against this man’s charms chipping away at your suspicions. Your complaining injuries helped keep you cautious, even through the strong pull of his placating eyes.

“Our captain would like you. Anyone with your tenacity catches his eye. He’d probably want to add you to his collection,” Sanji joked lightly. “You would fit right in; our navigator and decipherer always respect a strong woman like themselves. Our musician and engineer are welcoming to new company. Our sniper and doctor might fear you a bit though.” He took a moment to think before looking down and grumbling, “And that damn mosshead would complain, but when isn’t he.”

You were about to start tuning him out, needing to defend yourself from being endeared, when his next words cemented your curiosity to the forefront of your mind.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m stuck here.”

He sounded so heartbroken. You knew that sound; had heard it leaking from your father and brothers - from your own lips.

“My family-” he spit the word with potent vitriol “-found a use for me. Pulled me back here with a threat against my real family.”

You diligently tried to see the emotions in his face, but he kept it firmly turned from you, hiding away. You cursed him for adding a sad ache to your chest as if you didn’t already have enough pains. Looking again at his fine clothes, you began to wonder if they felt more like a trap than a trophy to him. Sanji turned back up to you and his heart stuttered at the first glimpses of compassion on your face. It made you even more beautiful.

“I-I’m sorry, chérie, I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.” He chuckled awkwardly at his own foible, frustrated with himself for dumping his emotions on you but happy with the result. You decided with great conflict that his unsure smile was just as pretty as his laugh-scrunched face. He let that smile slide off of him, meeting you instead with a vulnerably relaxed face that looked so intrinsically forlorn. Seeing his bare humanity, you needed no further prompting.

Sanji watched in bewildered awe as you pursed your lips at him and sent him a warbling whistle. Your imitation was perfect; it sounded exactly like a robin greeting the sun.

“What…” he trailed off, still taken aback by the strange but sweet turn. “What does that mean?”

You finally allowed yourself to relax your posture and settled your beaten body to splay across the tree’s limbs. Your legs dangled around a few branches, allowing them some much needed relief, and you laid on your front, making it easier to keep your watchful eyes on the man below you. Bedding your forehead into your forearm, you offered a miniscule smile from tight lips before repeating the birdsong.

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji complimented. “Fitting for such a striking lady.”

You scrunched your nose disapprovingly at him and whistled out a piercing warning call.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed. “I just can’t help myself with-”

Avian shrieks split the air and you shot up to find their source. You easily ignored the whimper the action forced from you, but Sanji struggled to do the same.

“Ma chérie, please be careful-”

You spotted six flapping wings and laughed in bright joy, fully distracting Sanji from his worries. The flying forms looked odd; one had a bulbous blob by its head and the other two had billowing streams of color falling from them. You recognized the streams as cloth as they grew closer, but the final item remained a mystery. That raven landed the easiest, having nothing that would snag on leaves or branches. The other two were having much more trouble.

You giggled again at their hijinx, fully amused by their frustrated crying and hopping and flapping at the edge of the tree. To help them, you began weaving your way out towards them until you were at the limits of the branches’ strength to hold your weight. You reached your arm out as far as it would go, feeling the straining stretch in each joint, but still fell short of bridging the gap between you. The whole time, Sanji was calling up fretful and concerned warnings, which you easily ignored.

Despite your attempts to help, the two raven still just fretted about and progressed no closer to a solution. A shrill whistle cut their actions short and captured their attention. You held up two fingers to them then pointed to the smaller garment. They stayed still and you frowned at them with all the practiced disappointment of a school teacher. You repeated the actions with more gusto, this time finishing the display with a hand waving them toward you. Suddenly getting the memo, both ravens began working the same cloth in your direction, repeating the process of free-shift-snag until it was within your reach.

You grabbed the familiar green cloth and held it in front of you, recognizing an oversized men’s shirt. The ravens continued their work until you were holding a pair of loose beige pants too. You gave the two birds a loving pet and a quick kiss on their bowed heads in thanks. You slinked your way down to about thirty feet from the ground, seeking more open space between the branches to change out of your sopping and torn dress.

Sanji took in the whole exchange with wonder.

“You really are the Witch of the Wood,” he whispered reverently.

Your face twisted with confusion at the title and you rapidly shook your head.

“But your ravens!” he argued. “They all say the Witch has three ravens for familiars - that they help her spy on all who enter this stretch of forest.”

Well… he’s close, you admitted to yourself. You squeezed the excess water out of your ruined skirts (you hoped some would land on his head), removed your freezing underwear, and slid the pants on under your skirts. The top went on next, acting as a cover for you as you squirmed your arms out of the sleeves of your dress. Once that was accomplished, you began shoving the heavy material through the neck of the shirt. The process was frustrating; the wet material clung to you with every move, forcing you to make more and more and agitate your wounds further and further. When you finally managed to get it all out of the shirt, you shoved your arms through their holes and pulled the dress over your head.

Luckily, your quick work left a minimal transfer of moisture from your old outfit to your new one. The relief of mostly dry clothes felt even greater than you imagined, and you took great pleasure in balling the ruined fabric up and tossing it to ricochet its way down the tree, landing next to Sanji with a great plop. Staring at him again, you turned bitter at the reminder of the title he gave you. I am no witch. You wished you aimed for his head.

The deep crimson smears and fingerprints Sanji spotted on your discarded clothes refreshed his worry. He had gotten far too distracted trying to charm you and even more distracted once he saw your smile. Sometimes he regretted his overwhelming soft spot for women. Then he would see another woman and have that thought overwhelmed. C’est la vie.

“Bichette,” he cooed, hoping again to win you by charm, “ma chérie, please let me take you back. We need to get those wounds looked at.”

You looked down your nose at him then pointedly turned away, looking instead to the final raven bearing a gift for you. He was still holding tight to a cloth knot at the top of a parcel, but he had adjusted to rest its weight on the branch below him while he waited for your attention. You grabbed the parcel from him, immediately noting the intricate weave of the fabric beneath your fingers, matching well with the delicate patterns unfolding throughout it. This must belong to the expensive man at the foot of the tree. A shame to get bloody fingerprints on his fineries, you thought with sadistic glee. Serves him right for chasing me through my woods.

Untying the cloth proved easier on your fingers than your wardrobe change, they had turned to a monotonous pounding instead of the sharp alerts of pain sometime during your first challenge. Opening the wrapping revealed two containers of food, a smaller one sat atop the larger. First popping the top option open, you found two perfectly prepared pieces of meat on the bone. They were seared to perfection, browned just so, and smelled of gentle spices, just enough to enhance the natural flavor of the meat. You snapped the container back closed so you could check in the other. This one contained the most mouth-watering curry you’d ever seen or smelled, nestled in a thick pool next to fluffy white rice. You looked back and forth between the food and the man below with a raised brow.

“A quick lunch I whipped up,” Sanji responded to your unspoken question. You rolled your eyes at him, doubtful that anything in this meal could be made quickly. Maybe the rice. You wrote his dismissal off as showboating in a further attempt to woo you.

Having no silverware, you prepped your fingers as best as you could by dabbing them on the rich cloth, licking them to wet any dried blood or dirt, and repeating the process until only the barely there leak of fresh blood remained on your raw fingertips and broken nails. The process had them stinging angrily at you again, leaving you biting desperately on your tongue to hold back whimpers that still pushed through. Thankfully, it didn’t take very long. The river water had rinsed them mostly clean, leaving only the layered mess of blood and the dirt from your climb.

Taking a clump of sticky rice, you scooped up a bit of the fragrant orange curry. The taste was just as divine as the smell and you moaned at the best food you’d had in years. You bit into a piece of the scrumptiously tender meat next, recognizing sea king, and you were yet again reminded of Sanji’s opulence. You had to admit to his good taste though; the meat from this variety of sea king leaned much more towards chicken than fish in both texture and flavor, absorbing the bold mix of spices in the curry perfectly. Judging by the vibrant tint to the meat, he set it in a well-crafted marinade as well. Had he not told you he was a chef before you got the food, you would have never believed this was the work of his own hands.

“At least I know you’re getting a good meal,” Sanji said. You were angered and endeared by his honesty. “I came to The Wood for a break. Before the rumors of the Wretched Witch of the Wood, this land and its river were known for their beauty. I can see why now.” He looked up to you with warm eyes and an affectionate smile. You snubbed your nose at him.

“Before I found you, my plan was to find the calm stretch of river, wade around, then sit and eat where absolutely nothing and no one needs me. I chose the food to bring the memory of some of my friends with me.”

You slowed your ravenous shoveling to stare at what was left of the curry with guilt twisting your gut. If it were just food you were taking, you’d happily rob this rich stranger blind, but memories were a different story. Your gaze roamed your three ravens, earning inquisitive coos from them with your misty eyes. You centered your gaze back on the massacred curry, feeling hot shame smother over you. A gentle beak nudged at your cheek.

Sanji let himself sit in the quiet following his confession. He was glad you slowed down, fearing you’d upset your stomach with a quick and filling meal, but he did have to admit, it warmed his heart how much the messy display reminded him of his captain.

While he had no great time to appreciate the beauty of the scenery before, he found the time now. Trees old and new clustered lovingly around each other in a long stretch, interwoven with blooming hedges of mountain laurel and patches of lacy ferns. Moss hugged the damp places of The Wood, keeping them warm and alive. The earth here was not soft; it was made of packed dirt, rock falls, giant boulders, and wrestling roots, but sweeps of dead leaves did their best to cushion the path of each resident.

The river that had previously felt so threatening and cruel now soothed him with its endlessly running waters. He was mesmerized as his eyes followed the shifts from a shrouding deep blue to frothing white and back again. The cycle felt endless and inevitable, stable and sure, outside the reach of time or the shortfalls of consciousness. It made him small, it made his problems small, and he found peace.

The whisper of rustling feathers broke him from his blissful mindlessness. Sanji turned to see one of your ravens nudging the mound of his tied cloth toward him. The reminder of you made him realize he hadn’t heard a peep from you since he started his zoning. He found you had fully turned your back to him and you were staying statue-still. Now slightly concerned, he reached for the cloth only to stop with a surprised yelp when the raven pecked his hand. It cawed mockingly at him before flying right back to your side.

Reaching cautiously despite the raven’s distance, Sanji grasped his cloth. Again, he looked at your bloodied fingerprints with a clenching heart, but he brushed past it as best as he could and untied the limp fabric. Laying out the cloth, he saw that it held the smaller of his food containers. Opening that, he found the two pieces of meat on the bone untouched. His cheeks ached with the force of his new smile.

“Thank you, ma chérie, you’re very kind,” he called up to you. He shook his head at your lack of response and began munching happily.

Hearing that he had begun his own meal, you were able to stomach the rest of your food.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The sun had long since bruised the sky, its wounds showing the end of their healing in purples and blues instead of oranges and pinks. Sanji still sat stubbornly and dutifully at his post under your tree. You had succumbed to sleep a while ago, your body much too ravaged and worn to fight the need for rest any longer.

Seeing you’d fallen under, Sanji tried to scale the tree to bring you down and carry you back to get help, but each attempt was swiftly thwarted by stabbing beaks and talons. They first started as more of a threat, tugging at his clothes, but as he got bolder in his attempts so did the ravens. They found their courage to fight him and would not back down. Instead, Sanji backed off fully after a beak opened his hand for first blood and the other two readied their screeching weapons at each of his eyes.

