#but the fact that they are both allowed to be who they are in defiance of both the gender norms and genre tropes

[lanonima]

Obviously I wouldn't be working on a cross stitch project like the one I'm working on if I didn't love Arslan Senki but I cannot emphasize enough how much it is the story of all time for me

there is not a single version that I dislike, or that I think brings nothing to the experience of the story

but when you boil it down, the thing that has held me so captivated and brought me back to the story over and over and over is that Arslan himself is so gentle, and kind, and softhearted

and not only does the story not punish him for that like so many would, but those are the traits about him that his retainers love, and they would do anything to prevent him from losing that gentleness

the story shows over and over again that Arlsan is right and that he doesn't have to change who he is in order to learn to be a good king

and it just really gets me that in a story that can so often feature violence and deceit, that the core value is still that being kind is worth it

#Arslan Senki #and on the flipside I love Prince Freya because she does struggle with her anger and the story lets her do so #if you gender-swapped them I don't think either character would be as engaging for me #but the fact that they are both allowed to be who they are in defiance of both the gender norms and genre tropes #really serves to make both stories stronger #of course there's also a lot of other shit about Arslan that drives me absolutely feral #but this is unquestionably the thing that really gets me

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 3: Cursed Creatures

AO3 Link | Chapter 2 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song “Guilty as Sin?” I mean… “My boredom’s bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry? I dream of cracking locks, Throwing my life to the WOLVES” Are you kidding me? It’s perfect. So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.

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There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.

Sex was one of those topics.

You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.

You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.

Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.

The Prophet had to remain pure.

Set apart.

Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.

You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.

But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldn’t and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.

It was the sin of lust.

The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.

You always did what you were told, and you didn’t ask questions.

You told yourself that you weren’t weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.

So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.

The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.

A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.

A Prophet.

They made you.

You were not a naturally occurring thing.

Sometimes you didn’t even feel human.

Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.

It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you weren’t doing it on purpose.

And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a woman…

Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.

Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.

You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.

For once, you didn’t care.

Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.

Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.

You could breathe. Unrestricted.

Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.

Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong form…

See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.

Or distracted, at the very least.

Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.

You definitely couldn’t trust her.

But you didn’t have to trust her to look at her.

A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.

Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought you’d actually encounter.

When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.

Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.

If there were any Demons below, you didn’t see them.

Honestly, you hoped you’d never have to come across the cursed creatures.

The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.

You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.

As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.

In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.

You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.

Foolishly, you thought you were ready.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.

It moved faster than you would’ve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.

It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.

Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.

Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.

Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didn’t take it down.

Its back was to you.

You couldn’t let yourself freeze again.

You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.

It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.

The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.

But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.

You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.

You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.

That was two for you.

“Prophet, look out!” Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.

Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.

You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.

Lev’s arrows pierced its throat twice.

It kept coming.

You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.

You just blinked again.

She saved you.

Why did she save you?

You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.

You tried not to panic.

You had only almost died.

You were fine.

The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.

She looked at you for—as far as you could tell—the first time since you’d cut her down from the rope.

She walked over, holding your gaze.

You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.

So she could end you herself.

Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.

She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.

You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.

As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.

She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.

Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.

Her hand fell back to her side.

There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” she said, voice low. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.

Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.

“Prophet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!” She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.

“Where are you going?” the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.

“Out of these woods. We’ve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.”

They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolf’s apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.

You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torch’s light. Which meant they were after Yara.

You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.

As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.

Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.

The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.

“They’re all around us!” Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.

The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.

The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.

Just one stomp and it was dead.

You flushed again, transfixed.

Stupid.

You should not find that attractive.

But she was undeniably incredible.

You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.

A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.

It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.

“That was the last of them,” Yara said.

“You guys okay?” the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.

“Yeah,” Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.

“We have to keep moving before more come,” Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.

You all ran after her.

“Every direction looks the same,” said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

“It has to be this way,” Yara said, quietly determined.

“What the hell am I doing?” the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.

The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.

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Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.

She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.

And one of them was the Prophet.

Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long ago…

Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.

Because this wasn’t like her.

A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.

Well maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. It didn’t make her happy. She just didn’t feel bad about it.

And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?

The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.

What had that one woman called them? Apostates?

Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.

Or been kicked out.

Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.

Which meant they weren’t necessarily her enemy.

But the other girl. The Prophet…

Abby didn’t know what was going on with you.

Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?

And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But you’d stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.

And then you had been the one to cut her down.

So maybe you didn’t want to kill her.

That counted for something, right?

Abby didn’t let herself think too much about how pretty you were.

How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.

How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.

And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.

See? She totally wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.

And she was probably delusional.

And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.

Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.

She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.

“It’s just up here!” the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.

The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.

There wasn’t time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.

On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.

She couldn’t tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.

“Those are fresh. There another way around?” she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.

Lev spoke up. “If there were, would we be going this way?”

Okay. Fair point.

Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. “Come on, Lev. Get it open.”

The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didn’t budge, despite his efforts.

“Move,” Abby said. He did.

She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.

“Get in there, Prophet,” she said, teeth clenched.

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You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.

Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.

The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.

You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.

“Prophet?” A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the person’s tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.

You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldn’t recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.

She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. You’d seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.

The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.

“Are you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?”

You were at a loss for words.

Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.

“I—”

Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.

“Apostates,” she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.

She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.

You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.

Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.

You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.

This wasn’t a Demon. It wasn’t an animal.

She was a living person.

And a Seraphite. One of your own people.

You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.

She hadn’t been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.

You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t deserve to look away.

You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.

No. You would not cry.

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Abby was the last to enter the clearing.

By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.

Abby watched as you killed her.

Woah.

You were good with that knife, she’d give you that.

Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.

You weren’t even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.

Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three she’d seen hanging when she first came to were yours.

Now, she was sure they weren’t.

Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.

She wasn’t usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldn’t help but move towards you.

Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up she’d been in the aftermath.

She understood that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell.

She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldn’t even be here right now.

Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.

“Hey. You did a good job.” She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didn’t let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.

Abby waited until you met her eyes. “You saved them,” she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. “You did what you had to do.”

You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.

She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.

“Wait. Is that my backpack?” Abby asked, looking more closely.

Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“Probably. Emily gave it to her earlier,” you said numbly.

Abby didn’t need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.

She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.

“Are you two alright?” you asked the siblings.

“Yes, Prophet,” Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didn’t say anything though.

She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.

Especially the guns.

Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.

Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.

“How’s the arm?” she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I have it under control,” the girl insisted defensively.

“Okay…” Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. “Grab any supplies you find.”

“We can’t touch this stuff. It’s Old World,” Lev said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“Are you fu---? You need supplies. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She opened and then shut a drawer. “Pun fucking intended.”

“What’s a pun?” Lev asked from another room.

Abby didn’t have the energy to answer that question.

Instead she said, “I’ve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.”

“Seraphites,” you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.

Again, she ignored. “So what the hell did you do?”

“I shaved my head,” Lev answered simply.

Abby scoffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.

“We’re almost there,” Yara said. “Just a little farther.”

She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldn’t be able to get back out the same way you went in.

“Now what?” Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.

“I’m quite confident it’s this way.”

“Quite confident?” Abby repeated incredulously.

“You don’t have to follow us,” Lev pointed out.

“You want me to leave you three out here alone?” Abby shot back.

Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, “No!”

Everyone else turned to you, surprised.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lev offered.

Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.

Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.

“If you get us through there, we’ll open the gate,” Lev said.

Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.

“Get them out,” you said, as if you could read her mind. “I’ll stay with you.”

Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.

Abby nodded. “Okay. Come on.”

He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.

“Your turn.” Abby looked at Yara. “Watch that arm.” She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.

The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.

On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldn’t budge.

“The gate’s stuck!”

“Fuck! Hurry up!” Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.

“We’ll look for another way!” Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.

Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.

“They’re not going to leave me,” you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.

She didn’t respond, not sure if she believed you.

“They won’t,” you reiterated.

“I hope you’re right, Prophet.” She offered one of the weapons from her stash. “You ever shot a gun before?”

You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.

“Come here. I’ll show you.”

What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.

You were fighting them off like a champ.

Seriously. She was impressed.

You’d kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.

Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.

She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.

You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.

The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, “Wolf!”

A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.

It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.

A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.

She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.

“Good girl!” Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.

Wait.

What the fuck?

She meant to say “good job”…

Actually, she hadn’t meant to say anything.

You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.

She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. “Good shot. That was—I mean—It was a good… A good shot. Good job.”

You smiled softly at Abby’s obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.

You picked it up and returned it to her.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.

She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

“Prophet! Over here!” came Lev’s quiet voice from the next room.

You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.

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When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.

You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.

Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.

Or maybe you were just exhausted.

Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.

You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didn’t have words for.

The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.

The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure you’d seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.

You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadn’t been followed.

When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.

It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.

Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.

It wouldn’t be helpful for you to panic now.

“Hey,” you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. “It just needs to be set. Okay?”

You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. “You know how to do that?”

The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.

Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.

You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.

“I’m gonna move it, okay?” said the Wolf.

“Okay.”

They were both speaking so softly.

“You ready?” she asked.

Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.

The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.

Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.

You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.

You didn’t know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.

The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.

Yara watched the Wolf’s face.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yara’s gaze.

“Abby,” she said.

She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.

“I should go,” the Wolf—Abby—said.

You stood too, to walk her out.

Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling in the same spot and taking Yara’s waiting hand in his.

Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.

You paused, turning to face her.

“Are you—” You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to go at all.

But you didn’t have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, “Are you okay?”

You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.

It felt like so long ago that she’d been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.

She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.

“Oh umm… Yeah. It’ll be fine.” She waited a beat before adding, “Thanks for cutting me down.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.

You settled on a nod and a tight smile.

She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.

Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, “This area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape she’s in…” Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, “You need to get out of here by tomorrow.”

Again, you nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.

You shut and locked the door.

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As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldn’t help the images that came to mind.

She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.

Hanged and gutted by the Scars.

Or shot by the WLF.

Or ripped to shreds by Infected.

She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.

She had a war to get back to.

But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?

The urge to stay near you—to protect you—was so overwhelming. She didn’t know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.

You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.

Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.

It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.

You were in her head.

But this didn’t feel like manipulation.

She didn’t know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.

Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.

Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.

She chose to trust her gut.

And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.

Owen would have to wait.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Note: Thank you to anyone who’s read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me. I’ve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes… Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter. Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and I’m looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!

#the wolf and the prophet #my writing #abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

[merakiui]

when asked if he prefers cats or dogs, jade leech says, "the one who resists the collar most."

this response, coupled with jade's usual sharp smile, raises eyebrows. there is no argument to be had on which wears a collar worse: a pet will wear a collar if its owner deems it necessary. pets may resist, but ultimately the owner can and will condition them to wear it without defiance. and though this may be fact, jade is not one to agree so easily. he likes to challenge normalcy; he likes to break facts down to the very basics and determine whether such "facts" are actually just socially accepted opinions in disguise.

so the question is reframed: would you rather have a dog who always slips out of its collar or a cat who tills the tops of your hands with scratches when you attempt to collar it?

jade likes the idea of both, but there are only two choices available. he cannot say he likes both, otherwise it will defeat the purpose of a "this or that" inquiry. but then a slippery hound allows for the euphoria of a chase. a hunt. a chance at gambling freedoms to see which will triumph: the dog and its insatiable thirst for the world beyond the confines of the collar, or the owner and his determination to keep the hound shackled, lest he find himself locked away with a sentencing as heavy as that same collar. on the other hand, the cat in this scenario reacts on instinct. rather than run, it fights. its violent actions are a testimony to its fear. an animal only ever shows its claws if provoked or cornered. therefore, the cat will shred him bloody when he reaches out with an unclasped collar. jade doesn't mind blood and pain, but then most people are not like jade.

most people do not answer the "this or that" with, "in this case, i'd prefer a cat. because then, after i've succeeded in collaring it, i can return the favor."

there's that eerie smile again. somehow, the air shudders alongside the one who asked the question, stifling and thick with an unsettling dread. jade scratches idly at the bandages wrapped around his hands.

though both species in this scenario react differently, they will, eventually, exhaust themselves. the dog's flight will become wingless after countless failures. the cat's fight will simmer after each clawed lash ends in a wild grin and dilated pupils, in which the owner leans in and whispers, sickeningly sweet, "do that again," because he wants it. because pain is the prettiest gift the cat can give him.

so the question is reframed: regarding the cat, how will you "return the favor"?

he plays innocent this time, pretending to ponder even though he's crafted his witty reply in advance. "no more gourmet tuna."

that's enough chatting. he excuses himself with a pleasant simper and off he goes, down a stretching hall, far from the one nosy enough to pose such a peculiar question.

cats and dogs... really, does the distinction in who wears a collar worse matter? in the end, both are housebound.

later, after setting a homemade meal in front of a large, human-sized crate, jade leech peels the blanket covering it to reveal his cat. he bends down, pushes the plate towards it, and the paw that once slashed so angrily at him before shakily reaches through the bars.

he smiles, tilts his head, and offers a question: "do you prefer cats or dogs?"

the cat meets his mismatched gaze, horrified and cold all over, dressed only in undergarments. silence stretches between pet and owner. he's not surprised or upset when no response follows.

it doesn't matter because the cat is caged, and it is not a physical collar that binds it but rather the presence of the owner who keeps it confined.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #another day another jade leech brain rot <3

[searchingforserendipity25]

Diplomatic Concerns. (russingon, on ao3).