Retreating from them, Sanji took his time to collect you some fresh water from a fast-flowing piece of the river in his rinsed container. He used the clean inside of his cloth to dry the excess from the outside of the sealed container before laying it carefully on the expensive fabric at the base of your tree like an offering. He stood before it and looked at you through the time passing around his frozen stance, wishing he could just decide what was best for you. Your ravens seemed to think it was not him, nor his wishes to take you away. They were adamant that you were best left to rest as the tree cradled you. He supposed this forest was your home, it fit for its pieces to care for you.

Then again, it was the very river of these woods that so readily snatched you up to steal you from the living.

Sanji waited until the sky had grown much darker than the deep blue of his eyes in the waning light to leave you. He feared more for your future than finding his way across the river and out of The Wood in the dark. Before he could tear himself away though, he had to take you in one more time, hoping the vision will last him until the next time he lays eyes on you. He grieved for the state of you; not just your new hurts but your patchy clothes, your frayed hair, your callused hands. He felt especially for the prominent ribs that greeted him when he wrapped his arms around you to free you from the river. His mind toiled with worries and indecision his whole trek back to the castle.

“Oh, Bichette, how am I going to help you?”

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

End Notes: Robins can symbolize renewal, new beginnings, and finding joy as they are one of the first signs of spring. They are also part of the dawn chorus, announcing the sun each morning.

#sanji x reader #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #opla sanji #writing collab #afab reader #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #opla #fem reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #my writing #opla sanji x reader

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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My Future in You | 2.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

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Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, time jump of a month and a half / two months

…

“Your sister is fucking insane.” Bradley grunts.

“Shut up and just lift your end,” Jake demands, straying under the weight of lifting his end of the couch. A soft sigh and the two of them lift again, hoisting more than their combined body weight’s worth of sectional sofa. “And she wasn’t crazy until you got her pregnant.”

“I can hear you!” You call back from the small kitchen. Sitting cross-legged on the black and white diamond shaped tile, surrounded by boxes and new plates and bubble wrap. Your system for unpacking is fool-proof and they’ll just get in the way if they try to help. That’s why you’ve had them rearrange the layout of the living room three times already.

There isn’t too much left in your life that you have control over these days. Graduating two years early, at the top of your class, and the only people there to be proud of you were your big brother and the guy who got you pregnant. Delaying your grad job, which you worked your ass off to get, until after you’ve given birth. Finding out you had been approved to switch to their Florida office in an email from your father’s secretary.

Moving to a place you’ve never been before, with a guy you didn’t even like up until recently. Carrying a child that’ll probably never have a name because you and Bradley barely agree on anything. Knowing that Jake, your only constant through this entire ordeal, is shipping off to basic training in a day and a half.

Everything’s hurtling forwards, you can practically hear the time rushing by like wind in your ears. Dragged along with it, no choice but to keep up, there’s a voice in your head that keeps telling you it’s okay to be scared. You just aren’t sure if it’s okay to be this scared.

He’s moving around more and more these days, growing stronger and bigger. His kicks are no longer butterflies in your tummy, but now pinpointed and real, which is terrifying in itself. More recently, you’ve been wondering if he can feel how afraid you are. You don’t want him to worry.

By hell or high water, you’re going to give this little boy all the love that you’ve got. Afraid or not, he needs you and you’ll keep going for him. Being good for him is just about all you can manage. That, and unpacking the way that you need to.

Setting the plates in a cabinet, stacking bowls, glasses in an overhead cupboard. Ignoring Jake and Bradley’s bickering to the best of your ability.

Florida’s even hotter than you were expecting. It’s the last day of May and the air conditioning isn’t getting fixed until tomorrow. Home is no longer an upstairs apartment or a cramped room on the first floor of a fraternity. It’s now an almost two bedroom downstairs unit on a quiet, residential street in west Pensacola.

Living room with fireplace, fully equipped kitchen with new stove and refrigerator. Dark brown, LVP floors and new paint throughout. You have your own Lanai and storage outside unit. Also includes washer and dryer. This northeast location is tucked away in a private dead end street but has easy access to the new University shopping area. It’s nice for a first place. The bedroom is a decent size, and the spare room will work as a nursery, even if its intended purpose was an office.

Your relationship with Bradley has turned into a type of Schrödinger problem. Neither together nor apart. Sharing a room, preparing to share a life, with little more in common than the future you roped him into. He seems excited now. He’s jealous that you can feel the baby and that he can’t. He’s looking forward to meeting his son.

But, as you turn your head and look through the archway, towards him wiping sweat from his brow in the living room, guilt surges through you. Wearing gym shorts and a backwards cap, those stupid roman numerals tattooed on his bicep as he sighs softly and leans his head back, he looks so young.

You’re younger, but this decision was yours. You wonder if he would choose this if he got to do it all over again. Certainly not. All those years of carefree fun, getting to be himself finally, figuring out who he is. Now, those years belong to your son. Swallowing softly, you turn your attention back to the only thing that you can control.

Arranging spices in the rack hung over the stove.

The afternoon hurtles by just as quickly as all of the other days have recently. The routine is the same. Jake takes the couch, glad that Bradley sprung for the corner sectional that’s just about as good as sleeping on the mattress. After a day of not really talking, Bradley slips into bed beside you.

It’s never awkward, but it probably should be. Sharing all of this. A lease, a child, a future, with someone that isn’t even really yours.

“Man, I am fucking exhausted.” Bradley mumbles as his head hits the pillow, exhaling slowly into the comfort of this new space. Your first night in your new home with him. So, you connect with him in just about the only way you ever have.

Even with this protruding, exceedingly rounded stomach, somehow he still wants to fuck you at every opportunity he gets. Looking in the mirror these days is getting harder. It’s not that you have an issue with the way you look now, you think the bump is actually kind of cute. It’s just that you don’t look anything like you used to, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever be that girl again.

Running your fingers through his curls, you lean over and kiss his temple softly. He hums at the feeling, reaching out and resting his hand on your hip. He turns his head and waits for you to kiss him without opening his eyes. You press your lips softly to his, his fingers curling softly to press into the fabric of your shorts. You ask gently, lips grazing his, “Too tired?”

His lips tilt up into a soft smile as he runs his fingers along the waistband of your bottoms, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours, “Never been too tired for sex.”

Turning the two of you over, he settles between your legs, working his talented mouth along all the exposed skin that he can reach.

Curling his fingers into your roots, he moans softly into the curve of your jaw, pressing delicate kisses along your throat. Part of these past few weeks has been learning your cues, your sweet spots and your sensitivities. He’s getting good at it. It’s right as you hum and lift your hips eagerly against his that there’s a sharp jolt, a soft, dull pain as the impact hits your mid-section.

Bradley sits back quickly on his knees.

You groan in complaint, rubbing over the sore spot at the top of your developing bump. It’s only once you lean your head back to sigh in complaint that you clock the look on his face. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, staring at you like you just grew a second head.

Over the past few weeks, the little guy has been getting more and more active. Wriggling around a lot, you’ve been feeling him almost constantly the past few days. It has been ridiculously frustrating, suffering in silence, Bradley constantly frowning and telling you that he can’t feel anything. The realization comes quickly.

“Was that him?” Bradley breathes out softly, brows scrunching together.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lips quirking softly. The pregnancy websites said that Bradley should have been able to feel the kicks about a week ago, you were getting worried. Bradley reaches out again and tenderly rests his hands against the bottom of your rounded stomach.

The two of you wait patiently for it to happen again, Bradley’s lips falling into a disappointed frown as your baby stops kicking. He sighs, moving to lie down beside you and smoothing his hand over the top of your stomach as he kisses your cheek.

“I’m jealous that you get to feel him all the time, moving around in there,” He mumbles, shaking his head softly. “It’s like you’ve met him already and I have to wait three more months.”

You scoff, settling down onto the sheets that you had picked out, staring at the white ceiling, “I don’t think you’d be as jealous if he was kicking your bladder like he kicks mine.”

“Probably no—“ As Bradley speaks, your lips part, jolted by another soft kick. He raises his eyebrows as you grab one of his hands and place it over your stomach. Nothing again. He furrows his brows slightly, glancing up at you expectantly.

“Say something.” You prod him.

“Um… like what? — I don’t know what to say to a —“ His sentence stops abruptly, jaw hanging open as he feels a small but unmistakable kick against his palm. “Holy shit, that’s what you’ve been feel— He did it again!”

You giggle, resting your hand on top of Bradley’s as he beams at you, “I think he likes your voice.”

His eyes widen slightly, making him look even younger than he is. It’s hard to tell whether it’s excitement or fear on his face to begin with. He leans down and presses lips to your stomach.

“I am so,” he stops, kissing your skin tenderly again, hands cradling your growing bump. “So excited to meet you, little man.”

Your heart feels like it just about splits into two and you aren’t even sure why. It’s supposed to be a happy moment. You should be happy about this. Bradley feels a slight hiccup and glances up. Your eyes are filled with tears, stinging and threatening to spill out onto your cheeks.

“Hey,” Bradley says softly as he shifts up the bed and wraps his arms around you. “Hey… it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You swallow, trying to hold in a sob that consumes your chest and strangles your vocal chords. Sniffling, you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do you wish that we weren’t having him?”

His brows scrunch together as he tries to piece together what about that interaction could have possibly given you that impression.

“Of course not! — Where’s this coming from?” He frowns, resting his cheek against the top of your head as he smooths his fingers along your back. You’re in your third trimester now, and the pregnancy websites said that your hormones might be kind of out of whack. But you got through graduation without a hitch.

It’s as the thought crosses his mind that you break in his arms. Hunching forwards, sobbing into your hands, covering your mouth so that Jake won’t hear you crying from the living room.

“Hey… did — did I say something wrong?” Bradley asks gently, face creasing in concern. He kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I—“

You sniffle and shake your head. “Don’t say sorry. Please.”

“…Okay,” He smooths his palm tenderly along your spine once again, now totally lost. “Babe, I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me here. What should I do?”

It’s not fair on him, any of this. You pull yourself together long enough to wipe your tear-stained cheeks and string together a sentence. “Just… if we could go back and do it all again, would you… do it like this?”

“I’d probably have suggested a plan B or something.”

You look up, eyes filled with tears, throat burning.

“I’m sorry, bad time for a joke,” He shakes his head quickly and kisses your forehead. “Look, we both know that this wasn’t planned. But it happened, it’s happening — and no, I don’t regret being here with you.”

You allow yourself to sink into his arms as he kisses the top of your head and squeezes you softly.

“Is everything okay with you?” His fingers graze along the nape of your neck and over your shoulder softly. “You’ve not really said a lot to me since graduation.”

He smooths his hand over your stomach, feeling another soft kick against his palm. It’s almost midnight now, he hopes that this kid isn’t going to be this much of a night owl once it’s born.

“Everything’s just moving really fast.” You say quietly as you settle back down onto your side. Bradley copies, laying on his side so that he’s facing you, his stomach pressed to yours. He nods slowly. “Jake’s leaving, and you’re starting work, and my parents still won’t talk to me. The baby doesn’t even have a name. I’m just scared.”

He leans forwards and kisses your mouth softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips, it’s a helpless thing, really. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and shake your head slowly, “How are you so chilled out about this?”

“I’m not,” He promises, voice quiet, something in the way that he looks at you so earnestly makes you soften. “I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out.”