When they did at last come together, it did not feel like an inevitability to Maedhros. Far easier it was to believe - to contrive - ways in which they might betray themselves, and allow their understanding to betray their people.

This, they both agreed, could not be permitted. Maedhros would have loved Fingon less, if he had been willing to brave the storm of opposition and defiance their open courtship would cause.

His people had cause, just cause to stand against it; and Maedhros had his own brothers and vassals to rule over, in less official fashion, without the benefit of official authority to put them in place if it prove needed.

They pledged their troth under the stars, a wordless promise with no bitter oath to mar it; and thereafter took the greatest care and discretion that none guessed at it.

-

It was some effort, Maedhros admitted, if only in their very secretive correspondence, written on hidden wink in the back of their official missives.

His mouth ached, his arms felt emptier - poetry, he found, spoke to him beyond the pleasure of precise meter and rhyme.

It was absurd; it was dangerous. Always he kept Fingon swept from his mind, lest some of his heart bleed through enough to be perceived; and always it was work, to keep Fingon out of the forefront of his thinking.

And it was mortifying, too. To be infatuated, to have a joy to hide, to know himself cherished and desired - he could not have bourne it to be known, not easily.

It was only some consolation to know Fingon found his pining ardor very pleasing, being that he was at too great a distance to do much with that. As a matter of fact, it made it all the more torturous.

This lasted all through the first fortnight of the autumn summit.

Maglor looked at him indulgently. “How many horses can Fingon possibly need? Nay, not at all. You must give him the best foal, and rear it by your hand, and drape it in Fingon’s raiment and colours, and teach it the signals he favours. Quality, not merely quantity! Do you hear me wasting breath on too many love songs? There must be a measure, by which things are made precious.” 

“You were song-wed by proxy fashion to an ascetic zither-master you knew from correspondence only, and met thrice every ten yéni,” Maedhros told him. 

Maglor shrugged. “Once every ten yéni was enough. It made the anticipation all the sweeter.” 

Maedhros raised all three colts to perfect training. If some of his braids were chewed away, and much of the fur of his best coats, then at least Fingon was suitably impressed.

-

None guesses at our affections, Maedhros amended on his next letter, besides Maglor, and his silence is our boon. Fingon was swift to tease him for that - and in truth he had barely bothered to hide it from Maglor.

There was little use; therefore he worried little. All the rest of his brothers held their own domains, were occupied with their duties - if it became pressing, he could always invent a new task to distract their tracks.

He had forgotten Caranthir. Caranthir never needed to be given new directions; if anything, he excelled at taking attentive initiative, especially on matters of international commerce.

“I,” Maedhros said. “Have never offered any thing, to lord or vassal, besides gifts of friendship, and diplomacy, and cunning morsels of what might attained with a better trade arrangement.” 

“Explain to me how Fingon’s newest gem-crown counts as a diplomatic expense,” Caranthir demanded.

-

Besides Caranthir and Maglor, none noticed. 

The next time they met - a well-prepared hunting retreat, and the anticipation did have a certain strain of pleasure in it - it was only some time after the first enthusiastic greetings that they found time and patience to speak at lenght about their dealings, those small or great matters they had not trusted even to set to hidden writing.

 "Did you -”

"I told none. Besides those who know."

“Are you entirely certain. Amras and Amrod keep sending me cured meats? Excellent sausages for my table, and lovely truffles. For some reason; they did not last year.”

"They are not poisoned," Maedhros assured automatically. Then hesitated. "They do like to experiment with spices and certain powders, however."

"I noticed," Fingon said, mouth curved. It was a lovely smile, better for being not amused; Maedhros suffered the rather stupid instinct to kiss his cheek. "Around the time the sugared mushrooms caused an apparition of a great mammoth grazing upon my father's head as we sat in public Council. It appeared purple to my eyes, the mammoth; also my father."

Maedhros had suffered great torments of the flesh and spirit; the image made him wince with genuine feeling. Fingolfin kept a very eclectic conjunction of lords near him, Sindar and Noldor and Avari, all of them clever, cunning, far-seeing people with an unhappy habit of keeping a wide awareness to every stray thought that they might fish out slyly round them on a wide range of space. It made Maedhros feel unusually warmly towards his straightforward, stone-silent dwarves and the fierce, scarred, closed minds that came to serve Himring. 

"You need to string them up from a high tower," Maedhros concluded. "You shall have their apologies in a season."

"Need is a strong word," said Fingon. But his mouth was twitching, more genuinely.

Through the place where their spirits pressed together he passed on the faint, kaleidoscopic memories of that afternoon - Maedhros had stifle his own crinkling eyes. It was impossible not to admit Fingolfin did look rather fetching in tints of purple; and the mammoth was very realistic.

"If you want them to redeem themselves, have them send more next year. I would rather have enjoyed them in privacy. Lalwen thought it was very amusing. Eventually; she stole the rest of the bounty, and left me none at all, which was very like her and rather a disappointment. If your brothers are found wandering the wilds naked and intoxicated, you shall find no way to prove it was her work."

"They will enjoy it too much." Maedhros thought of when the twins's nonsense had been joyful, once. And involved less paperwork. The worst of it was that they likely thought it a good gift.The twins had ever liked Fingon well enough, as much as they liked anyone outside their enclosing understanding.

Fingon turned around, with that sweeping grace that made him deadly. In a moment he had rolled them over. His hands dug into the loam around Maedhros's head; his legs tangled in him, pressing down, delicious.

There you are, he thought, directly at Maedhros. No distance at all, and his laughing mind dizzying like a windfall, a sweeping rush. You stay away too often, Russandol, even here.

"Let them," he said, voice low and warm, close enough Maedhros could feel it thrum in his own throat. He was so very warm. Maedhros's whole body felt alive under him, as if he were fresh from a battle; as if it could feel alive and joyful with no violence. "I mean to enjoy myself with a clear mind. I mean to recall you perfectly while we are apart."

-

Maedhros, rather wisely, he thought, kept any commissioned tokens away from familiar forges.

It was a marvel, the inspiration which which Curufin could contrive as an insult. In this he truly was Fëanor's heir.

I will not have any of our Father's house be known for offering substandard works, he wrote, a stiff note of parchment atop a casket.

Inside the casket was a treasure - elf-made emeralds, and rubies, fine gleaming garnets that caught the golden light from the candles and would assuredly shine beauteously strung around golden ribbons, and on the chained earrings Fingon favoured.

 Keep those Dwarven pieces away from Fingolfin and his ilk, lest he rethink our work agreements. Have you lost your sense, along with your shame? Findekáno's not the least suited to Belegost's blue-steel and sapphires, they wash him out terribly, I do not know how Fingolfin can be so tasteless in his heraldry as not to consider it.

-

Maedhros recalled a time when his brother at least pretended to attend to elvish mores, those small contrivances of decent conduct. Such as pretending at ignorance. Pretending at ignorance had been a good habit, one Huan's master remembered these days merely when it was convenient for him.

Celegorm only looked at him in a flat vulpine fashion, nostrils flaring. Worse than a smirk, worse than mischief. Maedhros had seen it turned on others often enough; he could not say he enjoyed the very unpleasant awareness with which it remind everyone of all the passionate embraces they may or may not have indulged in the wild, where a little bird might carry gossip, or a finicky squirrel pass on mockery.

It also made him rethink the wisdom of wearing Fingon's undershirt under his tunic.

"Not a word," he ordered.

Celegorm only whistled in wolf-like fashion and darted away from his swing.

The next time Fingon dared him for a swim after a lengthy ride up the hills of Barad Eithel, Maedhros quite ruined the romance of it all by insisting on raising a tarp-and-leather tent beforehand.

-

Huan had the good grace to wait until they passed each other on an empty corridor before stopping to block his path.

Oromë's hunting hound looked at him with those terribly knowing dark eyes and let out a soft snorting sound. It was not a very approving woof; a little mournful, perhaps. Maedhros did not speak Hound.

"Do not you start also," Maedhros said. His tone held little effort, as it ever did in these cases.

He had to fight the instinct to cross his arms. He refused to be easily biddable or intimidated. As a matter of principle; he had few of those, and it tended to be better to keep to those he did maintain.

Woof-woof, said Huan.

"We are all Doomed regardless," argued Maedhros.

A sniff, rather pointed. A little charming, perhaps - none of his brothers had offered, so far.

"It is very generous of you to offer," Maedhros said. "No biting will be necessary. I would rather Fingon whole as he may."

Huan licked his bad arm. Shifting ears, which, in all honesty, were insulting. 

"I am not letting myself be carried off as a mate to establish a new collective dynamic as pertaining previous intra-community competitions," Maedhros said, rather stiffly. "No, not though I was stolen from the Enemy for that purpose."

Maedhros did not speak Hound, as such; but Huan and him understood each other a little. If anyone was going to look at him with the knowledge that Maedhros would have let himself be carried off as a prize, and possibly did not dislike the notion, he would rather it was him.

"I will bring you some of that good hind meat from Dor-Lómin," he conceded, eager to bribe him away.

Huan's dog-grin finally widened. Maedhros, relieved to be free from evaluation, scratched his chin until his wagging tail was thumping the carpet. Some relatives, he thought, were harder to please than others.

-

"We have failed at every avenue," Maedhros concluded, as displeased as he could stand to be just then. "Let this be not a sign of our joined efforts to come!"

Fingon was rather less moved at their failure than Maedhros would have expected. Possibly that was the effort of the long ride to the fortress, and their - reunion. Maedhros did not want him alarmed and on his feet, as such; but he did eye his complacence a little.

"Brothers are not Balrogs. It could be worse," Fingon said, very confidently.

Maedhros lifted his head from Fingon's chest. His own eyes were growing half-lidded; his muscles too felt weary, suffused still with satisfaction. Himring's walls, warm within like a living body, rumbled faintly with the noise of their gaseous pipes. He was warm, and sated, and all in all quite in accord with the form of the world, at least for the foreseeable candle-mark.

It was only that he had not trusted messengers to pass on the news; and he had felt an urgency to share the state of affairs with Fingon for months. They had determined to be fully discreet.

"How?"

"Turgon and Aredhel might return," Fingon said promptly. His voice showed he had considered the matter at great length, and was very amused by the way Maedhros went still against him. "And be less generous with their blindness than the rest of my - our kin."

"They might not have noticed. Your father has not."

Fingon lifted himself on his elbow, and looked at him, a little pityingly.

"Beloved," he said. "Whom do you think invented the art of invisible writing?"

#february ficlet challenge #prompt 2 - pretend not to be dating #maedhros #fingon #russingon #my fics #silm fic

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Everlark (Catching Fire, Ch. 17)

katniss looking at peeta to help save her like he did last year when they're being questioned by haymitch and effie after the individual assessments is so cute (and this time he can't because he did something equally rebellious!)

peeta painting that picture of rue is so him. soft but glaringly rebellous. revolution through kindness. and katniss loves him for it

the fact that they both did something similar and scandalous, without meaning too. again being so in tune. and the fact that it makes katniss appreciate peeta in a new way. catching fire is really her falling for him so completely, after really uncovering every part of him. she's so fascinated by him

they have haymitch so stressed though. a single mom who works two jobs!

katniss initiates the hug with peeta, after a few days of frostiness

her finally understanding what peeta said about not being a piece in the capitol's games, after learning just exactly how he avoids being that through his personality and choices

i made this post a while ago and here katniss kinda confirms how loving peeta/her relationship itself is an act of rebellion and defiance in the face of the capitol: "the beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance... my private agenda dovetails completely with my public one."

she's saving him selfishly for herself and her own peace of mind but she knows that her doing this is revolutionary

"i just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you" peeta pls

them sleeping together again making katniss realise how much she's craved him and his warmth. they chase away each other's nightmares wrapped in each other's arms ugh

them just lazing together in bed speaks so much to the relationship they've developed since the victory tour. they're so content and at peace just being together.

the rooftop scene!!!

another instance of them having normalcy in their lives and how they relish being together in it. it's nothing extraordinary but they're so happy just being together.

peeta sketching katniss, katniss lying with her head on his lap while he plays with her hair

her allowing him to live in that moment forever. her joining him in that moment forever. ugh.

the toasting ceremony that suzanne made up. like if it wasn't clear that everlark were the intended endgame from this then idk for you! district 12 couples marry by toasting a piece of bread (ahem) over a fire (ahem). the toasting ceremony symbolises union. one of the things that went over my head reading this as a 14 year old

#everlark #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games #catching fire #tgtpto everlark read

[iwas-princess]

hi can u write a Rintaro suna fic where yn is at a 7 11 waiting for him and when he gets there she’s already high as fuck and she gets all clingy and stuff cus she’s high

suna rintaro • soft and sweet

genre: fluff

“baby, come on. let’s get you into the car first, then we’ll kiss, yeah?” suna chuckled as he tried his best to guide you to his currently parked car a few feet away, dodging a few of your lovesick kisses to speak.

you whined, stomping your foot on the pavement in defiance as you tugged him closer to your puckered lips, the arms around his neck pressing him down until his lips brushed against yours. he tried to resist, tried to pull against your strength before it was too late— but his time ran out the moment your nails grazed his skin.

the peck lasted only a second, followed by five others before suna hesitantly and forcefully pulled away, causing your hands to drop to his shoulders instead.

“c’mon, princess, that’s enough.” he whispered softly, gently to ensure that you understood he wanted to continue but couldn’t— not out here.

people would scowl at you both, finding themselves grow ugly from the sight of young love. envy would overtake their mood and coat their lonely insides as you both painted the gas station parking lot with tender affection. usually, rintaro couldn’t five two fucks about what anyone thought and in fact, would kiss you harder at the disgusted looks from strangers. but tonight would be an exception.

“but ‘taro-“ you protested as he backed away from you, your hands slipping off of his broad shoulders and down his torso before finally swinging at your sides once the distance was farther than you could reach.

how cruel of him to leave you touch starved, you thought.

“let’s get you home, it’s starting to get cold.”

he slid an arm around your waist and tucked you close to his side as he noticed your slightly wobbling legs, resisting the sigh the threatened to leave his lips at the sight.

the friend you hung out with tonight wanted nothing more than to smoke you up for giggles, he knew that from multiple past experiences like this. he wanted nothing more than to deny you permission to leave earlier and suggest that instead, you stay in with him and opt for watching a movie or making out. but, who was he to deny you when you just looked so pretty as you asked him to go?

“but ‘taro, i wanna cuddle.” you whined, taking advantage of the close proximity of him by suddenly clinging onto his side.

“princess, we’ll cuddle when we get home. we always do, remember?” he chuckled tiredly.

“promise?” you sadly asked, a small shred of hope in your eyes as you looked up at him with pink tinted eyes, glimmering with intoxication.

suna grinned down at you before placing a soft kiss to you nose.

it was moments like this that motivated him to allow you to go over to your jerk friend’s house and smoke her boyfriend’s strong weed. because you just looked so damn cute when you got all hazy and incredibly clingy for him.

sure, he smoked you up plenty as well, only letting you hit his own over anyone else’s in fear of you being laced of taking too much for you to handle by accident, but there was something about her’s that always made you glossy eyed and your brain only occupied with thoughts of him.

call him selfish for it, but his heart always beat faster on nights like this when you became sickly in love with him, and he was completely shameful about it. you were so vulnerable, so easy to take for granted with your heart open so wide for him, and he felt guilty for it each time.

he felt guilty for liking you so much like this, like some kind of sick pervert.

although, never enough to stop you from doing it again.

“i pinky promise.”

#suna 🌷 #suna #suna rintaro #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x reader fluff #suna rintaro x chubby reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro fluff #suna fluff #suna x reader #suna x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff

[bethanythebogwitch]

Digimon & mythology: the Olympos XII

One of the most underused major groups of Digimon in my opinion is the Olympos XII. As the name suggests, they are based on the twelve Olympian gods of ancient Greece and their Roman successors, the Dii Consentes. While the older lineup of the Olympoans and the Dii Consentes used an equal number of gods and goddesses, the goddess Hestia/Vesta was later replaced by Dionysus/Bacchus as her worship fell out of favor and his became popular. Digimon uses the lineup that includes Dionysis/Bacchus and excludes Hestia/Vesta. The Olympos XII also use the Roman names for the gods, though they take inspiration from both cultures' interpretations, as well as original ideas. In fact, some of the Olympos XII seem deliberately designed to be unlike their mythical counterparts.

The Olympos XII rule their own Digital World called Digital World: Iliad, which is hosted on a different server than the mainstream Digital World ruled by the computer god Yggdrasil. While the two worlds rarely interact, Yggdrasil is keeping its eye on Iliad and it is said that one day the Royal Knights of Yggdrasil's server and the Olympos XII will confront each other. Whether that confrontation will be violent or peaceful remains to be seen. Iliad has its own computer god named Homeros, who is very different from Yggdrasil. While Yggdrasil seeks to rule its Digital World, Homeros believes in absolute freedom and left Iliad in a state of anarchy. The Olympos XII rose up to establish order and justice in defiance of Homeros's anarchy. While some media depicts Homeros as an enemy of the Olympos XII, others imply it has some authority over them.

One thing to note before covering the members of the Olympos XII is that the Greek and Roman myths were not set in stone. Beliefs changed and ideas were absorbed from neighbors. Different groups of people also interpreted the gods differently. For example, the Athenians generally had a negative view of Ares and depicted him as a brutal monster, the but Spartans and Romans had a much more positive view on him. The Greeks and Romans also had a practice called interpatio graeca/interpatio romana where they would absorb the gods of other cultures into their own pantheons, often by claiming that the foreigners' gods were actually the same gods under different names. This was especially common in Rome given how diverse the empire was. An easy way to avoid religious infighting was to declare that everyone is actually worshipping the same gods under different names. Different sects would also worship different aspects of the same god, which were sometimes given their own titles. For example, one group of Romans might worship Jupiter in his aspect as the bringer of storms where another may worship him in his aspect as a leader. This is all to say that the mythologies that the Olympos XII draw from are very diverse and were constantly changing and whatever I say about mythology here can be both supported and refuted by multiple sources, all equally valid.

Warning that some of the Olympos XII members have some of the most explicit "sexymon" designs in the franchise. Some of the art below may be NSFW.

The founder and leader of the Olympos XII is Jupitermon. It founded the Olympos XII to bring justice to the Digital World: Iliad and presides over weather as the god of the sky. It acts as a dispassionate judge who declares acts as being either good or evil, then metes out divine judgement on those declared evil. There is an appeals system to Jupitermon's Judgments which consists of facing Jupitemon in combat. If anyone beats it, then Jupitemon will rescind its judgement. As of yet, nobody has ever succeeded. Jupitermon wields two hammers that produce lightning bolts. While it normally refuses to allow emotion to get in the way of its duties, those who have committed great sins can cause Jupitermon to become overcome with range and trasfrom into Jupitermon Wrath Mode. In this form, it becomes much larger and transforms into a living mass of lightning contained in armor. It trades in its hammers for a greatsword named Keraunós (Greek for lightning) that is crackling with electricity. Jupitermon is based on the Greek Zeus and roman Jupiter. It lacks many of Zeus's more famous traits, such as being impulsive, hedonistic, and willing to sleep with anything that moved regardless of consent. In this is draws more of later Roman depictions of Jupiter (or Iupiter or Jove) whive removed many of the character's more negative traits and made him much more of a paragon and leader figure. The hammers it uses may be a nod to Norse mythology and the thunder god Thor's hammer Mjolnir, but may also reference a judge's gavel. Wrath Mode is based on the general idea of divine wrath, where a god will smite evildoers to those that displease it. There are many stories of Zeus sending down his lightning bolt to smite mortals who have wronged him. Each member of the Olympos XII has a signature animal that is incorporated into its design and Jupitermon's is the owl. Owls are more traditionally associated with Athena than Zeus/Jupiter and are often used to symbolize wisdom. That fits with Jupitermon being a judge over good and evil and most of Athena's wisdom aspects didn't make it into her Digimon counterpart anyway so moving them to Jupitermon makes him a better leader.

Jupitermon (left) and Wrath Mode (right)

Jupitermon's partner is Junomon. She is Jupitermon's lover and defender who spends her time defending and eliminating those who would act against him. Because its love for Jupitermon is overflowing, Junomon is very aware of its habits and personality and preferes to spend as much of her time with him as possible. If separated for too long and forced to face an overflowing amount of enemies, Junomon can be taken over by a hidden, evil personality will surface, changing her into Junomon Hysteric Mode. Hysteric Mode is overflowing with jealousy and views everything around it as a threat to Jupitermon. Whenever Hysteric Mode emerges, it will slaughter everything round it until reverting. Curiously, Jupitermon seems to be unaware of the existence of Hysteric Mode and has therefore never judged it as evil. Even when not in Hysteric Mode, there is a hint of the darkness within as the angelic-seeming Junomon is a virus attribute and member of the Nightmare Soldiers field. Junomon is based on Hera/Juno, the wife and sister of Zeus/Jupiter and goddess of marriage and fertility. Junomon's relationship with Jupitermon is almost the inverse of Hera's with Zeus. Hera and Zeus seemed to hate each other and their wedded life was miserable, with Zeus constantly cheating and fathering bastard children and Hera attacking those children because she couldn't take it out on Zeus himself. By contrast, Junomon is so in love with Jupitermon she becomes a yandere. Interestingly, we won't have any official media I'm aware of that shows whether Jupitermon reciprocates her feelings, though him never noticing Hysteric Mode could be interpreted as deliberately turning a blind eye so he doesn't have to judge his love. Hysteric Mode can be seen as representing Hera's fits of anger, though in this case she's lashing out in a misguided desire to protect Jupiter(mon) rather than proxy revenge against him. The Romans' beliefs about Juno were so diverse that adequately cataloging them is a huge headache for scholars of Roman religion and she almost seems to have been multiple distinct goddesses conflated into one. Several Roman depictions did give her and Jupiter a much happier marriage than that of Zeus and Hera. She also took on some war god aspects, which is reflected in Junomon battling those who would oppose Jupitermon. Some scholars have suggested some Hindu influences from the goddess Sarasvati on the Roman Juno and Junomon's weapons are identified as katars, a type of Indian dagger. Junomon's animal is the peacock, which was seen as a sacred animal to both Hera and Juno.

Junomon (left) and Hysteric Mode (right). Can I just say that Hysteric Mode is one of the dumbest looking mode changes in the franchise?