A silence lingers between the two of you. No more tears, no more lump in your throat, your heart rate slowing enough that you think you might actually manage to sleep tonight. Bradley leans forwards and kisses your cheek, then flicks off the bedside lamp.

You turn onto your other side and he presses himself into your back, wrapping an arm around you and resting it against your stomach. He’s been sleeping like this for the past week straight. It always settles his racing mind. Having both of you in his arms.

He’s warm. Lips press gently to your neck and he hums softly into the curve of your neck.

You exhale softly, shuffling back against his bare chest. This feels awfully grown up. Seven months pregnant, laying skin to skin, in your new shared home.

The next morning, it’s time to drive Jake to the airport. Basic training is three months long. The next time he sees you, you’ll be a mother.

“I love you,” He says softly, wrapping his arms around you. Your stomach bumps into his as you hug him. He’s still getting used to that. “I’m gonna be back before you know it.”

“I know, I know,” You breathe out, squeezing him tighter and then patting his back as you let go. “Just be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

…

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Jake chuckles, giving a quick shrug as he picks his bag up from the floor and slings it over his shoulder. His attention turns to Bradley. “Take care of my sister, Bradshaw.”

“Always.” Bradley answers. You turn your head and scrunch your brows slightly as you look up at him. He drapes an arm around your shoulder and offers Jake a sincere smile.

As Jake turns and heads towards his gate, the two of you are left together. Him still leaning into your side. Always. You stare at him. Flushed skin, wearing a faded grateful dead t-shirt and blue jeans, smiling at you.

Just you and him. Alone, in a new state. Him swearing always and you staying up at night and wondering if there’s even a tomorrow between the two of you.

Ten weeks left until your due date.

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #my future in you

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decolonize-the-left · 19 days

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I love your blog and I respect you a lot so please if it possible i want to ask you something. No one seems to care much for the fate of the egyptian protesters who were imprisoned yesterday and many of them were elderly. Egyptians prisons are a living nightmare where even medicine is denied and they live in crowded cells infested with mosquitos. Please we need to do somethimg this is horrifying they may die from lack of medical care and torture when all they did was protest for aid to enter Gaza.

Hi!

I can't find a method of how to help or where to direct people to donate! I assume it's because it's written in another language? I can't even see the page for the Egyptian Organization for Human Rights.

That said, here are some articles I found regarding all this so I can at least help spread some awareness.

Activists shared videos of one of the protesters chanting against business tycoon and government ally Ibrahim al-Organi, whose companies have been charging Palestinians thousands of dollars to exit Gaza.

The government of President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi has been criticised for failing to challenge Israel's siege on Gaza during the current conflict, and for allowing state-linked companies to profit from the movement of people and aid via the Rafah crossing. The Rafah crossing in northeast Egypt is the only gateway for Gaza that is not directly controlled by Israel. But since 7 October it has opened only intermittently. Egypt blames Israel for the closure of the crossing, as Israel has imposed strict checks on all trucks entering Gaza via Rafah.

Following the protest, 10 activists were arrested at their homes and detained for 15 days on charges of spreading false information and joining a terrorist group, often a reference to the banned Muslim Brotherhood. Egypt declared the Brotherhood a terrorist organization in 2013, following the removal of President Mohammed Morsi from power. Since then, the government has cracked down on political dissent and banned protests, leading to the arrest of critics and activists who speak out against government policies.

During that trip, towards the prison near the Egyptian-Libyan border, detainees were scared and tired. Some of them had to urinate inside the car, using plastic bottles they had, after they were denied access to bathrooms.

He told MEMO: “One of us had diarrhoea and had to use the bathroom. We surrounded him with a curtain made up of our clothes so he wouldn’t get exposed. He had to defecate in the car, cleaned himself with some water he had and collected the faeces in a plastic bag. He was in so much pain: the pain in his stomach and the pain of injustice and oppression.”

About an hour after sunset, the deportation car arrived, carrying ten detainees of different ages. They took sips of water and ate some dates, before beginning a second journey into one of the country’s most infamous prisons. Officials in this prison, named Al-Manfa, or the exile, are known to “honour” new detainees by torturing, abusing, beating and insulting them upon their arrival. The prison has 216 cells and the abuse is often directed at opponents of Al-Sisi.

And of course, if anyone knows more direct ways of helping such as where to donate or about calls to action or solidarity requests being made by those in Egypt then I think anon and I would really appreciate it!!

#egypt #current events #news #asked #answered #this is awful omg #free palestine #rafah #Egyptian prisons #human rights #abolish prisons #leftist #capitalism #palestine

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sanctus-ingenium · 1 year

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Inver - relief map relative to the continent with otherworld territory marked, broad habitat map, detailed local landmarks map, and political map of the northeast atlantic peninsula as of 1862

i was just having map fun for two days lol. i make habitat maps a lot already but the difference with this one is that i can't just download a handy shapefile and do some GIS magic. this was hand drawn (but obviously. somewhat traced over the actual irl map)

for the outline of the north sea coast i used bathymetry data to figure out where the true coastline would occur. the north sea recedes but the atlantic doesn't (to the same extent). because this landmass was formed through some ancient Event, i felt pretty okay about changing the bedrock because like, whatever, we can't be fully realist all the time. so the northern half of inver is mainly limestone, the southern half is silicaceous - so we got the bog/marl divide there, though lough cánamac (in volume slightly larger than any of the north american great lakes) appears to be the remnant of the north sea, it is freshwater with a relatively low pH. the water of the lough is black to dark brown due to the run-off from the southern bogs and swamps.

in the north, the mountain ranges are calcareous. calcareous grassland, scrubland, heaths and fens dominate with a largely alkaline profile. limestone marl lakes which regularly flood due to groundwater input make the region pretty unsuitable for crops other than rice.

the ruad is the name for a stretch of otherworld territory which contains the lough, though generally used to refer to the forested area. it is completely uninhabitable throughout the majority of its range due to the non-euclidian structure of the land making it impossible to navigate consistently, and the strange and frequently hostile creatures living there. the ruad is faery territory and belongs to an entity known as the Red King, who uses the symbol of a stag. so although inver may look like a large country compared to its neighbours, it has a relatively small population concentrated on the west coast.

however, sailing across the lough is the quickest way to trade with countries in the east, far quicker than trekking through the forest and over land. the trade route through the ruad from invergorken to the cánamac town is one of the most valuable in the continent. it consists of an old road with regularly-spaced ranger safehouses and patrols, and a newer pair of railway lines which can cut through the supernatural aura of the ruad due to their iron rails. the first and older line is no longer in regular use. it was constructed before the development of wrought iron and before the build crews learned how to blast through rock, so it takes a very slow and winding route and required a lot of maintenance. safehouses were constructed to board the workers while the tracks were laid. but without this original track, the construction of the second, far more advanced wrought iron track would have been impossible. workers for the second track were able to commute and sleep on the first track's train, keeping them from harm. the second track can fit two trains side by side and is in constant use ferrying cargo and passengers between the two towns

the country of inver, once The Event wiped out all of its original inhabitants a couple thousand years ago, was settled by hibernians and vikings from the north moving south, and aquitanians from the south moving north (thus the place names). the ruad mostly blocked incursions from the east. there was a long history of dispute over who truly owned the land, and that remained sort of up in the air for most of its history until the 1400s when armorican warlords (like Olivier) decided to make it theirs for realsies and waged war against their old hibernian trade partners (like Finbarr) for control of the land. the hibernians lost because finbarr fucked it up at the last second, and this cemented a ruling class of werewolves in inver until the 1860s

inver consists of three large duchies which cover 70% of the population. Moya in the west is the heart of lycanthrope rule, everybody worships a faery known as the immortal hound and the ruad is far enough away that it is not a fact of life as it is for everyone else. Inver duchy covers the capital city and the south-western farmland, the main sites of production in the country. And Cánamac duchy covers the trade port in the lough and surrounding territories, where forest clearing has led to new farmland and a thriving population. There was a fourth duchy in the north, Aber, but it was historically somewhat isolated and cut off from the south of the country and had developed its own customs and traditions, and its own form of the country's currency. In the 1840s, the duchy of Aber was dissolved and reconstituted into the king's lands, and southern customs were enforced in the north to prevent any more divergence. the palaces of the ruling families in each territory are shown in the local map alongside the family names.

Due to The Event causing massive damage in this region of Europe, forbidding the development of britain and france etc as colonial empires, the last great Empire of this continent was the roman empire, and even that didn't manage to overcome the Ruad. technology is rudimentary in Inver and the people living there are largely considered to be weird backwards superstitious barbarians. aquitan has been threatening annexation for decades, led mainly by the church of suzette, which forbids interaction with otherworld entities. the church holds in disregard the nobility of inver and their cultish ways, and as a result has been banned from attempting to convert inver citizens. but the church is still allowed to make minor inroads into inver for one very important reason: penicillin and antibiotics are the sole creation of the church, and the secret of how they are made is unknown outside suzette. so for the sake of good, advanced healthcare, the church is allowed to set up clinics and hospitals, on the condition that nobody is converted, and members of the church are strictly banned from engaging in any business but importing and selling antibiotics

#ignore me using the wrong orthography in several places #setting: inver #northeast atlantic peninsula bro what happened to u... oh no.. he died...#none of that is spoilers under the cut it's just like. basic history everyone knows

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gatheringbones · 5 months

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[“It can be difficult for people raised as girls to express rage when we’ve been taught from very early on that it is in our best interest to suppress our anger. It is culturally acceptable for women to be sad, not angry. In one study on gender, anger, and the workplace, the participants conferred higher status to sad female employees than to angry ones. For men the opposite was true. Men, particularly white men, are rewarded and forgiven for their anger, while women are penalized and blamed.

Ceci, the mestiza paralegal, now lives in Los Angeles with her husband, five-year-old son, and twenty-two-year-old stepdaughter. She described herself using the exact language of a woman who was taught by the culture not to value or express her anger: “I’m a people pleaser. I don’t rock the boat. I go along with everything, do what people tell me.” This is the path of being a good girl, a good woman, and eventually a good mother. Lifelong gendered learning teaches people raised to be women to push down anger and any feelings in the “sub-anger” ballpark, such as annoyance, irritation, and frustration. I imagine this emotional push-down like the carnival game whack-a-mole. Each time an uncomfortable or unpleasant anger-related feeling pops up—whack!—women automatically bang it with a big-headed mallet, sending it back beneath the surface.

Like the rage itself, this game of anger whack-a-mole is an international phenomenon for women. In Korea, there is a culture-related anger syndrome called hwa-byung. It translates literally to “illness of fire” and mostly affects working-class middle-aged housewives, who have chronically suppressed anger stemming from strict gender roles, gender-based inequality, and patriarchal family structures. In traditional Latin American folk medicine, it is believed that holding onto certain emotions can cause physical illness. In Northeast Brazil, the term engolir sapos translates to “swallowing frogs,” and is mostly used by women to refer to the suppression of anger and irritation, and the pressure to tolerate unfair treatment without complaint.