The Olympos XII members that have gotten the most exposure in the franchise are the siblings Apollomon and Dianamon. They are gods of the sun and moon, respectively. Apollomon can unleash the heat of a star, which lets it burn through anything. It is a prideful being with barely-restrained energy that can lead it to going on a rampage or launching itself at a powerful enemy in search of a battle. In contrast, DIanamon is more peaceful, but just as the moon has a light and dark side, Dianamon's nature is two-faced and it is shockingly powerful in a fight. While Apollomon uses fire, Dianamon presides over water and ice. It can weave moonlight into illusions so powerful they can trick an enemy into ripping itself apart. These two are based on the twin gods Apollo and Artemis/Diana. While these two were gods of the sun and moon (in some versions inheriting this position from or contracting it out to the older Helios and Selene), they were also gods of many other things and sometimes the sun and moon aspects were seen as fairly minor duties for them. Digimon chooses to go all-in on the sun and moon motifs and ignore the other elements. This is fitting of the two's evolution lines debuting in the paired games Digimon Story: Sunlight and Moonlight (released in English as Digimon World Dawn and Dusk) which heavily played into the sun/light and moon/darkness motifs. Both gods were often depicted as archers and while neither Digimon uses a bow, they both have attacks where they shoot arrows named after their Greek god inspirations. Apollomon's signature animal is the lion and it looks like a humanoid lion. Lions are often associated with the sun and strength and in alchemy, a lion was used to symbolize the sun. Dianamon's animal is the rabbit, which is easier to see in her pre-evolutions, which are all humanoid rabbits. Japan often associated rabbit with the moon. The dark markings on the lunar surface that are interpreted in the west as a face (the man in the moon) are interpreted in Japan as a rabbit making rice balls or mochi. This rabbit and moon symbolism is found in another major influence for Dianamon: the title character of the mange Sailor Moon. Her name, Usagi, means rabbit and she and Dianamon have similar silhouettes and design features. In addition, one of Dianamon's attacks is named after the children's book Goodnight Moon. When the Digital World: Iliad was visited by an unprecedented crisis, Apollomon and Dianamon merged into GraceNovamon. GraceNovamon holds the power of a galaxy in its body and it is impossible to measure the amount of data that makes it up. GraceNovamon doesn't have any mythological references that I can find.

Left to right: Apollomon, Dianamon, and GraceNovamon

Volcanusmon is the Olympos XII member with the most influence on Digimon outside of its group. This is because it is the god of smithing and has created many of the Digital World's most famous weapons, all of which it names after Spanish words for food for some reason. Examples include Beelzebumon's Berenjena shotguns, Astamon's Oro Salmón tommygun, and Sparrowmon's Zanahoria pistols. Given that Astamon is a villain and Beelzebumon is one of the Seven Great Demon Lords, it's clear that Volcanusmon doesn't care about the morality of its client, just whether or not the client is impressive enough to deserve a special weapon and has the power to master its use. Volcanusmon works in silence, using all eight of its arms in harmony to create true artworks. It is not very good at fighting and prefers to work behind the scenes. Volcanusmon is based on the god Hephaestus/Vulcan. This is one of the gods that changed more in the transition between Greece and Rome as Hephaestus is specifically the god of smiths and craftsmen while Vulcan is more generally the god of fire, with smithing being just one of his roles. Since the fire god role was given to Apollomon, Volcanusmon leans heavily into the smith role. Another trait of Hephaestus that didn't carry over to many depictions of Vulcan is that he was disabled, having a bad leg due to (depending on which version of the story is told) either being born that way or being thrown off of Mount Olympus after birth. Volcanusmon's legs leem to be fine, but it does have bandages over its face and one eye, is using a breathing device, and is weak in battle, all of whcih hearken back to Hephaestus's disability. Volcanus or Vulcanus is sometimes used as an alternate name for Vulcan. The name Vulcan may descend from a god worshipped on the island of Crete named Velchanos. Volcanusmon's animal is the octopus, which appears to be an original idea rather than having any mythological basis.

The members of the Olympos XII have a varying relations to their mythological inspirations. Some are very strongly based on a god while in other, it is much more loose. The latter category is where Mercurymon comes in. Mercurymon is the fastest of all Digimon, so quick it cannot be seen with the naked eye. It also hates staying still and constantly travels the world. Mercurymon is also a shaman who can summon spirits from another world. Mercurymon is based on Hermes/Mercury, who was the god of a lot of things but was most famously the messenger of the gods. To aid in this duty, he wore winged sandals that allowed him to move at incredible speeds. That is literally the only thing that was brought over into Mercurymon. Well one attack description says Mercurymon has the Kerykeion, which is another word for the god's famous Caduceus staff, but that's the only place I could find it referenced. There's not even art of Mercurymon using it. Mercurymon also has some references to the Aztecs with its design and knife being named Aztec. Hermes/Mercury was sometimes associated with shamanism and divination, but Mercurymon's shaman aspects seem more Aztec. Mercurymon's English name is interesting. There was already a Digimon whose English name was rendered as Mercurymon (based on the metal) that debuted before Mercurymon. The dubbers experimented with Mercuremon or Mercurimon as new names, but somehow settled on Merukimon, which is complete gibberish. Mercurymon's animal is the wolf.

Another Olympos XII member who subscribes to the same "dude in an animal suit" school of design as Mercurymon is Marsmon. Known throughout the Digital World as a god of war, Marsmon is a master of every form of combat and will use underhanded methods in battle. While it has a variety of hidden weapons on its person, its preferred method of combat is wrestling. So focused on victory is it that it will cheat in battle if it is losing. Marsmon was the first member of the Olympos XII to debut and its reference book entry established the existence of the group. Marsmon is based on Ares/Mars, the god of war. He is one of the gods that has had the widest variety of depictions. Many of the Greek sources we have, which are mostly from an Athenian viewpoint, depict Ares as embodying all the worst aspects of warfare: brutality, savagery, fear, and pain. By contrast, the Roman view of Mars was more positive and he was revered as aone of the most important and beloved gods. This is partly due to him now embodying all aspects of war rather than just the worst parts and also due to him being merged with agricultural gods. In addition, he was said to be the father of Romulus, the legendary founder of Rome, making him the ancestor of Roman people. This can kind of be seen with Marsmon, who is a vaccine-attribute, which are usually seen as more heroic. Marsmon preferring wrestling is a reference to ancient Greek wrestling or Pále, a popular sport and the first sport added to the Olympics that wasn't a race. Marsmon's animal is the panther.

Probably my favorite member of the Olympos XII is Ceresmon. It is a god of nature that takes the shape of a colossal bird-shaped island with a forest on its back that flies through the air. The forest is called the Karpos Hulē (Greek for fruit forest) and grows the sweetest and most nutritious fruits in the world. Ceresmon is a gentle being who will allow injured and weak Digimon to live in its forest and feed on its fruits to grow strong. However, it will not tolerate those who disrespect nature and will bring down on them all the power a flying island can give. The island body of Ceresmon is more of a vehicle that the true Ceresmon uses. The true form, the humanoid on the bird's head, is Ceresmon Medium. Medium can detach from the bird and move around on its own, but it is weak on its own and will only do so around those it trusts. It's worth noting that Digimon Survive treats Ceresmon Medium as an independent Digimon no weaker than any other of its level. Ceresmon is based on Demeter/Ceres, goddess of nature and agriculture. She was seen as a motherly figure and a patron of the common folk, which fits with Ceresmon aiding common Digimon. The most famous myth involving the goddess, that of her daughter being taken to the underworld for half of the year, is not represented in Digimon. Ceresmon's animal is the bird.

Ceresmon (left) and Medium (right). Sidenote, Ceresmon is one of the few cases where I think the reference book art is better than the New Century art.

Some gods have grand purposes and some just want to have fun. That's where Bacchusmon comes in. It is the self-proclaimed foremost drinker of the Digital World and spends its entire time partying or preparing to party. It can brew any kind of alcohol within its body, but its favorite is made from the fruits of Ceresmon's forest. Because of this, Ceresmon and Bacchusmon are on good terms with each other. While jovial and generous, there is a dark side to Bacchusmon as it can generate all manner of horrific poisons in its body. It can also reconfigure the data of enemy Digimon to turn them into drinks, which it will then consume. Rumors say that human hackers are studying the data of Bacchusmon's poisons to develop chemical weapons. Some media gives Bacchusmon a mode change called Crapulence Mode, but most treat Crapulence mode as the normal Bacchusmon and give it no mode change. Bacchusmon is based on Dionysus/Bacchus, the god of wine, indulgence, and parties. He was a latecomer to the Greek myths, but eventually his following became so popular that writers and theologians replaced Hestia with him on the twelve Olympians. Bacchus was never considered that major in Rome, where Hestia/Vesta remained on their version of the twelve Olympians, the Dii Consentes. In fact, the festivals in his honor, Bacchanalias, were eventually banned due to them subverting the social order of Rome, though they of course continued to happen in secret. A really interesting thing that happened with Bacchus is becoming the subject of multiple mystery cults. The mystery cults are a really interesting and really complicated topic I do not know nearly enough to give a comprehensive overview of. To overly simplify, mystery cults were a trend in the Roman world of taking a god from a previous, often polytheist faith, and worshipping them as personal savior deities who could grant salvation (often salvation from death) to followers through fellowship, communion, and baptism. What made them mystery religions is that the general public and new initiates would be given false stories filled with metaphor and parable. Only as one advanced within the religion would they be considered wise enough to learn the true teachings. Because of this secrecy, we don't know the true teachings of a lot of the mystery religions, even if their public stories are well-documented. Bacchusmon's animal is the snake.

Minervamon is one of the most combat-focused of the Olympos XII. Despite having the physique of a young girl, she has incredible strength and can easily wave around her sword, Olympia, one-handed despite it being as large as her. Minervamon is a childish Digimon that prefers to spend its time playing and having fun (often through fighting things) and can throw temper tantrums if it gets mad. When Minervamon matures, she becomes Mervamon. This is sometimes treated as an evolution, but the two are the same level. Mervamon is much more mature and calm than Minervamon. SHe seeks elegance and sensuality at all times, even in battle, where she moves with the grace of a dancer even while hacking down enemies with her gigantic sword Olympia Kai. Because she is more mature, Mervamon is much more intelligent than Minervamon and is a brilliant strategist. She also no longer throws temper tantrums when mad. One one arm, Mervamon bears a snake named Medullia that can move and fight on its own. Minervamon is based on Athena/Minerva and being or at least starting as a hyperactive child with no attention span was a deliberate subversion of her mythological counterpart's role as the goddess of wisdom. The Greek Athena was also seen as a war goddess, representing the civilized aspects of warfare as opposed to Ares representing brutal warfare. Minerva lost many of the war aspects and became more focused on wisdom, though she still was associated with victory and strategy and was usually depicted holding a spear. I find it interesting that the transition to Roman mythology stripped Athena of her war aspects while the transition to Digimon stripped her of her wisdom aspects. Mervamon regains some of the wisdom aspects by being calmer and smarter. Another subversion of the original myths that Digimon uses is Mervamon being focused on sensuality (and being one of the more notorious sexymon) while the original Goddess swore to remain forever a maiden. Mervamon's name comes from Menvra, the Etruscan version of Athena that developed into Minerva. Minervamon's animal is the snake. Minerva was more famously associated with owls, but snakes were used as a motif as well.

Minervamon (left) and Mervamon (right)

While the Olympos XII rule the Digital World: Iliad, there is only one who commands the seas. This is Neptunemon, the absolute lord of all aquatic Digimon on Iliad. It resides in a castle built at the bottom of the ocean, so deep that only Digimon whose body can withstand the crushing pressure can travel there. Neptunemon is blindingly fast and can command powerful storms and tidal waves to crush its enemies. Neptunemon is based on Poseidon/Neptune, god of the sea. He was one of the most important gods to the greeks and retained a similar level of importance to the Romans, who expanded his domain to include fresh water. Like the gods, Netunemon wields a trident as a weapon. Tridens were used for spearfishing, hence their association with the water. Poseidon also dwelled in a palace underwater. Poseidon and Neptune were associated with horses, a trait that did not carry over to Digimon. While the gods were not generally depicted as mermen, Poseidon's son Triton was a merman with two fish tails. Neptunemon's animal is a fish.

The Digital World is a harsh place where the law of the jungle reigns and violence is a way of life. Into this world came Venusmon, who desires nothing more than peace. Venusmon rules over love and is filled with compassion. It is a pacifist that refuses to fight. All of its attacks deal no damage, instead pacifying the enemy. Wherever Venusmon goes, flowers bloom and the land is restored to beauty. Because of her looks and powerful glamour, Venusmon constantly has to deal with other Digimon swooning over her. This makes her uncomfortable and she wears a blindfold to reduce the effect of this power. Because she can't tell if a Digimon really likes her or is just enamored by her, Venusmon is rather lonely. Her only true friends are the two animals she travels with, a dove named Olive and a scallop named Hotan, who both talk to her without reservation. Venusmon is based Aphrodite/Venus, the goddess of love, beauty, desire, and sex. Venusmon is another case of Digimon deliberately subverting the traits of the god. Aphrodite was a promiscuous, vain, jealous, and proud goddess who seduced damn near everything while Venusmon is uncomfortable with all the attention she gets and tries to reduce it. The Roman Venus did have some association with peace as she can turn hearts from vice to virtue. Her friends being a dive and a scallop is because both doves and seashells were often used as symbols of Aphrodite. A common example of Aphrodite imagery has her rising form the sea, fully grown, supported by a giant scallop shell. Weirdly enough, Mercury, the god who is famous for having winged sandals doesn't get them on his Digimon counterpart, but Venusmon does for some reason. Venusmon's animal is a dove.

That is all the members of the Olympos XII, but because this monster of a post isn't long enough already, there are two more Digimon to go over. They aren't members, but they are tied to the Olympos XII's lore. The first is Plutomon. Plutomon shares Jupitermon's desire to punish evil, but its methods are so brutal and cruel that the dispassionate and neutral Jupitermon was disgusted and refused to allow it to join the Olympos XII. Plutomon rules the Dark Area of Iliad, the graveyard of deleted data where evil Digimon are consigned when they die. When not in the Dark Area, Plutomon patrols the world looking for villainous Digimon and attacking them. Its armor is covered with mouths that gnaw on sinners and it can summon a gigantic mouth that consigns those it swallows to the Dark Area. Even good Digimon, who Plutomon will not target, fear it due to its cruelty. Plutomon is based on Hades/Pluto, the god of the dead and ruler of the underworld. Hades/Pluto is often notorious for being depicted as evil in later adaptations, a trait that resulted from Christian writers using him as a satan figure, something Greek mythology lacks. While Hades was never viewed as a god of evil, he was feared and was never a popular god. His worship was often viewed more as appeasement than an act of devotion. Plutomon kind of draws from the devil in that he rules over the Digital World's hell (or Tartarus in this case) and torments evildoers. Unlike the devil, Plutomon does want to do good despite his methods. Think of him as the Punisher to Jupitermon's Superman. I don't know if this was intentional, but Plutomon's mouths chewing on evildoers reminds me of Satan's depiction in Dante's Divine Comedy, where his three mouth endlessly chew on the worst traitors in history. Its worth noting that Plutomon's usual pre-evolution, Cerberumon, is based on Hades's three-headed dog Pluto and guards the entrance to the Dark Area.

The final relevent Digimon is Titamon. Titamon is the enemy of the Olympos XII, born from the hatred of all the Digimon ever defeated by the Olympos XII in their battles for supremacy over Iliad. It now lives for nothing more than to slay the Olympos XII and will stop at nothing to kill them. Chambers on its arms hold the skulls of all those it has killed and it can call on their power to raise an army of phantom warriors fueled by hate. Titamon is based on the Titans, the generation of gods who lived before the Olympians. Eventually, the Olympians overthrew the Titans in a war called the Titanomachy. The majority of Titans were imprisoned, but a few who sided with the Olympians or stayed neutral were allowed to remain free. The Titans are often depicted as giants, but there's no real texutal evidence for them being bigger than the Olympians. Their siblings, the cyclopes and hecatoncheires, were giants and that''s where the idea may have come from. Titamon is indeed, gigantic. Titamon being able to summon an army from bones comes from the Spartoi, an army of warriors who sprung from the teeth of a dragon that were sown in the ground like seeds. Titamon also has some Japanese origins, with the names of its attacks and sword being Japanese. It was originally designed as an evolution for Ogremon intended to fill the role of Bacchusmon and to draw from the evil, alcoholic oni Shuten-Douji. the finished design was judged to be too evil for one of the Olympos XII and it was repurposed into an enemy of the group.

#digimon #olympos xii #greek mythology #roman mythology #classical mythology #mythology #jupitermon #junomon #apollomon #dianamon #vulcanusmon #mercurymon #merukimon #marsmon #ceresmon #ceresmon medium #bacchusmon #minervamon #mervamon #neptunemon #venusmon #plutomon #titamon #zeus #jupiter #hera #juno #apollo #artemis #diana

[tizzyizzy]

Ed's Song vs Izzy's Song

Both scenes involve troubled leather-wearing pirates putting themselves out there to the crew of the Revenge through the medium of song. But what are the differences?

Captain Instigated vs. Crew Instigated

It is Ed who is the first to sing, much to the bafflement of the crew. He has feelings and he wants to express them to a supportive group. This leads into Buttons's experimental tone based singing and Ed's idea for a talent show. The crew are totally on board, but this is still Ed, as captain, setting the agenda.

Calypso's Birthday is an event the crew come up with, separately from the captains. In fact, the holiday itself is a kind of defiance of authority. It's a "pretend holiday" that a captain can "fall for", and Stede agrees to play along. Izzy even isn't even there for the initial planning. Izzy's role comes later; his singing is a contribution to and complement to a tone already set by the rest of the crew.

Emotional Low vs. Emotional High

Ed is at his lowest point in the narrative so far. Stede, a man he opened his heart to for the first time in his life, abadoned him. His hopes for a gentler life have been shattered. His conversation with Lucius and singing to the crew are desperate attempts to elicit the emotional support that Stede was the first to give him. And the crew are supportive, even asking him to sing again.

Izzy sings at the peak of his emotional health in the series. He is no longer obsessing over Edward. He's developed trust and friendships with the crew. The fact that Izzy is putting himself out there, wearing makeup and singing in front of these people, is proof of how far he's come.

This is reflected in their clothing choices, or lack thereof. Ed has dragged himself out of his depression pit and looks like it. Izzy is wearing makeup and a flower, and has never appeared so gussied up.

New Relationship vs. Tested Relationship

While Ed did pal around on the Revenge, and Lucius in particular offered him relationship advice, he spent most of his time and emotional energy on Stede. For everyone on the crew, except perhaps Lucius, seeing Ed suddenly being so vulnerable and open with them was something of a shock. They rallied, but from their expressions it's clear they aren't initially sure how to react. They're up for forming a closer relationship with Ed, but this is just the start.

Izzy's relationship with the crew had been developing in every season 2 episode before his solo. It started with Izzy reluctantly allowing himself to be hugged by Fang, and has included him saving the crew from a suicidal Blackbeard, a gift of a peg leg, and chats about trauma with Lucius. Izzy's song can be seen as a gift to the crew, or even a love song to them. It is his relationship with them that has allowed him to feel safe enough to come out of his shell.

Implications?

While both characters are trying to connect to the crew, when we compare Ed's experience to Izzy's, it's easier to see how Ed's actions and emotional situation were not ideal. All it takes is one conversation with Izzy for Ed to start regarding the crew with suspicious or resentment again, more of an emotional threat like Stede than a source of comfort. He swings in the other direction and attempts to kill all but two, whom he kidnaps.

While Izzy does not have an Izzy figure in his life to express disgust for his soft, unpirate-like behavior, it's doubtful that he'd pay them any mind at this point in his emotional development. If, for example, Ed had insulted him after this song, Izzy would have told him to fuck off.

It's also worth pointing out that Ed's song was followed with him suggesting a talent show and toying with the idea of giving up piracy. These actions are both out of character and that latter is a pretty extreme, impractical suggestion. Ed seems to be flailing around, uncertain about his identity and desires.

While on the surface, Izzy's makeup and singing might seem like an even more extreme change, both a appropriate for the event he is participating in: a party. While he is trying something new, he is doing so within the confines of a space and time designated for such activities. He isn't even the most garishly dressed: he was specifically emulating Wee John, who appears in even more elaborate drag. His core personality hasn't really changed much. He still says fuck and can be abrasive. He smiles when he watched Stede kill Ned Lowe, unbothered by the violence as usual. He's still a pirate.

Of course this is not me saying "Izzy good, Ed bad". It just shows the difference between two characters at different points in their story. It was good Ed was reaching out for help, but he was emotionally fragile, and overcorrected at the first challenge. Izzy had to go through hell and be forcibly adopted to get where he is.

#izzy hands #edward teach #ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands meta #edward teach meta #ofmd meta #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers

[arysthaeniru]

Things I find are handled so interestingly well in the 2003 Fullmetal Alchemist compared to Brotherhood: 

Ishval! The true horror and terror of Ishval is handled so much better: it is the centre of the show’s thesis about the violence done against other people in the name of scientific progress and the empire’s violence

Speaking of: racism is handled better in this show too! The way that Ed and Al are so callous and dismissive about Ishval through most of the show, despite Marcoh’s warnings, and it really doesn’t hit them until they go there in person and realize that Rick and Rio have suffered just like them: in fact, Rick and Rio have suffered even more than them. Ed and Al can always go back to Resembool. Rick and Rio can’t. The casual racism of our main characters is really good! It’s very realistic that Ed and Al believe the racist lies about Ishval for SO LONG, despite rationally understanding the military is bad

Liore! Because Liore gets to have this back-and-forth with Ishval, you get this really strong empathy and solidarity between Rose and Scar, as this representation of Ishval and Liore: religious brown people versus the Empire coming to genocide them out of existence...the solidarity and love between Scar and Rose and the peoples of Ishval and Liore is really good!

Ed and Al really get to be kids and get to be wrong a lot? They get to be such unreliable narrators in a way that is so interesting! When they say something about alchemy or make comments on other characters, they’re often wrong and misguided! Ed’s petulance and anger and stubborn defiance and Al’s naivete and inability to question other people’s lies gets them in trouble way more often than it does in Brotherhood and it really emphasizes just how much he and Al are children out of their depth in a horrible system, in a way that Brotherhood often doesn’t. 

The metaphor of alchemy: Alchemy IS science. For all its goods, it is all the evils and fallouts of unethical science: science that is done at the expense of people, science that is done in the name of greed, science that is done only in the name of violence, and with this strong metaphor, the Philosopher’s Stone as this pinnacle of progress that is built on the blood of common people is just a less complicated metaphor. Because Alchemy is science and FMA 2003 is a commentary on imperialistic, colonial science that is so directly commenting on the Gulf War, it gets to say things much more angrily than I think Brotherhood ever gets to?? You feel the anger about the lies of the Gulf War in FMA 2003 and how it parallels to WW2 better. The animators seem more angry and I enjoy that more!

(More about pacing, characterization and the overall tone of the show under the cut!) 

Although the show ultimately whiffs it, the homunculi being the leftover remnants of human transmutation allows for so many climatic, interesting conflicts between both the homunculi and humans, but also between different humans! Ed and Izumi and their relationship in this show is defined by their fundamental disagreements regarding the role of alchemy and what to do with the homunculi: and it is SO good!

I love that the homunculi are resentful of humans for living and want the philosopher’s stone to be human again! I could do without them all being controlled by a mysterious entity who is so much more boring than all of the other homunculi, but hey. That happened in Brotherhood too, Father’s very boring. 

Speaking of the homunculi: they are so much scarier and intimidating!! When they show up to a fight, pretty much everybody loses! It’s great! It’s not until the last 10-15 episodes of the show that Ed is able to actually put up a fight against them, so you really feel the stakes everytime they show up on screen. They kill Hughes masterfully, they beat the shit out of Scar, they beat the shit out of Ed and Al, they beat the shit out of Izumi--they’re genuinely scary and I love it! In Brotherhood, they are able to evenly fight them SO MUCH MORE QUICKLY and I think it makes them less of a threat than in 2003. 

The main women in Ed and Al’s lives get so much more to do! Maria, Sheska, Izumi and Winry all have a HUGE amount of screentime compared to Brotherhood, where Winry is mostly just running around and has very little initiative to investigate the main plot! Here, she and Sheska investigate homunculi, participate in fights and really are emotionally impacted by events. Izumi barely shows up in Brotherhood ever, and she is a fundamental player in the game in 2003! And Lieutenant Maria Ross gets to really actually play the role of ‘first adult to be like CHILDREN SHOULDN’T BE IN THE ARMY’ which gives her genuine depth and emotionality. 

Oh, Martel’s a real character too! She and Al are fun, I enjoy their banter and I enjoy that she gets to really emphasize to Ed and Al that Ishval was entirely a false-flag operation 

Rose too! I love that Rose comes back as a real character and not cameo! I love that Rose’s rape too, is not just this moment where Ed truly and really realizes that the military does interpersonal violence, but also is something that motviates Rose herself! I love that moment where she screams at Ed to keep walking, just as he shouted at her at the beginning of the show. I love that her continuing on as a character means that Ed’s shitty speech at the beginning of the show gets to be recontextualized as a thing of strength again. I love her resilience, and I love her.