Cheryl, the Black civil rights lawyer who internalizes her mom rage, is practiced at playing whack-a-mole with her anger: “I’m good at repressing things. So, a little problem, I repress it, and it gets packed on top of all the other things that make me mad, until there’s no way to untangle it. It’s just this huge tangle of anger that I’m trying to disassociate from all the time.” In our present-day culture of busy, intensive motherhood, stuffing down unpleasant emotions can be a matter of practicality. Minutes are a precious resource, and airing every frustration is a time expense that modern mothers cannot afford. Emails must be sent, dinner needs to get into bellies, and bodies need to snuggle under covers. But the perceived time-saver of the Emotional Whack-a-Mole phase is a mirage. Every time a mom suppresses her angry feelings, as she’s been taught to do her entire life, she is pushing them onto an ever-growing pile of anger inside her. Eventually, the pile will topple.”]

minna dubin, from mom rage: the everyday crisis of modern motherhood, 2023

#minna dubin #bi literature #gender stuff #currently reading #brainspace

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t34-mt · 11 months

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sorry if you already answered this, but how do the specific colors for each species work when in different regions? are there any specific colors that are more common in one place than the other???

yes, each region has a group/ethnicity that sports colors that are exclusive to them, even feather type for the mane of maanul divers from one region to another. For kyhuines every group has the same feather types, BUT it is possible to have an individual with curly feather genes like a frillback pigeon. that said gene is a mutation so it's not common but it can be passed down

now im sincerely sorry I don't have a really clean good chart yet, ill use these shitty drawings I once made to explain the color to a friend. while they suck and are not good references to look at when it comes to anatomy you still understand color variation with them at least. I'll start with maanuls!

Western maanuls

while on the maanul drawings they don't have size dif, if this was done seriously the females would be bigger than males across every group. Western maanuls are ""the basic ones"" if you had to put it bluntly. id imagine that ancient maanuls before they diversified in colors probably looked a bit like a tone-down modern Western maanul.

the examples ill use for each groups are the most basic individuals you could ever think of. Because with dye and modification, an individual from one group could end up widely different from the base look. For example, Morang is a western maanul but she doesn't look like the example shown here, she cut down feathers for a straight-end look and she bleached herself to be a unified white. another we

Eastern maanuls

now with these guys, i do have a good render of them which you can see here, like western maanuls they got a mane with flexible feathers. the best irl example i can give for you to visualize that type of feathers would be to look at a Japanese roosters's tails. males have a greenish turquoise end some of their feathers. Which is a color exclusive to them. If i ever post an image of yarey'lu ( a male eastern maanul) and you see his yellow feather tips be aware that its not natural, and these are done with dyes. so would be the yellow marks around the eyes, these are also done by paint. another character that is an eastern maanul is ak'laam who doesn't look like the examples because she's melanistic.

Eastern males are the most colorful of all, they've also got iridescent feathers but so do eastern females which is also unique to them. The sea they live next to is a bright blue and within that sea, they have many coral barriers and "exotic" wildlife, even the flora around their region is bright and varied so, i had to make them fancy to go with their place.

Southern maanuls

now they've got their perks too, maanuls and kyhuines after being an ugly hatchlings they become what they call a fledging, which is a state where they're fully covered in a yellowish coat of feathers with brown stripes. Now every maanul and every kyhuine shed that coat at some point, so they lose the stripes except southern maanuls. Southern maanuls even as full adults still have some reminiscences of their stripes from when they were a fledgling.

The mane of easterns are quite particular too, they've got a mix of the two variants. a top layer with hard shafts that move for emoting or just to dance, and a bottom layer of soft shaft feathers. my only southern maanul character is nau'stikah

North-east maanuls

northeast are not that far in the north honestly on the map that population just sits on top of keezeh behind mountain ranges where the nice weather shifts into more temperate ones, like a normal winter you'd find in central Europe (i wish snow was still a thing here), their feather mane is usually quite short compared to other maanul groups and it is fully composed of hard shaft feathers that moves unintentionally with emotions or can be controlled at will.

They are quite dark due to the place they live at, which are cliffs that have been tinted black because of ancient volcanic activities. There arent many north east maanuls, they're the rarest of the 5 maanul groups. A character that is a north east maanul to mention would be qua'tuli

Central north maanuls

and for last with maanuls, central north maanuls which are "real northern" maanuls because they truly inhabit the real north compared to north east. Like north east their mane is fully made out of hard shaft feathers that can move, but unlike them their mane isn't short. you may have noticed but they're more covered too! ears are covered, most of the hand except palms, and the same for feet, except feet can actually be fully covered in feathers in some cold periods of the year.

Compared to other maanuls, central north go out in the land much more often to find food because during cold seasons they cannot always easily rely on the ocean. Their life is harsher than other groups so it sometimes reflects in folklore, like, for example, the way northern maanuls draw haanu (maanul's all mighty mother deity, a sort of Venus of willendorf equivalent) is lets say much scarier than the way other part of the world do it. i dont have any central north characters!

i should also mention that all maanuls have yellow eyes by default, mixing groups can create mutations tho, like orange, red or even brown (monmartre for example, western+central north it has red eyes cause mutation, and while it just looks like a western with neglected feathers it starts to look closer to a central north when it ages in late GA), other mutations can affect eye color too, ak'laam has black/brown eyes because of melanism, and an albino maanul would have red eyes.

kyhuines, commonly have yellow eyes too tho it is plausible but rare to have red, grey and brown eyes without being mixed. These traits can become hereditary too, same goes for maanuls with mutated eye colors they can also be passed down (example with monmartre's litter, but also that was done so its litter would stand out and be recognisable)

Now with kyhuines, there are only 4 groups/ethnicity compared to the 5 of maanuls, and theirs are quite close to one another so claims like "south, west, east, north" is a bit of a stretch but they still use it anyways for communication.

Southern kyhuines

the most common kyhuine are southern! now with kyhuines the color dimorphism is much more present compared to maanuls. Even talons in females if often darker, southern females can have dark brown talons to just the light pinkish that males have. gular skin is usually less bright too. Like eastern maanuls, i have a proper render of that group that you can see here. notable characters that are southern kyhuines would be satmuh, kapone, oto, and bantam. These 4 are all siblings so they can also be shortened to "southern litter" in literature

Western kyhuines

body wise, identical to southern. The difference is that they're much lighter. between males and females colorwise it's not that different most of the time. But they still got their quirk, their gular skin is a blue color. first contact maanuls mistaken western and southern to just be the same group variants but not, they are distinct ethnicity despite looking similar. i don't have any character that belongs to this group!

Salt desert kyhuines (or salt rock)

calling them north is a stretch, while on old kyhuine maps, they are situated up to other groups, on a world map they're just in the center of the mega continent like other kyhuines its just that they live in the salt desert. the talons of a female salt kyhuine can almost be black, to just greyish tones like the example, same goes for gular skin it can go from this tone to a full black one. Then the males sport these blue cool tones and also have iridescent feathers, irredescent feathers in kyhuines is only found in male salt desert individuals.

now the "wings) these drawings suck because while you get the base idea for colors its not good when it comes to accurate anatomy, the feather of salt male kyhuines are long, very long, almost like a Microraptor (on the drawing the leg feathers are not right, not large/wide enough). While they cant glide because they're too heavy and not made for that either way. it does help readjust a fall or jump, you'd usually see males flap their "arm wing" a little when jumping to something high. notable characters of that group are Ame, kaasim, and the egg twin sisters

Eastern kyhuines

So for eastern kyhuines, i do have a clean render of them but its also outdated when it comes to spine posture. While ill still link it because you get a better look at their face beware that the kyhuine don't stand like that anymore (as you can literally see here). You can go view it here.

They're the only kyhuine that can have green-ish tones (for males), their face is also different its more curved, their face have a more "chubby" look. by the way, a healthy kyhuine from any region will have fat cheeks, best example to look at ig, are these shibas with fat cheeks. Their "wings" and overall look is a usually smoother than other kyhuines, they also have shorter "ears"

My favorite kyhuines honestly, i love their face a lot it's shameful that i didn't make any eastern oc atm.

all done, if you've reached down there then thank you for reading/looking! means a lot to me

#maanul #kyhuine #ask #long ask #txt #worldbuilding #digital art #my art #2023 #altuyur #xenobiology #xenofiction #artists on tumblr #speculative zoology #alien

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abybweisse · 1 month

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Ch210, Where is F. O. L. Orphanage?

⚠️ long post ⚠️

I was discussing that question with @juxl25, and I think we came up with a good choice for its location.

The only information we know for sure is that it's in Norfolk, and that it's near a river. We also know Finny and Snake took a train to a nearby town and walked to the orphanage.

We also know there's a wind pump that drains water from the surrounding marshland. There are at least four major rivers in the area used for draining the marshes: Yare, Bure, Wensum, and Ouse.

Juxl25 suggested River Yare and the historic Red Mill (the wind pump) as the area but was looking at Manor House, which is farther away, in the village (proper) of Haddiscoe, Norfolk. After some digging around, I agree with River Yare and Red Mill/Langley Detached mill (originally called Langley detached windpump...

...or Langley Detached drainage pump).

They are in an area northeast of Haddiscoe village, called Haddiscoe Island (these days), thanks to a canal added to connect River Yare and River Waveney farther inland, creating an island of the area and making the marshland there more remote/less accessible.

There's a historic farmhouse just east of River Yare, not far from Red Mill, called Raven Hall. And Raven Hall would be a premium location to have a secluded facility like F. O. L. Orphanage.

There's only one thing I don't like about the buildings shown for Raven Hall -- it's a bit farther from the drainage pump than I want it to be, and it's just a large farmhouse (almost 3000 sqft) and a long barn (almost 900 sqft). But there's a cool space just south of those buildings, which would be ideal for the main orphanage, as well as a spot for the stables/barn leading closer to the drainage pump, farther south. Here are two options for the placement of F. O. L.:

In each case, I've placed the stables to the west of the main house, as a small red rectangle (more or less), while the windpump was already marked by a red dot farther southwest. Looking at the bend of the river on Theo's image of a map of the place, the placement on the right (above) might be the better match. Then again, it could be exactly where Raven Hall is located. And Raven Hall, having been built in the 17th century (or at least 1700), is older than Red Mill (built in 1840).

Too bad I can't see the placement of the windpump on his map, but I think it's somewhere behind the speech bubbles on the left side of the panel.

We see that the windpump at the orphanage has a low roof of some kind, and juxl25 explains that someone was probably living onsite just to maintain it full time. I did find at least one pic showing Red Mill with what could be the old maintenance shed/shelter, but it seemed to be on the wrong side. Who knows? I guess it depends on which way the sails are facing to catch the wind? But the low roof in the panel is probably just the top of some shed.

Oh, and near St Olaves, there's a train station called Haddiscoe Station. They could have got off the train there and made their way north to the orphanage by foot. Or did they hitch a ride part of the way? I'll have to go back and check.

I'm still considering one other location, not far from there, but I won't post it unless further research looks more promising.

Hey... can you imagine if all this time... F. O. L. was just some place name reference... like "Farmhouse on Langley" (Marshes)?!?

Please let these kids break the windpump and flood the tunnels.... 🙏

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sirenjose · 6 months

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Norton's Humming + Research into 19th Century Mining Songs

Video: Norton/Hunter Norton’s backstory trailer, but audio edited so only the background noise and Norton’s humming are heard.

There are a few more notes besides the 6 we hear him humming most of the time if you listen closely. But then it repeats.

Is this an original song or no?