On the villain-side, at the expense of Greed being a character, Lust gets to be a very sympathetic character! I love her contemplations on why she wants to be human, I love her slow realization that she’s tired of the fight, I love her immediate betrayal of Dante once she realizes that Dante is just using her, I adore her and Envy’s petty bickering. She gets so much depth by being formerly human and being linked to Ishval. 

Speaking of Winry: Roy killing Winry’s parents is just. So much better. I love how it immediately breaks Winry’s faith in the government entirely, I love how much it really and truly shows how the Amestrian military is evil. I love how it really creates this moment of weakness and vulnerability in Roy, which he doesn’t get nearly as much in the other show! Roy’s too cool in Brotherhood! I love how young, sad and pathetic he is when he kills the Rockbells, it really sells the horrors of war much better. 

I really like getting to see Ed and El’s counterparts across all of the side characters: the characters that only show up for one or two episodes: everybody is brothers. Everybody is consumed by this burning posessive love. But nobody goes as far as Ed and Al are willing to. I love how they are confronted with their mistakes and failures everywhere they go! It really sets the tone of horror. It really sells Ed and Al as the protagonists of a dramatic tragedy. They made the mistake, and they will make it again, in the name of love! 

A small thing: but I love that Izumi and Ed disagree with what the Gate is? I love that Ed thinks of the Gate as Truth. And Izumi doesn’t! Izumi simply thinks it is a horror. Izumi thinks that what insight the gate gave her was not truth but something else, and I agree with her. I love the idea that Ed’s conception of reality is based on him being Mr. Edgy Angsty Atheist! I love that the gate is silent in 2003, I like that there are very little answers. And I agree with Izumi! The answer to the question: what lies behind the ultimate taboo of science is NOT truth!! It doesn’t quite make sense! 

Relatedly, I love that Ed learns all of his horrible communication skills and bottling everything up coping mechanisms from Izumi. They make all the same mistakes all the time! Izumi always takes everything on her shoulders even though she has help, as does Ed. Izumi never communicates her love and appreciation for the people around her, letting her actions do the speaking, as does Ed. They are terrible mirrors of each other, and I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

I like that Armstrong is not comic relief? He puts on ‘Mr Muscle Man’ as a facade about three times in 2003, and every single time, it’s a distraction, it’s supposed to make people look elsewhere. Most of the time in 2003, he’s incredibly solemn and serious, as he tries to endure doing the wrong thing in the name of duty. I love that he’s still suffering the consequences of being too kind in Ishval. 

I like that Mustang, Hawkeye and all our favourite main characters put Ishvalans in trains and take them off to concentration camps. It’s not very subtle with its metaphor, but it shouldn’t be. If anything, Brotherhood deeply de-emphasizes the horrendous nature of the genocidal play of the army and the constant violence they partake in. Roy and his people are so heroic in Brotherhood, and I really like how much they are complicit. How much they are ultimately soldiers who are ‘just following orders’ in a genocidal regime. 

I like that they don’t turn to act for the side of good until the very end of the show. I think it highlights the stakes a bit more. I like that the show makes us doubt Roy for a lot longer before finally giving Ed hope! It’s far more cathartic!

I like that Paninya ISN’T ACTUALLY A THIEF???? I like that Paninya is just a gal who wants to make her adoptive dad proud and she steals Ed’s pocketwatch not for Winry to teach her a lesson about how ‘stealing is bad’ but that Ed gets the lesson that he’s not the only one that makes automail work for him! I love that Ed loses actually in 2003!

I really enjoy Fletcher and Russell. Fletcher especially is my good boy. He and Al should hang out more :) 

I really like that Kimblee starts out as a fugitive in 2003! There is something so slimey in Brotherhood where the army just immediately takes him out of jail to track the Elric brothers: it definitely shows just how evil the Amestrian army is, but I think I prefer him being a traitor to Greed’s gang! I love how much more personal Martel makes her fury with him! I like how it takes a while for the military to take him back in here, mostly because it allows for Archer to be a character instead. 

I think Archer being a character makes Kimblee more effective: Kimblee is not Ed’s enemy. He’s Scar’s enemy. And I LOVE that in 2003. 

Archer’s initial attempt to do the right thing instantly being overtaken by craven greed is also a really fun arc! I just enjoy more military characters getting to be pieces of shit. 

Scar gets to interact with more Ishvalan characters because he’s not tied down by far too large an entourage cast, and as a result, he is just. SO much better. I love that he and his mentor fight and talk and he ties himself to the refugees of Ishval in a way he doesn’t quite get to in Brotherhood. I LOVE his determination to make a Philosopher’s Stone out of the military’s lives. I love that he has no hesitation about it either. This is praxis!

I love that Ishvalan people’s legacy is alchemy too! I like that alchemy is the lost art, the old art, and not something that missed Ishvalans by entirely! Although I do like that Scar’s brother in Brotherhood is trying to combine alchemy and alkahestry, I LOVE that 2003 is simply him going back to Ishval’s ancient history. It makes the science metaphor more interesting, especially when you see that apparently the ancient Ishavalsn found out how to make a Philosopher’s Stone and then rejected it and alchemy entirely as a result. I think it’s really interesting worldbuilding! 

I love that whole sequence where Ed kind of makes Wrath’s hatred of him worse? I love how mean and obsessive Ed can be in the show sometimes, I love how flawed and interesting he is. He really feels like a teenager lashing out against the cruel world, and it emphasizes the tragedy of it all.

I love that Hohenheim’s immortality is NOT an accident. I like that he actively did evil things to gain immortality and I like that now his is a story of regret! I think it makes Hohenheim so much more compelling when he is a man seeking repetence for an actual sin instead of being tricked? I think it’s more compelling that he has the same sins as his sons. I like that he was the first to do human transmutation and the first to make a Philosopher’s stone, and that these are Ed and Al’s legacy?? It’s so interesting and fun!

The slow pacing really allows for the tragedy to actually build! I love how slow yet purposeful all the episodes are! The only truly filler episodes are the weird episode about the sexy female thief that keeps tricking Al because Al is too horny/naive, and the Mustang Team’s side adventures. Every other filler episode is doing important work for building the themes of the show! And even the two filler episodes are doing importent things re: characterization! 

Shou Tucker is such a CREEPY minor villain that is used to perfection in 2003. I love how he keeps showing up, I love how awful he is, and I love how much more significant he and Nina are to 2003, because Ed and Al spend four episodes with them instead of their story being wham-blam-ka-blam like it is in Brotherhood, where everything with them happens in 1 episode. 

Laboratory Five is SO MUCH MORE DEVASTATING as a dramatic tension point for Ed! I love how much more evil it is! I love how much more hopeless the situation is. I LOVE the dramatic irony of Ed almost killing hundreds of people because he believed Shou Tucker, despite everything. It’s so good. It makes Brotherhood’s Lab Five Arc pale in comparison. 

Hot Take: I kind of love that Ed goes to Nazi Germany by going through the Gate xD They don’t spend nearly enough time on it, but I kind of adore it anyway. FMA 2003 said subtlety is for cowards, and they were CORRECT!

Things I think weren’t as good but still interesting

Brotherhood really went off with making the homunculus the root of the nation-state of Amestris. I love that in Brotherhood, the state was founded for the explicit purpose of genocidal violence, and the homunuculus as simply the underside of the genocidal turn, the secret police that make the state violence seem legitimate. The hazy relationship between the military/state and the homunuculus muddies the otherwise clear message that 2003 is going for re: state violence and the role of science in perpetrating/continuing violence. 

Dante’s bad. Not that Father is GOOD, not in any way, but Dante’s plan is very stupid and is very underexplained. Why do Trisha and Bradley still follow Dante when she clearly reveals she’s just using them  to prolong her own life and has no intention of making them human? Why do they not immediately just turn traitor like Lust does--the show never builds any real loyalty between Dante and the other homunculi, which makes for a rushed climax, alas. (I do LOVE her and Hohenheim’s bodies physically rotting, that’s some really fun body horror! And I can’t help it, I love exes who were evil scientists and one continued to be evil, and one repented. It’s a fun trope and it was DEEPLY underutilized, alas)

I’m sad Scar died! 2003 obviously has an incredibly high body count and I  defend all of them, but Scar dying is just kinda sad! I like that he has to live with himself in Brotherhood and make Ishval again. 

Greed doesn’t get to do much at all, and his weird acceptance of his own death is VERY strange compared to his own acceptance of being a man so greedy that he wants everything. Although I ended up liking his role as Ed’s first murder, I think Greedling is SUCH a highlight of Brotherhood, that its absence felt jarring. 

May Chang and Ling are such good characters, and I miss Xing! I think I really end up liking 2003′s laser focus on Ishval more, in the end, I think it does a better job of focusing on genocide and racial violence as the catalyst for the state’s and science’s expansion. But May and Ling are such lovely characters and I missed them. 

Al’s angst about maybe not being a real person goes on for SO LONG. I forgot it’s like a full four episodes! It’s the one emotional stake that doesn’t quite feel as impactful as the rest of the show. 

Sloth-Trisha had so much potential that was squandered, I loved when she finally became a fighting antagonist, but I wish they’d spent more time on Ed and Al arguing about her and what to do with her/what she means. I mean, it tracks with them both: that Al instantly goes ‘oh, homunculi are remnants of human transormati--OMIGOD MOM’S OUT THERE’ and Ed’s like ‘i refuse to think about this until the last possible minute’ it’s very in character, but it means they never get to really fight about killing Sloth-Trisha, which is a shame! 

#fullmetal alchemist #fma #i have way too many opinions #haha #these are all deeply personal and subjective of course #if you like brotherhood more still YOU ARE SO VALID #there's a lot to love about brotherhood! #but i have such ADORATION in my heart for 2003 and what 2003 angrily says #i think ultimately 2003 is just a genre i enjoy more #2003 is a dramatic tragedy and a horror anime while also following some shonen tropes #while brotherhood is just full on shonen #and brotherhood is good shonen!! but i just enjoy horror and tragedy so so much more #which is why i have such deep love in my heart for 2003

[randomfoggytiger]

Curated settle-down-frohike Fics

I adore these fics, written with a mixture of mature sweetness and youthful buoyancy. @settle-down-frohike often evokes the tiny, careful fumbles of new, awkward steps forward or the righteously incensed fury of condemnation or determination. Both are integral to Mulder and Scully as individuals and as a unit; and both are crafted into these pieces with startling clarity and simplicity.

These fics made an early and meaningful impact on my fandom experience; and I still cling tightly to them.

@settle-down-frohike: Masterlist and Ao3

MSR+the desert

He gives the space in front of him a blank once over, obviously preparing for a scathing trademark Mulder monologue, and she’s thinking: here it comes. Her chin raises in defiance, but she can feel her heart begin to pound. 

Post Never Again Mulder has reached his limit.

for the WIP prompt: hospital

“Mulder.” He glanced up, but past her. “I’m fine, Scully,” indignantly going back to the task at hand. And she’d have believed him too, if he wasn’t looking through her, if his pitch hadn’t been a little too high, if he hadn’t forgotten the fact that her shoes were the very last thing to put on and she wasn’t even out of her hospital gown yet. She allowed it out of pity, mostly. Or humor. But his hands shook, fumbling with the laces like a feening alcoholic.

Redux II Mulder is trying to hide his emotions behind preparations for Scully to come home. (Edit: confirmed to be Redux II, not Empedocles by the author! Yes, answers!)

120 for the drabble prompt

The last of these luxuries is currently failing at wiping burnt butter grease from her formerly spotless countertop when Scully, fresh from the hospital, comes wobbling in arm-in-arm with her mother, who’s exasperated expression at the unfamiliar acrid smell of the place is written clearly across her face. They are both damp and stumbling from the downpour outside and the shared clumsiness of her daughter on percocet. Maggie shoots him a flustered glance. The medical journals are new but soggy, waiting on her coffee table. The ice cream is now melted and leaking, forgotten to prevent the sounding of a smoke alarm. 

Post Tithonus Scully is both groggy and happy with Mulder's ministering mishaps. Maggie, not so much.

Luctus

Scully clasps her hands together, wanting to look as much like she is listening as possible, but more so to hide the fact that her hands are trembling. His eyes are glassy, wild and distant. She doesn’t know where this is going.