It does have a similar feel as the theme for the theme of The Shining: https://youtu.be/g_nsZ8yt1KA?feature=shared

And the theme for The Shining is apparently based on Dies Irae or “Days of Wrath. And it’s curious that this actually appears in quite a few movies apparently: https://youtu.be/0hL1m4hGBVY?feature=shared

Since I’m talking about Norton’s humming/song again, even though I haven’t been successful finding any songs that match up exactly, I might as well share some of my findings, as there’s a number of interesting mining songs (I tried to focus on songs from the 19th century):

- Collier’s Rant: one of the oldest mining songs (maybe written 1650). It originates in the Northeast of England/Northumberland, and so its in their dialect (Geordie). Based on how mine disasters have been happening for a long time and how miners viewed the pit with suspicion. It was part folk lore, fright, and superstition that people believed many disasters were caused by the devil and his henchmen who lived at the bottom of every pit. (*Side Note: "mara" in the song means workmate)

- Blackleg Miner: 19th century song relating to miner unions/strikes. Originally also from Northumberland. It depicted violence against strikebreakers by unionized strikers. It may have originated from the miners’ lockout of 1844? Regarding the term “blackleg”, this referred to strikebreakers, as they returned covered in coal dust which gave away that they had been working while others were on strike.

- Miners’ Lullaby: about how miners brought tins of morphine with them, enough to kill a man, in case they were trapped underground so they could at least have a peaceful death

- Gresford – Miner’s Hymn: honors the mining disaster in 1934 in North Wales

- Miner’s Lifeguard: for the Welsh Sliding Scale dispute in 1898?

- Others: In the Days of ’49, California As It Is, Coorie Doon, Byker Hill, Which Side are you On, Farewell to the Monty, Farewell to the Rhondda, Joe Bowers, the Blantyre Explosion, Trimdon Grange Mining Disaster

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #Fool's Gold #Fools Gold #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #idv fool's gold #identity v fool's gold #idv fools gold #identity v fools gold #hunter norton #idv hunter norton #identity v hunter norton #sirenjose analyses and theories

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thefandomenchantress · 17 days

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So I know I’m a little late to the party on this one, but I wanna talk about the David MV.

I finally decided to watch that nearly three hour video on the Literature Girl Insane MV, (by @/1moreff-creator) and HOLY SHIT IT’S SO GOOD. I wish I watched it sooner and wonder why I didn’t, I watch almost exclusively 1+ hour videos about random topics I know nothing about, and now there’s one for something I care a lot about! Why didn’t I watch immediately?!?

But my lapse in sanity aside, it finally got me motivated enough to talk about the David MV!

…Except only the part about Ace because of course that’s all I want to talk about. 9 out of 10 of my posts are either about him or have him involved somehow.

Anyways! Here’s the part I find very interesting!

This is arguably where Ace is most relevant, and therefore it makes sense I want to talk about it today.

Now, first things first, the Roman numeral. V (five) is Ace’s Roman numeral, as assigned by the crossword. The line attached is:

“Right now, why do you go insane?”

Which definitely fits. Ace could easily be framed as going insane, because he has mental breakdowns at a worryingly high frequency. Him and Veronika (who this might also be referring to if color theory is to be believed) are basically assigned the role of being seen as mentally unhinged within the class.

(…Ever think about how weird it is that the title is Literature Girl Insane, implying the star of the MV, David, is going insane, yet Ace is the one getting called insane, possibly by David? I think that’s interesting. But let’s get back on track.)

As established by other Roman numerals, the words in the background when a numeral shows itself also apply the character attached to said numeral. This is most obviously shown in the line near the top of the photo.

“A cat has 9 additional lives”

This is also easily applicable to Ace, since he survived Nico’s murder attempt against all odds. If Eden and Teruko hadn’t just so happened to be on the 2nd floor and walked into the gym when they did, he would’ve died. While the actual methodology of Nico’s murder attempt is unknown, it’s also possible that him even surviving long enough for Teruko and Eden to find them was a miracle. Either way, it fits.

The last quote on-screen intrigues me the most. It’s a quote from Hamlet.

“I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand saw.”

Now, first let’s look at just those words, without further context. It’s important we know what the words themselves mean before we do anything else. Let’s start with the definition of north-northwest, since that word is pretty important to the quote.

I’m sure most are familiar with north, east, south, and west. The four main directions on a compass. As well as Northeast, Southeast, Southwest, and Northwest. That splits the compass into eight directions, splitting the sections of north, east, south, and west in half.

Similarly, north-northwest is a direction that comes from splitting the compass into sixteen parts. It’s the half of the northwest section that’s closer to north.

Next, what the hell does “I know a hawk from a handsaw” mean? It’s almost half the quote, so it’s important we know.

Well…*extremely loud sigh* Shakespeare, as you know, was alive a very long time ago. As such, he writes in old-time-y English that’s hard to understand. And this quote has the misfortune of being something people argue over the translation of, at least as far as I could tell while researching.

Some people think Shakespeare meant a heronsaw, a type of bird, not a handsaw. Others think that no, he meant handsaw, but heron, in his time period, was also a common word for a tool that holds plaster/mortar/etc..

Either way, Shakespeare was probably referring to two types of birds, or two types of tools, which have key differences from one and other. I don’t think which one the DRDTdev thought was right really matters in this instance, since the quote makes sense either way. 15/16s of the time, Hamlet (the speaker of the quote) is sane and can tell two birds/tools apart.

The quote is, in summary, saying that Hamlet is mad only when it’s north-northwest, aka 1/16th of the time (I’m not sure if that somehow connects to there being 16 participants in the killing game, but I’m going to assume it doesn’t). The other 15/16s of the time, Hamlet is perfectly sane, thank you very much.

So, without context, this quote is saying that Ace is only insane 1/16th of the time. The rest of the time he’s sane.

Next, I think another important thing we have to do is take into account the whole screenshot as a whole. By that I mean we should not only look at each line individually, but how they relate to each other. In bold is the “why do you go insane?” Line, and to the left, in a font that blends more into the background, is the Hamlet line.

There is a contradiction of opinions here. One person says, “Why do you go insane?” while the other insists they’re only a little bit insane.

This could be referring to the opinions of David and Ace. After all, one could argue it was David underestimating Ace that led to his secret being revealed. David doesn’t bother being careful around Ace in the trial, despite Ace’s volatile nature. He piles suspicion onto Ace by saying it’s weird he didn’t see him on the second floor the night before the murder, even though it isn’t. After all:

Ace was in the gym. David was in the relaxation room. Those are on opposite sides of the floor, so of course David wouldn’t have seen Ace. He didn’t even have to walk anywhere close to the room Ace was in. But David saying this information like it’s weird and suspicious makes everyone else think it is.

David thinks: But what’s Ace gonna do about it? Somehow get the whole class on his side, even though almost everyone likes me more? Is everyone really going to trust the mentally unstable (one could say insane), dumb, cowardly jockey over me?

Yes, yes they will.

All this is to say, David, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t really care about Ace throughout chapter two. He steals Nico’s secret from him, antagonizes him in the trial, and doesn’t care. Ace doesn’t matter. Ace, of all people, can’t be the one to ruin him. So who cares if Ace dislikes him? Ace is of no use to David, and Ace certainly isn’t smart enough to figure out David’s scheme. This is what David believes.

However, this leads to him not taking Ace’s volatile nature seriously enough, believing he is above the harm of someone like him. But hey, even a pawn can play a vital part in checkmating a king.

When David pisses off Ace, believing Ace can’t do anything besides get angry, yell, and make himself look more suspicious…That turns out to be a crucial mistake that ruins everything.

…Y’know, the irony of the class idiot being the one to beat the so-called master manipulator will never not be funny to me.

Anyways, we can sort of apply this to Hamlet, too. If Ace is Hamlet, since this is Hamlet’s line, and David is Claudius, his father-in-law, we do have a pretty good parallel.

Claudius, who secretly killed Hamlet’s father and then took his throne, is secretly not as righteous as he seems. However, Hamlet finds out about Claudius being the one who killed his father and seeks revenge. Claudius thinks Hamlet to be mad, but when Claudius isn’t around, Hamlet says, “But my uncle-father (Claudius) [is] deceived. I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand saw.” Eventually, Hamlet kills Claudius. So in DRDT terms, Ace finds out about David’s manipulation, David is unaware of this, and Ace eventually kills David’s public persona. Obviously this is an extreme simplification of the plot, but still.

…Of course, there’s also a chance this contradiction of opinions isn’t about Ace and David specifically. After all, David isn’t the only one to boil Ace down to his core traits of “dumb, angry, overall not a well-adjusted individual”. The whole class does this, at least for the most part. This Hamlet quote could just be trying to say what Ace has been saying. That everyone sees him as a loudmouth, stupid, cowardly and nothing more, when in reality there’s more to him than that.

I might have gone a little overboard with this part…I got excited…Hopefully this all actually makes sense, I had to revise some of this post because it got ramble-y and overall pretty cluttered.

So yeah. Here’s my (very late) contribution to the David MV discussion. Here’s what I think Ace’s part means. If you want me to elaborate anywhere, feel free to tell me, or if you want to tell me your thoughts, I’d love to see that!

#danganronpa despair time #drdt #drdt spoilers #david chiem #ace markey #David MV #fun fact: i was originally going to make a post about how maybe ace could be the red in color theory #…before realizing HOW MUCH RED THERE IS #not so sure i could justify him being that prominent even if he did play a major part in david’s reveal

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mariacallous · 7 months

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(JTA) — When I was 18 years old, like many American Jews, I spent a gap year in Israel. At a right-wing army-prep program called Mechinat Yeud, located in the illegal settlement of Efrat, I learned Torah, went on hikes and practiced krav maga. I fondly look back at this year as a positive experience and a time when I matured as a young adult.

I also saw the daily mechanisms of the occupation, though I didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate this.

Over that year, I saw Palestinians whose cars bore different license plates than those driven by Jews. I saw a checkpoint between Israel and the West Bank that was a formality to Jews like my friends and me but very real to the Palestinians living right next to us. Though I finished my year in Yeud with a strong desire to live in Israel, I also knew that I couldn’t be complicit in Palestinian oppression.

I eventually moved to Israel and threw myself into anti-occupation activism, spending weeks and months at a time in Palestinian communities in the West Bank. In addition to the bureaucratic oppression that Palestinians face on a daily basis, I saw — and sometimes was a victim of — the settler violence that plagues the West Bank.

During the American civil rights movement, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel famously referred to his protesting as “praying with his feet.” This past Yom Kippur, when the rabbis of the Talmud tell us to fully prostrate ourselves during prayer, I asked for forgiveness with my whole body by spending the Day of Atonement in Ein Rashash, a Palestinian Bedouin shepherding community located 22 miles northeast of Ramallah. Its residents had requested a 24/7 presence from solidarity activists due to threats from the nearby Israeli outpost of Malachi Hashalom.

According to a United Nations report released on Sept. 21, 1,105 Palestinians fled their homes and villages in 2022 and 2023. The report stated that settler violence is at a record high since the U.N. began documenting the trend in 2006.

This report includes the villages of Ein-Samia, Al-Qabun, al-Baqa and Ras al-Tin. All of these villages were located near Ein Rashash, and like Ein Rashash, the communities all relied on shepherding for their livelihood. Settler attacks in the Palestinian towns of Huwara and Turmus Aya, frequently described as pogroms, have received attention within Israel and internationally.

Ein Rashash has faced similar settler violence and harassment. Shortly upon entering the village, one can see where settlers shattered the windows of homes and destroyed an outhouse in an attack in June. The community is considering leaving their land just like the community of Ein-Samia and many others have done.