“I was her favorite you know.” She looks up and he’s staring straight into her. The uneasiness won’t let up. This brazenness is so unlike him. He’s nodding again. “I was,” his gaze focuses back to the wall now, “That’s why she chose her. It had to be,” and just as suddenly his head drops between his knees and his shoulders begin to shake in silent sobs. “It had to be, Scully. Why would she do that?” he croaks.

Post Sein und Zeit Scully has to get Mulder throw that one long, incredibly grueling night.

Sensory Integration (Tumblr)

Only people don’t talk directly to ghosts about their scars and miraculous healing and their perfect health. They’ve been circling each other cautiously since she came to retrieve him this morning. He senses her restlessness and gets the distinct impression that she’s holding back from latching into him and falling apart. He’s grateful for her restraint, because he can’t handle sudden movements right now. If she were to approach too fast in his direction, he’d end up curled in the fetal position somewhere in a corner, protecting his vital organs. He doesn’t know how he knows this, he just does. He’s like one giant Pavlovian experiment.

Stimulus.

Response.

Repeat.

Three Words, Mulder's PTSD, and Scully's heartbreaking understanding.

Magneticus

“Mulder, aren’t we supposed to have a wedding ring for this?” And the unintended double meaning isn’t lost on him. He can tell Scully is regretting the phrase immediately by the fact that she’s now holding her breath.

“You can use a needle too, Scully. Hold still.” Her eyes follow his hand warily as it stretches towards her cheek. “OW!!” He comes away with a single amber stand and carefully threads the eye, double loops it and dangles above her swollen middle. They wait. She sighs heavily.

“Mulder…”

“You know this practice isn’t without scientific theory Scully.” His voice has taken on that nasal quality it tends to when he’s talking mostly to himself.

S8 Mulder tries to determine the baby's gender with the ol' needle twirl. (The ending lines are seared into my brain, forever.)

Paternitas (Tumblr)

 I need to make sure the baby’s nurse comes back for a diaper check. This guy isn’t ready.  I note the various monitors and change her bag. 

 "Would you like to hold him?“ That gets him to look right at me, with an unidentifiable expression.  He looks over at the bassinet, back to me and his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s blinking furiously.  Bless. Indecision and panic are clear as day in his eyes. But something else, too. He looks…guilty. It’s the strangest thing. I can sense that he wants to hold the baby but can’t bring himself to.

While Existence Scully is unconscious and recovering in Georgia, a local nurse looks after her barely functioning partner.

Headcanon

Only once had he feared the words had lost their meaning. He’d come out of his office, in a sparse moment of clarity and had called her name. She appeared from the kitchen, coffee in hand and hair mussed from slumber. It must have been morning. His name had ended with a question mark, clearly surprised by his emergence and the rest of the phrase had gone flat. Her eyes were wide but vacant, “I’m here.”

And then one day he emerged and found that she wasn’t.

My Struggle II Mulder and Scully: first names, nightmares, and comforting each other through the years.

5 Pt. AU Prompts - Chapter 2

Prognosis. Stunted and ignorant. Crushing her under its clumsy, suffocating weight of formality. What does it know. He is a miracle. And miracles defy logic.

AU-- Mulder gets cancer; and Scully is ready for war.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #fic #Curated settle-down-frohike #settle-down-frohike #Collector's Edition #meta #Curated #xf fic #xf fanfic #x-files #xfiles #the x files #mine #xf meta #analysis

[twig-the-edgelord]

05-13-The Spotlight

A lot of info! V

Basic information

05-13 is mostly just a pair of eyes and a mouth. Her body is only visible under artificial light. She stands at 5’2. Her age, race, and name is unknown.

She is manipulative and not much else. Those under her love her but any who are able to see right through her or able to pull away can’t even stand hearing her title. Any type of defiance is met by retaliation often using at weakness that she learned.

Brief history

05-13 became close friends with 05-6 (?? Clementine)

After he passed she became interested in his grandson (Dr. A. Clementine) and his family. 13 offered him a raise into becoming a site director to allow the foundation to raise his current and future children.

The first two had a somewhat normal life, they went to school, and allowed to play outside. 13 considered them both too different from what she wanted.

When the third child came she wanted him to be much more important. She had him homeschooled for most of his life, and wanted him to learn about what it was like to work in the foundation. Any toy that he was going to have had to be approved by the foundation.

She promised Adam and Evelyn that their 5th child was to be their own.

Claire Mcrose was the only one to get a full grasp of how despicable she is, and ran away with her girlfriend.

Part one

05-13 hates most of the remaining Clementine family, but keeps them around because they are easy to manipulate.

13 uses Jack and TJ to keep Claire away for the most part. As well as promises to Mikell that his siblings will be safe and happy as long as he does what he’s told.

Dr. Clementine considers her his mother figure, since he knew her the day he was born. 05-13 acts nice and loving towards him, to keep him gullible. She pushes him further into his delusions, yet tells him that he’s getting better. She hates him, he was a failure.

05-6 (Mikell) is the only sibling she likes, but only because she can use him easier than most others.

Part two

05-13 is against recovering site 19, even if Dr. Clementine is convinced she’ll comeback for him.

However she no longer has any power over the Clementine family as 05-6 (Eleanor) absolutely despises her, and will do anything to belittle or humiliate her.

The salamander is a stronger reality bender, and is much less likely to be talkative. Speaking through violence. Meaning that 05-13 is unable to get a foot in, and leaves the Clementines alone.

Fun facts

•Her design is based off of Jessica Clementine, my oldest and first SCP OC

•Nothing can cover her face within 2 inch’s, masks, hair, or body parts. Her face will be visible right through it.

•She has two assistants, who always have a flashlight on them, or will turn off the lights for her.

•She can see in the dark.

#05-13 #05 13 #scp oc #05-6 #05 6 #?? clementine #scp fanart #scp fandom #scp #scp foundation #HATE HER HATE HER HATE HER

[seasidepierre]

Can we see what tink and charles get up to on their off season/summer break - either when they were crushing or when they actually got together?

The off season was always a weird time for you, when work became sparse but when you had to keep an entire nation of Tifosi occupied and somewhat fed with a carefully curated content plan that involved both drivers and throwbacks from the previous season, while hyping them up for the following one. The team had come up with a lot of changes in the past year or so. Your boss had changed, first of all, with Mattia leaving the team and Fred coming up to the red house. His integration to the team had been gradual, with caution and defiance first, then with open arms when they realised how much changes and order he was bringing to the team you all loved and lived for. Fred had been a bit reticent to truly work with the communication teams, at first, because he was much more comfortable in front of a pitwall than a camera, but you had found an ally in Fred and he had warmed up to you like the rest of the team. Your nickname now rolled off of his tongue easily and he seeked you out in a crowd of red every single time something was to be celebrated. In those changes, the team found a new way to work and your communication plans came to change a bit, finding new tones and enjoying the room left to you to joke around a bit more. You finally dived head first into TikTok which you hadn’t been allowed to, at first, but you found a rhythm there that truly worked well for you and the Tifosi, if you trusted the comments you got back.

The one constant thing had been Charles, working tirelessly to bring the prancing horse back to pride and covering you in a warm blanket of love every single day you spent together.

The decision to move to Monaco had been the right one, in hindsight. It’s not like you didn’t have a place in Maranello or that Italy was no longer enough for you, but Charles was your home and you would make sure that you would always come back home after a race, both of you.

It’s not like you made things truly public, but it was a known fact now that the Ferrari Admin was Charles’ girl and nothing seemed to have changed in the paddock regarding this. The comments, though, have gotten either awfully comfortable asking you to post certain pictures or events, or completely derogatory, when every good looking picture of Charles posted on Instagram was called out for being “biased”.

Needless to say, between everything that happened in the team and her extra work to make sure the fans knew you were still there for your abilities and not who you were sleeping with, you were a bit exhausted and welcomed the winter break with open arms.

Loved up underneath a blanket in Monaco, you watched as Charles played on his piano mindlessly, his brain disconnected and miles away from the apartment. A book rested on your lap and a still fuming cup of tea was waiting for you on the coffee table, dropped here by the pianist who made sure to deliver a soft kiss on the top of your head to top it off in the best of manners. You had just gotten an idea of post for the Instagram page and were now browsing your phone’s thousands of pictures to find the rightful one that would work for your idea. You were so engrossed in it that you didn’t even register the music stopping and the couch sinking a little on your side.

“Are you gonna make a fool out of me again?” Charles whispered against your cheek, his nose coming to rest on your skin, his lips trying to find a path to your temple. “I never make a fool out of you, Orsachiotto,” you smiled. “That’s false and you know it.” “Too bad for you,” you shrugged. “You make a fool out of me all the time, even when you’re not on your damn phone,” he sighed.

You frowned and turned your head to find him dramatically sagging back to the couch, drowning in an oversized sweatshirt, too large joggers and thick socks covering his toes. He looked warm and cozy. He looked awfully inviting, too.

“What do you mean?” “I love you so much that I do dumb things all the time,” Charles whined. “What can I say? I like being in charge,” you giggled.

And in charge you were, all afternoon, especially when you left your phone on the coffee table and demanded Charles to take you back to bed.

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[nervousladytraveler]

"For All the Tea in China" (or "Demelza Makes a Sandwich")

(slightly longer version from the fic title game prompt sent to me by @jomiddlemarch Thanks for indulging me!)

----

“Fuck it. We’re having the rapini for dinner!” Demelza said aloud to nobody and slammed the slightly wilted bunch down on the work surface.

Dinner was hours away–she was in fact still preparing lunch–but this decision felt like an act of defiance, and that was precisely what she was in need of at the moment.

Ross, or Mister Poldark as he was to her today, disliked rapini. He hadn’t said it in so many words but the absence of praise the last time she served it allowed her to solve for x.

Recently she’d gotten better at preparing the stuff so there was less bitterness. It turned out blanching, salting, and finishing with red pepper flakes proved key. But that mattered little to her. She loved all greens. Maybe there was a reason for that beyond her tendency to champion the underdog. She’d read somewhere that the bitter ones were higher in iron.

Maybe some bodies just need more iron, she’d wondered at the time. Ross clearly needed little. He was likely made of the fucking stuff, as stubborn and immovable as he was.

Demelza switched on the kettle and stared at the empty mug in her hand. Pride or self preservation, perhaps both, flooded her gut and drove her thoughts.

I will not let him see me upset. 

She’d come to accept that Ross’s manner often swung between that of a companion and one of an employer. She knew Ross had moods and wasn’t always up for a laugh. And on those darker days, she gave him a wide berth but still saw that he was looked after. Well fed, clothes laundered, house tidied–all the things a good housekeeper should be doing. But when he was feeling more playful, she’d sit across from him at the table as more of a mate or even next to him while they watched telly. And when his beloved Everton lost yet another match, she wouldn’t hesitate to tease him for his loyalty. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in the house who favoured the underdog.

On his part, he’d laugh at her jokes, chide her for working too hard, slip her a bonus whenever he found himself even a little flush. Sometimes he’d smile when she just walked into the room.

Still, Demelza knew her place and had a firm enough sense of belonging, at least most of the time. With him anyway. 

What she couldn't abide was the presence of Other People, when the rules were suddenly switched on her.

That had happened earlier when Ross’s prim-assed cousin in law, Elizabeth, came to call unannounced. Suddenly Demelza was meant to skivvy and scrape and be neither seen nor heard in the process. 

Her Worshipfulness didn’t care for anything substantial as far as food or drink was concerned but Demelza still brought out bottled water in a clean glass (that wasn’t chipped) as a good housekeeper would do. And in exchange for her service, she received an icy thank you with delicate nostrils oh so subtlety flared.

Was she born with that sneer or has she been under the surgeon’s knife to perfect it? 

But all that Demelza could bear, and she'd even managed to lock down all her own facial muscles so no brows raised or lips smirked in return. 

It was Ross’s response–averting his gaze and looking at the floor as if she herself was a nuisance to be waited out–that was so intolerable. Then once she’d left the room, she heard him laugh. 

To be fair, it wasn’t his heartiest chuckle, not the one he often shared when they joked and talked together, but a laugh was a laugh. And Elizabeth was his mate. All the time, not just when he felt lonely enough to slum it with the help, which is what Demelza always would be in the end.

It was nearly two hours later and Elizabeth long since gone, but Demelza hadn’t yet shaken the uneasiness. She pulled a knife from the drawer and set back to work.