In response to this violence, a group of activists, most notably Rabbi Arik Ascherman, is spending long periods of time in Ein Rashash — located north of the ruins of Ein-Samia — to use our privilege as a de-escalating presence. When non-Palestinian activists are around, settler violence is less likely. Ein Rashash and the nearby villages are all located in Area C, the portion of the West Bank under full Israeli control as per the Oslo Accords. The Palestinian residents do not have Israeli citizenship, and they are subject to military law as opposed to the civil courts through which Israeli settlers are tried. “Protective Presence” activism is utilized in other communities in Area C that face regular threats of settler violence and home evictions, such as Masafer Yatta. I have done several shifts already, and I volunteered for the Yom Kippur shift.

I was accompanied by five other activists. The first thing we did was assign roles in case settlers came. Who would call the police or other activists? Who would film? Who would stand in front of a settler’s car if he tried to enter the village or drive through a flock of sheep? These are normal conversations in this line of work.

There is no break during Protective Presence activism. Either there’s an immediate incident, or you’re waiting for the next one. Every unfamiliar car or person in the distance can be a settler coming to attack or harass or bringing soldiers to force Palestinians off their land. A drone from the nearby outpost hovered overhead for around 30 seconds, and I was on edge for the next hour. You sleep with one eye open. Jewish holidays often bring with them right-wing violence in Israel and the West Bank. Hate crimes were carried out in Bat Yam this year and last year, and in 2021 there was a settler pogrom in the Palestinian village of Mufagara.

This is exhausting and emotionally draining. Unlike many other Protective Presence shifts I have participated in, Yom Kippur ended without incident.

After 25 hours, I had the privilege of going home to Jerusalem. Palestinians do not have this option. This is their life.

According to Torah, on Yom Kippur the Israelites are told to “afflict themselves.” The rabbis concluded that self-affliction must refer to fasting, reasoning that “affliction” refers to something that, when taken to a certain extent, can lead to death.

Life under occupation can, and does, lead to death. One look at the statistics makes that all too clear. Since 2000, 10,667 Palestinians in the occupied territories have been killed by Israeli soldiers or civilians.

Protective Presence is my self-affliction. And yet, in homage to Yom Kippur’s imagery of being sealed in the Book of Life, life goes on. Activists laughed with and got to know each other and our Palestinian hosts. We read and we ate delicious homemade food. We didn’t embrace misery as a form of repentance. We embraced the full spectrum of life.

I believe fasting is mentally, physically and spiritually unhealthy. The only self-affliction I find meaningful is in sharing the pain — and the joy — of my fellow human beings, particularly in a way that lightens their pain and suffering. The people of Ein Rashash have told us that our presence is making their lives easier and helping them stay on their land. The children are laughing and playing in a way that they were not when we first started these shifts. This has been the most meaningful Yom Kippur I’ve ever had.

In Mishnah Yoma 8:9, we learn that repentance on Yom Kippur only allows us to atone for the sins between ourselves and God. For a sin against another person, one must “satisfy their fellow.” We don’t need to ask God for forgiveness. We must stand with the Palestinians suffering under Israeli rule, until they’re satisfied.

I know that it’s not a matter of if the settlers will be back, but when. For as long as that’s the case, I will continue to pray with my body and sometimes “self-afflict” in the name of justice and equality. The Talmud states self-affliction does not absolve one from their sins towards other people, only those towards God. And yet, our sins towards other people are the ones for which we direly need to repent.

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ddarker-dreams · 6 months

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Nexus Trivia

A/N: to commemorate the final chapter of nexus' main storyline, i wanted to string together some trivia relating to the story/its creation process!

Nexus index.

When planning out this story, I wanted to draw from Greek mythology because I felt some of the motifs/themes would mesh well. Some of the references are more evident than others. These references include:

The planet Eris' name, owing to the goddess of discord/strife.

Ania, Reader's mother, is the personification of ache and anguish.

Chrysus, the spirit of gold.

Caicias, god of the northeast wind.

The quadrant Reader lives in, Thelx, is a shortened version of Thelxinoë. This name is attributed both to a siren and one of the four Titan muses. Charming minds was her area of expertise.

The name of Reader's business, the LOTUS-EATER, is a reference to (surprise) the lotus-eaters mentioned in Homer's Odyssey. An island where people pass their days leisurely in fantasy felt fitting for the Synalink business.

As for Reader/N darling, her motifs draw from the goddess of the soul, Psyche. There's also hints of Persephone in there because well. Blade and his connection to death/his obsession that disturbed Reader's mother parallels Hades and Demeter.

The inspiration for Reader's last name, Phaeales, is a shortened version of Nymphaeales, an order of flowering plants. Lotus' fall under this category. Coincidentally, the name for the largest butterfly family is Nymphalidae. Reader and Psyche are both associated with butterflies/butterfly wings. These shared prefixes went on to form the basis for the humanoid long-life species found on Eris, Nymphalians.

Since there was so much butterfly stuff fluttering about, I was like hey, why not commit to the bit. So some of the areas in Eris are named after flower parts. There's Perianth, the outer part of a flower, and the nectary, which is where, unsurprisingly, nectar is formed.

Nectar guides, the railroad system on Eris, references the special markings on flowers by the same name. Nectar guides are those lil lines that guide pollinators to their pollen and nectar.

Okay enough etymology for now. The one thing I kept from my first outline is Nexus' ending, I changed just about everything else. The ending felt like such a gut punch that I couldn't just change it into a one-shot, it wouldn't hit the same.

There was going to be more philosophy but I spared everyone that. Originally, I associated Blade with determinism, Reader with rational-egoism, Nona with nihility, and Lear with humanism. There's still some traces of this but I toned it down a bit 😭

I didn't spare everyone from Freud though, which might be worse tbh. Reader's character was roughly built around his concept of the ego, Nona, the id, and Lear, the superego.

#nexus

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nyxshadowhawk · 20 days

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I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Six

Previous part.

Chapter 14: Of Beleriand and its Realms In which we get a geography lesson.

Had enough political geography yet? I’m not going to summarize this whole chapter, because it’s exactly what it says on the tin: it describes the realms of Beleriand. It is impossible to make sense of this chapter without looking at the map. And most of it is information that we already know. For the sake of being complete, and of helping myself keep track of all this information, here’s what’s important:

The northern land where the Noldor live is called Hísilomé (in Quenya) or Hithlum (in Sindarin), both of which mean “Land of Mist.” It’s called that because of all the smoke that comes from Angband blows over it. It’s co-ruled by Fingolfin and his son Fingon.

In the westernmost part of Beleriand, on the coast, is a land called Nevrast. Turgon, Fingolfin’s other son, rules there. It’s completely surrounded by mountains in a kind of triangular shape, which is not how mountains work. Its population consists of an even mix of Noldor and Sindar.

Remember how I said there were two Minas Tiriths? The one we know is the second one, in Gondor, many thousands of years later. The first one is a watchtower built in a small mountain pass on the River Sirion, here in Beleriand. Finrod built it, but he leaves it in the care of his brother Orodreth. (“Minas Tirith” just means “guard tower” in Sindarin, so that’s why there’s two fortresses with that name.)

The River Sirion flows south. West of it is the realm of Nargothrond, ruled by Finrod, and east of it is Doriath, the forest ruled by King Thingol of the Sindar.

The eagles live on a chain of mountains called the Crissaegrim. (Yes, the name of the best sword in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night is a reference to this! )

In the eastern part of Beleriand is the River Gelion, running parallel to the Sirion. It has six rivers that flow into it. That land is called Ossiriand, and the Green Elves live there. Directly north is Thargelion, where Caranthir (another one of Fëanor’s sons) has his castle.

In the northeast is Lothlann, which is the plain that’s most exposed to Morgoth. Maedhros has his castle there.

I feel like this chapter should have come before the last one. It describes a bunch of places which have already been referenced in relation to each other. So, why are they being described now, after they’ve already become relevant to the story? Like, for example, the Thangorodrim. In this chapter, we’re told that the Thangorodrim are mountains made out of the refuse from Morgoth’s excavations while he was building his fortress. That would have been nice to know before Mædhros was nailed to the face of them. Back in the last chapter, the text just sort of assumed that we already know what the Thangorodrim are. I gathered from the context that they’re mountains and that they’re connected to Morgoth. I guess that’s all one really needs to know, right? No story actually needs this detailed a description of the geography… but this book is 300 pages of straight infodumping. So, we get all the geography, and out-of-order.

Okay, now that that’s over, let’s move on to something interesting!

Chapter 15: Of the Noldor in Beleriand In which a legendary city is built, and Thingol hears all the dirt on the Noldor.

Remember Turgon? He’s Fingolfin’s son and Fingon’s brother, and he received a prophetic dream from Ulmo, the Vala of Water. The dream led him to finding a hidden valley in the north of Beleriand. Feeling homesick for Valinor, Turgon decided to build a city on the hill in the center of the valley, which would be like a New Tirion — the original city of the Noldor, replicated in Middle Earth!

Turgon brought many of the most skilled Noldor to the valley to build the city, and then ditched them to live comfortably in Nevrast while they did the work for him. After fifty-two years, the city was complete. Turgon named it Ondolindë, which means “The Rock of the Music of Water” in Quenya. But it’s better known by its Sindarin name, Gondolin.

The Hidden City of Gondolin by Aesthetica

Gondonlin is the Elven City (which is why it’s kind of surprising to learn that it’s a copy of an even greater one). It’s gorgeous and bright white, with beautiful fountains and gardens. The giant tower in the middle is Turgon’s palace, and in it he creates images of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought out of literal silver and gold; the gold one is called Glingal, and the silver one is called Belthil.

The most wondrous treasure of Gondolin is, of course, Turgon’s beautiful daughter Idril Celebrindal. Like Galadriel, she almost has the light of the Gold Tree, Laurelin, in her hair. So, that makes her one of the prettiest Elves alive.

Ulmo promises to protect Gondolin, and ensure that no one will ever be able to find it against his will. But he straight-up tells Turgon not to get too attached to Gondolin. (Actually, he says “the work of thy hands” — lol, Turgon did nothing to help build it.) Ulmo also tells Turgon that his little safe-haven isn’t going to protect him from the Curse, so, he can expect treachery within Gondolin’s walls at some point. The only hope is going to be someone who comes from the west.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

A third of the Noldor and even more of the Sindar pass secretly into Gondolin, apparently disappearing overnight. (Nevrast is completely abandoned) Then the gates are shut.

Meanwhile, Galadriel is enjoying her life in the court of Thingol. Remember, she’s one of the only Noldor Elves who’s allowed to be there, past the magic wall. She has long talks with Queen Melian, the Maia, about Valinor. But Galadriel refuses to say anything about how and why the Two Trees died. Melian can tell that something’s wrong, and asks Galadriel what happened. Galadriel says that she wants to put the past behind her, and try to have some hope for the future.

Melian presses her — she knows better than to think, as everyone else does, that the Noldor were sent by the Valar to swoop in and save her people from being assaulted by Orcs. She notes that the Noldor don’t speak of the Valar at all; they just sort of pretend that the Valar don’t exist. From that, she concludes that the Noldor aren’t messengers, they’re exiles. Something went badly wrong.