She hated that Ross alone controlled what was true. 

Recently, quite accidentally, she’d come across the term epistemic injustice in her reading. Now she rolled the words around in her mouth and felt their sharp edges and their weight. Perhaps this particular situation wasn’t injustice exactly but it was fucked up.

But maybe, just maybe, two could play the game. Ross too might come to learn the sting of being cast aside.

No more sportive banter, no matter his mood. If she wouldn't let him know what she was thinking, what she was feeling, then he wouldn’t know what to expect. What was true. 

And he mustn’t know how important this job is to me. She might be able to live without his friendship–or so she tried to convince herself–but not so his paycheque.

The sliced chicken bore a chill from the fridge but the bacon was sizzling hot. Demelza trimmed the edges from the thankfully-still-crisp lettuce before she spread the sourdough slices with pesto mayonnaise. She’d prepared it only minutes before, conveniently forgetting it was Ross’s favourite. 

Then she switched off the kettle and pulled down a second mug from the dish rack.

I will never laugh with him again, she resolved. Not even if he asks it of me. Not for all the tea in China.

#lucretiassister #poldark #poldark fanfic #ross poldark #demelza carne #poldark modern au #ask nervousladytraveler #writing prompt #fic title game

[itisthefunpolice]

Heterosexual Loathing

They are nigh inescapable. The cultural messages women receive about love, relationships, marriage are seemingly everywhere.

They tell us that love will fulfill us in ways we otherwise cannot be, that a romantic relationship with a man will give us the meaning we crave, that marriage is the beginning of being happily ever after.

Over and over we are sold and told these things... And we are sold and told what we are.

"This is an object, it is called woman."

A headless dismembered body without even the decency of a rib cage, but don't worry, she has space between her legs for a hole to slide a cock into and breasts for a man's hands to wrap around.

This object has impossibly red lips and an open mouth, but no words of her own, her eyes cut off so she cannot look back at you and no brain so she cannot think.

This object is just feet shoved into a pair of torture devices mislabeled as shoes on two legs sheered of any sign of humanity, far enough apart so a man can imagine laying between them even though there is nothing above them.

This object is a back arched painfully and unnaturally so that the buttocks bellow it can appear as round and large as possible so a man can enjoy the idea of hitting her.

These messages sit side by side.

"One day you will meet a man who sees you for who you are and will show you the love and care you always wanted and needed but could never find."

"This object is called a woman and she is both public and private property, bought and sold, used, abused, and discarded at leisure."

These messages are not, in fact, opposites.

In this system, every woman was a failure the moment she was conceived. For she, in defiance of patriarchy, was alive, a person.

For all the time and effort the system puts in to making her an object for male consumption, she cannot stop being a person, even if she tries her damnedest to hide it.

So she must be sold a dream, lest she be disheartened by the constant struggle to make up for her own existence.

A carrot on a stick to go along with the rod.

Like a corrupted version of the Blue Fairy, real girls are to turn into marionettes.

We are to preform as if puppeted and yet we have no strings to guide us, anticipating any and every whim so we may respond accordingly.

If we do so, then maybe our dream will come true.

But what they don't tell you is that the dance never ends, you're never done "earning" the right to your own humanity because it is that very humanity that is the crime.

So of course men see women as "lesser" humans, because we're not meant to be human at all.

Heterosexual women's loathing comes from inside and out.

The disgust of having some innate part of you desire the very things that want to kill you.

The self loathing of knowing better and yet only being able to ignore or abstain rather than truly change this facet of yourself.

The shame that comes with having learned these lessons the hard way over and over and yet being fooled again.

The disgust of having to live in a society that hates you but glorifies your effigy.

The loathing of knowing how men think about and treat you and other women no matter how much anyone claims it isn't true.

The shame that you wish you could inflict on them for all their depravity, revenge and retribution well earned finally made real.

For being male isn't their crime, just as being female is not ours, but rather their crime is their participation in our oppression that makes a world in which we cannot find equity.

Even complacency cannot keep the blood off their hands.

For it is not a question of would a man hurt us, the answer is irrelevant, it is the fact that he could hurt us.

For this, men expect us to be eternally grateful, that they allowed us to live at all.

"At least I only benefit from the threat of violence," he says, "so I never have to threaten you."

"At least I only threatened you," he says, "so I never have to hurt you."

"At least I only hurt you," he says, "so I never have to kill."

"At least I only killed her," he says "so I never have to kill you."

"At least I killed you," he says, "so someone else didn't have to."

There is so much that stands between the sexes, that ensures we can never be on equal footing.

Even if you could turn a heterosexual woman into a male she would have a lifetime of molding, told who she is in relation to men, that would prevent her from ever being able to achieve truly mutual love.

The inverse is true as well.

So, with all this laid before us, how could anyone believe in female heterosexuality as anything other than an act of self sabotage, self loathing, self harm.

But discipline should be reserved for the guilty, the men who made this so, that took something so deeply innate and perverted it for their own gain.

Women can hate themselves for loving men, but loving yourself is much more powerful, much more important.

You can silence the thirst that cries out for poison, but do not forget to drink your fill of clean water.

To abstain is powerful, but it should come from self compassion, not self loathing.

After all, abstinence is not meant to be punishment. It is a hard won right.

#trigger warning #original

[mogai-sunflowers]

MOGAI BHM- Day 13!

happy BHM! today i’m going to be talking about ballroom culture!

[Image ID: A black-and-white photograph of a drag ball. In the photo, a crowd of Black people are standing around a gated area in a room, watching a Black man, dressed in a short black dress and black combat boots, dance and pose on the tiled floor. End ID.]

The history of drag ball culture can be traced to the 1920s in New York City, just before queer culture began to rise in Harlem and the Harlem Renaissance- however, at this time, mainstream drag balls were pretty much all white. Black performers were allowed to participate, but they were asked to lighten their skin in order to do so, and were often judged harshly and unfairly by completely white judge panels.

This horrible racist abuse led Black and other non-white queer people, especially indigenous and Latino queers, to form their own drag ball subculture. They would organize their own balls, sometimes in official drag ballrooms, and sometimes in their own homes, and drag ball culture really grew during the 60s, 70s, and 80s.

During this time, drag ball culture was organized into different “Houses”, which were official establishments of the culture and events, but also frequently served as solace and shelter for Black and Latino LGBTQ people who had been kicked out of their homes or were facing violence for their identities. These Houses were based on the concept of family and love and defiance, and were the soul of drag ball culture. The first house, which kickstarted ballroom culture from the 1960s on, was the LaBeija House, founded by Crystal and Lottie LaBeija in the 1960s as a response to the racism they’d experienced in extant drag scenes in New York City.

There were many, many, many Houses that participated in drag ball culture- some of the most famous ones include The House Of Ebony, The House Of Xtravaganza, and the House of Ninja. All houses were led by “mothers” and “fathers”, usually elder members from drag ball culture. 

Drag scenes in this time period consisted of several different opportunities, mainly for lesbians, both cis and trans, gay men, and trans women. Contestants would “walk” (perform) and participate in different categories based on their identity or how they expressed themselves. These categories produced a lot of queer language as we know it today.

Two terms that originated with/were popularized by ballroom culture of the late 1900s, were ‘butch queen’ and ‘femme queen’. ‘Butch queen’ was a category for performers who were gay men but did not possess hyperfeminine or hypermasculine qualities/expressions, but rather a combination. The term was for a uniquely queer celebration of a blending of masculinity and femininity. ‘Femme queen’ was a category for people who would today be considered transgender women- people who were born ‘male’ but sought forms of gender, sexual, and/or social transition to live and present as a woman. 

Femme queens and butch queens were the biggest parts of drag culture. They accompanied other categories, like for butches (not butch queens) who were masculine lesbians. Other categories highlighted ‘Realness’ (the ability of performers to ‘pass’ as straight men/women), ‘business executive’, and several categories that allowed men to still be masculine and women to still be feminine. 

Language was very important in drag ball culture. ‘Femme’, ‘butch’, ‘queen’, they all described an aspect of queerness that was personal and yet political at the same time. This dedication to queer language led to the development of unique terms and language to define aspects of ballroom culture- in fact, most modern ‘queer’ language has been appropriated by white queer people from ballroom culture. Terms like ‘spilling tea’, ‘work’, ‘slay’, ‘yass queen’, and many others, all originate from ballroom culture. Many popular dance trends and moves, including the infamous ‘voguing’, also originate from the dance aspects of ballroom culture.

Although the history of drag kings is very often overlooked, they were and just as integral to drag culture as drag queens are. There were drag ball categories for trans men, butch trans men, and for trans men to ‘pass’ as gay men. Butch and trans men categories and experiences in this culture were emphasized and related, building the shared history between butch lesbian and trans male communities. queer history is inextricable from this kind of Black and Latino history. Queer language is not just queer language, and its history deserves to be known and respected.

Sources-

https://mozartcultures.com/en/understanding-the-ballroom-culture-its-incredible-impact-on-the-world/ 

https://www.allgaylong.com/blog/a-brief-history-of-modern-ballroom-culture/ 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_LaBeija 

https://time.com/5941822/ballroom-voguing-queer-black-culture-renaissance/

@metalheadsforblacklivesmatter @intersexfairy @cistematicchaos

#mogai bhm #mogai #mogai community #bhm #black history month #blm #Black Lives Matter

[sweetcreature-taym]

A snippet from my WIP (so please ignore any mistakes for the moment 🙃) for the @omegaharryfest

Since before Harry even began his degree in architecture, his sights were set on working for one place in particular—LT Designs. The company was renowned for unique, stylish and boundary pushing constructions. Well established and prominent in the industry for more than thirty years. With the original owner building it up from nothing, to the business that now, according to ‘Architectural Review,’ was redefining what it meant to be an architect. That the firm wasn’t creating spaces; it was crafting art.

Harry had to be a part of that. It was non-negotiable.

So when he had finally finished his degree, he’d applied straight away. Because of course, why wouldn’t he?

And he’d been denied. Twice.

In the end, he had been told it came down to his lack of experience. That the firm wasn’t interested in hiring fresh graduates, and that he should return with a functional portfolio and further industry knowledge in a few years.

God, how he had gone on a tangent about that specific tidbit to Liam for hours on end. Because how was he meant to gain industry experience, when the industry didn’t want him?

As undeterred as ever though, he had waited, patiently— for six months. When an opening to work in an administrative role for one of the higher executives at the firm had come up, he’d jumped at it. His degree made him overqualified for the position, yes, but it also gave him insider knowledge and a greater understanding of the business. After three months and five interviews, he secured the job.

To Harry, it was a foot in the door— a stepping stone to gaining the experience he needed. If nothing else, he hoped to build connections. After all, it’s not “what you know” but “who you know.”

Isn’t it?

There was only one other issue— an inconspicuous elephant in the room if you will; Harry was an omega.

He’d considered the idea that maybe his initial rejections had not been because of his lack of experience, but instead, linked to his second gender. Harry was all too aware of how omegas were viewed in the world, even now. “It’s twenty-twenty-four,” Liam had asserted, “No one cares about that stuff anymore.” Harry had only been able to roll his eyes at the naive optimism, of course an alpha would believe that. For Liam, the world was an open field of endless possibilities, he could be, do and enjoy, whatever he wanted. While Harry had to claw and fight just to have a seat at the table.

Despite the everpressing social biases, Harry never let being an omega hold him back. When he’d presented, he hadn’t been disappointed, in fact he had embraced his omega status. Harry witnessed his omega mother raise him and his sister alone, he watched her fight through touch deprivation, observed her defiance against stereotypes, and saw her struggle to put food on the table. Yet, through it all, she remained soft, nurturing and effortlessly kind to both him and Gemma. To Harry, that was the embodiment of real strength. His mother had looked adversity in the eye and hadn’t allowed it to harden or break her; she moved with it, like a flower in the breeze— always returning to its original beauty after the storm passes.

So no, he wasn’t afraid that his omega status would hinder him, because if it did, he was ready to face it head-on, just like his mother had. He would stand resilient, and he would have a seat at the table, regardless of whatever obstacle stood in his way.

He could be strong like her. He would be.

Right?

#fanfic #fic fest #harry and louis #fanfiction #current wip #wip #snippet #alpha Louis #omega Harry #omega Harry fic fest #be kind please lmao