Galadriel caves, and tells Melian about the Silmarils, about how Morgoth stole them, about the death of Finwë, and about how the Noldor left Valinor willingly despite the Valar not wanting them to leave. She neglects to mention any of the worse stuff, like the Oath that Fëanor’s sons took, or the kinslaying, or the Curse, or the burning of the ships. Melian senses that she’s still holding back information. She doesn’t press Galadriel any more, but she does tell her husband Thingol about the Silmarils.

Only Melian is really able to put two and two together, and realize just what a big-ass deal the Silmarils really are. They contain the last remaining Light of Valinor, and if Morgoth has them, then any attempt at recovering them is almost inherently pointless. It’s going to take far more power than Elves have to take the fight to him. Fëanor tried that, and now he’s dead, even though he was one of the greatest Elves. If anyone else tries to take on Morgoth, they could risk destroying the world in the process. For better or worse, the fate of Arda is tied up with that of the Silmarils.

Thingol is distraught to hear that Finwë is dead, and figures he was right not to trust the Noldor. The only silver lining is that at least the Noldor will make good allies against Morgoth, because peace with him doesn’t seem to be an option. Melian tells him to be wary of Fëanor’s sons. She could read between the lines and figure out what Galadriel wasn’t telling her. Fëanor’s sons are all guilty of crimes against the Valar, their own families, and even themselves. There’s a lot of unresolved tension between them that’s only dormant for the time being, and it can only get worse from here. Thingol dismisses her concerns. All he cares about is that Fëanor’s sons will give him his best shot at taking down Morgoth. Whatever drama is between them is their business.

Melian and Thingol decide not to speak of this again, but rumor spreads amongst the Sindar about what the Noldor did to get kicked out of Valinor. Many of these rumors are spread by Morgoth. Spreading rumors was how he set the Noldor on their dark path in the first place, and the Sindar were too naïve to know not to believe rumors. Círdan, however, catches wise. He perceives that the rumors are being spread maliciously, but doesn’t think to blame Morgoth. He assumes that the Noldorin princes are spreading rumors to slander each other. He sends messengers to Thingol to tell him about the rumors.

By pure bad luck, Finrod and his brothers happen to be there in Thingol’s court, visiting their sister Galadriel. So, Thingol hears all the rumors while they’re there. He explodes at Finrod for having lied by omission. Finrod protests that he’s never done anything to Thingol, nor have any of the other Noldor. Thingol cooly responds that all the Noldor have blood on their hands for kinslaying, but they don’t try to defend themselves or seek pardon. Finrod has nothing to say to that.

But Angrod, his brother, speaks up. Angrod blames Fëanor for the whole thing. The other Noldor are really the victims in this situation, he claims, because they were intoxicated by Fëanor’s words, and then Fëanor abandoned them to freeze to death. The reason why Thingol hasn’t heard any of this before is because it’s an act of treason against the Noldor to talk about it. Surely, Thingol can understand that?

Melian is less than impressed. She points out that, according to Angrod’s own account, Mandos doomed all the Noldor. That means that he and his siblings are just as damned as the rest of them. They're all affected by the Curse.

Thingol is silent for a moment. Then he tells Angrod and co. to get out of his house. He’s not going to shut them out forever, because they’re family. He’s also going to maintain his friendship with Fingolfin’s people, because he needs them to take down Morgoth. But, he refuses to hear their language be spoken in his presence, and he commands that none of the Sindar use it, either. Anyone who speaks Quenya will be branded a kinslayer.

So, now you know why Sindarin is the dominant Elven language in Middle-earth.

That sort of puts a damper on Quenya; it seems like such a magical and elevated language, but now it’s associated with the Noldor’s crimes. I suppose that makes sense, if the Noldor are the ones who primarily speak it. But it also seems a bit draconian for Thingol to consider someone guilty of a serious crime just for speaking Quenya.

Quenya therefore ceases to be a spoken language, and becomes mainly used for writing lore or singing old songs. It’s the Elvish version of Latin.

After that, things become a little awkward for Galadriel in Thingol’s court, so she leaves it and comes to live with her brother Finrod in Nargothrond. She asks him why he hasn’t taken a wife yet. Finrod gets a flash of premonition, and tells her that nothing of his realm will remain to be inherited by a son. But the real truth is that he left his true love, Amarië, in Valinor.

Finrod by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Chapter 16: Of Maeglin In which we meet an edgy bad-boy Elf.

Did you remember that Fingolfin had a daughter? It’s okay, I didn’t either. Her name is Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, and she’s known as the White Lady. She lives with Turgon, her brother, in Nevrast. She follows him to Gondolin, but she doesn’t really like it there. She prefers to wander freely in forests or ride horses in the fields, and she can’t do that if she’s effectively imprisoned by mountains and high walls on all sides.

Two hundred years pass (which I’m guessing is like twenty in elf years), and she finally asks Turgon if she can leave. Turgon doesn’t want her to leave. If anyone leaves Gondolin, then that risks revealing its existence to everyone else in the world, and that would be bad. Eventually he gives in, but tells her that she’s only allowed to meet with Fingon, their brother. Aredhel takes offense at this. She’s Turgon’s sister, not his lackey, and he has no right to tell her where to go or what to do. She leaves, and Turgon tells three of his lords to go with her to protect her, with the condition that they come straight back.

Aredhel immediately decides not to go see Fingon. She wants to find the sons of Fëanor (Maedhros, Caranthir, and co.), because they’re her friends. She tries to cut through the forest of Doriath, but the Sindar turn her away, because Thingol hates the Noldor now. She has to go around the long way. That way is dangerous, and polluted with poisonous water and evil creatures left behind by Morgoth and Ungoliant. Aredhel gets lost, and her escorts barely escape with their lives. They make it back to Gondolin, but have to give the terrible news to Turgon that they lost their charge along the way.

Turgon is grief-stricken and very, very frustrated. Aredhel survives, though, and ends up in Himlad, the land of Fëanor’s sons Celegorm and Curufin. They’re away, traveling further east with their brother Caranthir, but Aredhel is welcomed by Celegorm’s people.

Aredhel enjoys herself for a while, wandering in the forests like she used to, but a year passes and Celegorm still hasn’t come back. She starts wandering further and further, until she ends up in a small forest on the eastern edge of Doriath.

Aredhel lost in the dark forest by @gemennair

This forest is the darkest of all the forests in Beleriand, and it’s inhabited by an elf called Eöl, known as the Dark Elf. Eöl isn’t actually a Dark Elf (Moriquendi); he’s one of the Sindar, but he left Doriath when the magic wall went up. Now he’s basically nocturnal. He blames the Noldor for the return of Morgoth. He mostly doesn’t interact with other Elves, but he does like Dwarves, and gives them information about the Elves when they ask. The Dwarves taught him metalwork in exchange, and he designed a special kind of armor that’s thin and light and yet repels all weapons. It’s jet black, and he wears it all the time.

Skulking in the shadows, Eöl sees Aredhel enter his forest, and he lusts after her. He enchants the forest so that she can’t find her way out, and the forest always turns her towards the center. (Kind of like the Old Forest does to the Hobbits while they’re trying to pass through it in Fellowship.) When she finally arrives at Eöl’s house, tired from wandering, he welcomes her in. And that was the last her family heard of her for a long time.

Aredhel and Eöl by Elena Kukanova

It’s unknown exactly how Aredhel responded to Eöl’s intent to marry her. Maybe she fell in love with this edgy bad-boy elf in his spooky forest. But she landed in kind of the same situation that she was in back in Gondolin. Eöl lets her wander, at least, but only at night. He also forbids her from seeking out the other Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor in particular, which is what she wanted to do in the first place. Honestly, their relationship reminds me superficially of Hades and Persephone.

Eöl and Aredhel have a son. Secretly, Aredhel gives him a name in her forbidden native tongue of Quenya — Lómion, which means “Child of the Twilight.” Eöl doesn’t give him a name until he turns twelve, and that name is Maeglin, which means “sharp glance.” Maeglin grows up to resemble the Noldor, but he is more like his father in temperament.

Maeglin by @elfinfen

His father takes him to meet the Dwarves, who teach him mining, smithing, and metalwork. But Maeglin has a special relationship with his mother, and enjoys hearing her tales of Valinor and the House of Fingolfin. He especially likes hearing about Turgon and Gondolin.

In telling all these stories, Aredhel realizes just how much she misses Gondonlin. She wonders how she could have left in the first place. After such a long time in the dark shadows of the forest, the bright walls and fountains of Gondonlin seem lovely. But she refuses to tell Maeglin where Gondolin is, because that is such an important secret.

Eöl is also mad that Maeglin wants to meet his Noldor relatives. He’s an old enough Sinda to still identify himself as a member of the Teleri, and therefore, he thinks of his distant relatives in Valinor as his own people. He forbids Maeglin from seeking out the Noldor for the same reason that King Thingol banned Quenya — he takes the Noldor’s crime of kinslaying personally. (He probably should have thought of that before deciding to marry Aredhel, but whatever.) Maeglin, like any edgy teenager, does not take this well. He stops going to visit the Dwarves with his father, and Eöl starts to distrust his own son.

One summer, when Eöl is gone on one of his visits to the Dwarves, Maeglin suggests to his mother that they go to Gondolin. What’s the point of sticking around? She wants to see her people again, and Maeglin has learned all he can from Eöl. There’s no sense in remaining trapped in a dark forest with nothing else to do. So, they up and leave.

When Eöl gets back, he is furious to find them gone. Despite his hatred of the sun, he chases after them, but he’s waylaid by Curufin, one of Fëanor’s sons. Curufin asks what he’s doing there. Eöl lies, saying that his wife and son were on a casual visit to their relatives, and that it only makes sense that he should be with them. Curufin sees right through him, and tells him that they’re already gone. He gives Eöl permission to pass through, but tells him that the sooner he leaves, the better.

Eöl by @bohemianweasel

Eöl snipes that this isn’t the proper way to treat a kinsman. Curufin replies that it’s pretty rich for Eöl to ride upon his wife’s title when he’s been keeping her imprisoned in a forest for decades. If he wants the honor due to a kinsman, he should have acted like one. Curufin also gives Eöl a warning: He should return to his forest now. If he pursues his family, he’ll never come back.

If Eöl hated the Noldor before, now he really hates the Noldor.

As you probably guessed, he decides to chase after his family, and he eventually catches up with them just as they’re about to enter Gondolin. Gondolin, the secret city that no one is supposed to know the entrance to.

You can imagine how Turgon must have reacted when he sees his sister come back with a son in tow. She went out for a simple family visit, and returned with an adult child that she had with some creepy dude in a dark forest. But he’s happier to have her back and see her safe. Turgon also takes a liking to Maeglin, and thinks that he’s worthy to be one of the Princes of the Noldor. Maeglin swears fealty to Turgon.

Gondolin surpasses Maeglin’s wildest dreams. After having spent nearly his whole life in a dark forest, Gondolin is a whirl of light and color and interesting people. But more than anything else, he’s attracted to the king’s daughter, Idril… his first cousin.

Meanwhile, Eöl finds his way in. You know, the one thing Turgon didn’t want to have happen. Because he claims to be Aredhel’s husband, the guards restrain him (with difficulty) and bring him to Turgon. Aredhel is aghast that her abusive husband followed her all the way to her secret safe haven, but she tells the guards not to kill him. After all, he is telling the truth, and he’s still Maeglin’s father.

Eöl stands “proud and sullen” before Turgon, but despite his bad attitude, Turgon treats him honorably. Unlike Curufin, he accepts Eöl as a kinsman, and tells him that he’s welcome to stay in the city so long as he doesn’t leave it. Eöl goes on a rant about how this is the Tereri’s land, and (paraphrased) “you colonizing kinslayers don’t have any right to tell me where I can and can’t go, and how dare you keep my son from me!” He commands Maeglin to come with him, but Maeglin huffs and says nothing.

Turgon retorts that the only reason why Eöl’s woods are safe is because the Noldor protect the land from Orcs, so, he owes them. If it weren’t for the Noldor, he’d be Morgoth’s slave in Angband. And besides, you can’t argue with a king in his own castle. Either Eöl will live in Gondolin, or he’ll die there, and Maeglin will get the same choice.

Turgon by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Eöl just stands silently for several minutes. You could cut the tension with a knife. Then, in a sudden motion, he takes a javelin that he had concealed in his cloak and throws it straight at Maeglin. If he’s gonna die there, he’s taking Maeglin with him. Aredhel jumps in front of her son, and the javelin hits her in the shoulder.

Eöl is instantly beset by guards, who bind him and lead him away. Maeglin is just silent through all this, not knowing how to react. Aredhel and Idril both try to convince Turgon to be merciful during Eöl’s trial, but that night, Aredhel dies. The tip of the javelin was poisoned. Therefore, Turgon shows Eöl no mercy. He sentences him to die by being thrown from the top of the tower. As he falls, he curses Maeglin to have all his efforts fail and to suffer the same fate.

Caragdur - the same fate by SaMo-art

Most of the people of Gondolin believe justice has been served, but Idril is troubled. From that day onward, she distrusts Maeglin.

For the time being, Maeglin’s life is good. He rises through the ranks of Turgon’s court, and Turgon favors him. He finds many valuable metals in the mountains around Gondolin, and forges powerful steel weapons for the people of Gondolin. Maeglin is also wise, tough, and valiant in battle, making him a true asset to Gondolin. All is well… for now.

The only problem is that he’s still in love with Idril, who’s his first cousin. The Noldor don’t marry their cousins, and until now, none of them have wanted to. Idril also doesn’t love him; she can’t help but associate him with his insane father, and she thinks there’s a darkness in him. Somehow, he’s affected by the Curse. Slowly, Maeglin’s love for Idril festers into resentment. I’m sure that won’t cause any problems down the line.

Chapter 17: Of the Coming of Men into the West In which the Men finally arrive in Beleriand.

It’s been three hundred years since the Noldor first arrived in Beleriand. One day, Finrod Felagund is out exploring the countryside, and he sees cheery campfires and hears the sound of singing. That’s weird, he thinks, the Green Elves who live here don’t light campfires or sing at night. He worries that they might be Orcs, and sneaks closer, but he doesn’t recognize their language. They’re humans, the first Men to enter Beleriand. These Men are the people of Bëor the Old, and they’re singing because they believe that they’ve finally found a paradisal land without fear of Morgoth. Finrod finds them endearing.

When they go to sleep, Finrod sneaks further into their camp, picks up a crudely-carven harp, and begins to play. The Men wake up and are spellbound by the beauty of the faerie king’s music. Finrod sings about the creation of the world, and about Valinor. Although the Men don’t understand his language, images of what he’s singing appear in their minds, and so they learn about how the world was created.

By _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

By Elena Kukanova

By pan_brooke

By @pansen1802

(I couldn’t pick just one image for this scene. There are so many good ones!)

After all the Elf Drama that we’ve had to sit through, it’s easy to forget what the Elves really are. They’re the Fair Folk. This scene really speaks to their folkloric roots.

At first, the Men think that Finrod is a Vala, which they’ve heard of. Finrod decides to stay with the Men for some time, in order to teach them things. They call him Nómin, which in their language means “the Wise.” Finrod can understand the Men’s speech realtively easily, because he can read their minds, and because they learned how to speak from the Dark Elves (the Avari) in the east. (This is important because it means that all of the Children of Ilúvatar’s languages descend from the original language of the Elves. It’s the Proto-Indo-European of Middle-earth.)

Finrod asks Bëor why the Men are there. Bëor doesn’t really know, because Men have short lives, and it’s taken many generations for them to get this far. Whatever it was they were fleeing in the first place, it was bad, and they’ve heard enough about Valinor to know that there’s Light in the west. Morgoth did something to corrupt them, as he always does. In fact, as soon as Men arrived in Middle-earth, Morgoth considered this such a big deal that he abandoned the war in Beleriand, putting Sauron in charge of it. Morgoth immediately went to go mess with the Men. Therefore, there’s some human equivalent of the Noldor’s Original Sin of kinslaying. But what it is, no one knows. Bëor tells Finrod that there are more Men heading westwards.

Some of the Green Elves send messengers to Finrod to ask about the Men. They’re not happy that these refugees of an unknown race are moving onto their land. They consider Men their enemies, because the Men cut down trees and kill animals. They tell Finrod to tell the Men to either go back the way they came, or move forward.

Finrod advises the Men to keep moving. They head further West, so that they’re just east of Doriath and just south of Eöl’s dark forest. This is the land that Amrod and Amras, the twin sons of Fëanor, rule over. This land is now called Estolad, “Encampment.” By that point, a year has passed since Finrod first found the Men, and he decides to return home to his own palace, Nargothrond. Bëor begs to come with him and serve him, so he does, leaving his son in charge of the Men.

Soon after, more groups of Men make their way into Beleriand. They settle in whatever little niches they can find amongst the lands that the Elves had divided up amongst themselves. The Elves are extremely interested in the Men, whom they call Edain, “the Second People.” Both Noldor and Sindar alike go to see them. They send messengers to welcome the Men, and some of the Men go to serve in the courts of the Elven kings. Overtime, more and more of them go to serve the Elves.

Thingol, however, is unhappy about the coming of Men. He already was not pleased about the arrival of the Noldor in his lands, even before he found out that they were kinslayers and banned their language. Now, a whole separate group of refugees is invading his kingdom from the other direction, dividing it into even smaller portions. What’s worse, he keeps having troubling dreams about them. The only person he’s willing to talk to about this is Finrod. Thingol decrees that the Men are only allowed to live in the north of Beleriand, and that the Elf lords that they serve are responsible for them. None of the Men are allowed to come into Doriath.

Melian knows that the arrival of Men means that big changes are coming. She whispers to Galadriel that one of the Men will eventually break through her magic wall, because the power of that Man’s destiny will overcome her own. People will sing about that event until the distant future, when Middle-earth is unrecognizable.

Many of the Men are still interested in getting to Valinor, so they can live with the Gods. They’re frustrated and disappointed to know that Valinor is even further west, across the sea. The only God that’s there with them is Morgoth, the Lord of the Dark. (This echoes the Christian idea that God is removed from the world, while Satan is here on earth with us and troubles us while we’re alive.) The Men basically have two options: to try to get across the sea to Valinor, or to try to help the Elves defeat Morgoth.

One Man, Amlach, makes the bold suggestion that there is no Valinor, and that the Elves have been lying to them. The Men have no proof that the Gods exist, and they don’t even have any proof that Morgoth exists beyond the vague evil that their great-grandfathers fled. Maybe it’s the Elves and not Morgoth who want to take over the world! Sound familiar? These are basically all the same conspiracy theories that drove the Noldor out of Valinor.

It’s darkly telling that the source of evil in The Silmarillion is conspiracy theories, lies, misunderstandings, and miscommunications. Morgoth didn’t force the Noldor to kill their relatives — they did that on their own. Now, he’s trying the same tactic all over again with the Men. All he needs to do is sew distrust amongst the people, so that they’ll attack each other instead of him, and destroy everything in the process. This speaks to Tolkien’s general theme about the power of language, but it also seems particularly poignant right now.

Morgoth’s not done yet, though. Despite his best efforts to sew distrust, the friendship between Elves and Men still holds. He decides to try a more direct approach, and sends Orcs to attack a group of Men. The Men are a lot weaker against the Orcs than the Elves are, and they barely survive the siege. Caranthir arrives with the cavalry at the last minute to drive back the Orcs. Caranthir offers the Men protection in his lands in the north. Their leader, Haleth, refuses; she doesn’t want to live under someone else’s rule. She tells Caranthir that she’d rather go further west. She gathers what’s left of her people, and brings them to Estolad.

Haleth leads her people further and further west. They travel through the land north of Doriath, the same poisonous land where Aredhel originally got lost. Many of her people die, and the survivors regret making the journey, but it’s too late to go back now. She tries to restore their way of life best she can.

Haleth by @yidanyuan

Now, Haleth and her people are living in a forest called Brethil, northwest of Doriath. This is too close for Thingol’s comfort. Finrod vouches for Haleth and her people, and tells Thingol about the hell that they went through. Thingol reluctantly permits them to live in the forest, so long as they remain outside the magic wall and help defend the forest from Orcs. He worries that the Men and Orcs could become allies and try to attack Doriath. Haleth is disturbed that Thingol would let that thought cross his mind; why would she ally herself with Orcs, after Orcs laid siege to her village and killed her father and brother? If Thingol wants her to kill Orcs, he doesn’t need to tell her twice. She remains in Brethil until she dies, at which point her people build a great barrow for her.

Overtime, the Men learn Sindarin. They remain enthralled by the Elves, and want to learn as much of their lore as possible. But the Elves recognize that Men need to have kingdoms and leaders of their own. The different ethnic groups of Men are therefore given their own lands by the Elven Kings. In addition to Haleth and her people, there are two other important kings of Men:

One of the kings of Men is Hador Lórindol (“Goldenhead”), a member of Fingolfin’s court, whom Fingolfin is fond of. Hador’s people speak both Sindarin and their own language, which eventually evolves into the language of Númenor (which in turn evolves into Westron, the in-universe language that The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are written in, rendered as Modern English by our good Professor Tolkien). One of Hador’s sons is named Galdor. Galdor has two sons, Hurin and Huor. They each have a son — Húrin’s son is Túrin, and Huor’s son is Tuor. Tuor has a son, Earendil, whose name should ring a bell. Húrin, Huor, Túrin, and Tuor are all going to be important characters going forward in The Silmarillion. Earendil is the father of Elrond and his brother Elros, and much further down the line, Aragorn will be born from his lineage.

The other important king of Men is Boromir — no, not that one, this one is the son of Bëor the Old. One of his great-great-grandchildren is Morwen, the mother of Túrin, and another one of his great-great-grandchildren is Rían, the mother of Tuor. A third great-great-grandchild is Beren, who’s also a significant character going forward, and his daughter becomes the wife of Earendil, therefore the many-times-great-grandmother of Aragorn.

TL;DR: These two important kings’ grandchildren will marry each other, and their descendants will be the Kings of Numenor, whose line will eventually end with Aragorn. This is where it starts. Also, most of these great-grandchildren are about to become relevant here in the Silm.

Bëor is the first of the Men to die of old age, rather than being killed in battle. The Men are struck by their own mortality. They’re not just vulnerable to being killed — unlike the Elves, they actually have an expiration date. The scope of Men’s lives is barely a hundred years. In the First Age, the Men are practically mayflies. They also have no idea where they go when they die.

Still, the Men that settled in Beleriand are vastly superior to the Men that remained in the East, because they had the opportunity to learn skills, lore, and craftsmanship from the Elves. Also, the men are elevated somewhat just from having seen the Elves’ beautiful faces, because the Elves saw Valinor. Even secondhand, the light of Valinor is just that powerful.

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