#there are ten thousand things on tumblr that baffle me

[nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui]

Oh and also?

If you start a post with “Okay so y’all please don’t hate me (tho I imagine this is going to piss some people off)”? You know what you’re doing, at least on some level, and neither you nor your followers get to play the “it was a harmless question” and “op didn’t know that” and “people are overreacting” and “why are you so aggressive you need to chill” card afterwards.

I find it honestly hard to believe that someone would come into a discussion innocently and ignorant of the baggage and the hurt it might cause when they felt the need to preface their ‘curious’ request like that.

#not that it matters #but it won't let me rest #there are ten thousand things on tumblr that baffle me #fandoms genres characters ships celebrities that do nothing for me #but i wouldn't dream of asking 'i'm just curious pls don't be mad but what do you see in xyz it makes no sense to me' #and then acting surprised when it blows up in my face #also 'getting lots of defensive paragraphs' on a post that supposedly asked for an explanation of a ship... is sorta what they asked for? #and 'garnering a block or two' isn't a bad thing? clearly those weren't people they'd have gotten along with? #also 'some harrassment is normal in online fandom you need to chill' is a funny take #from someone feeling victimised bc they got some unfriendly answers to their 'innocent question #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #ok i'll shut up now #russingon discourse (tm) #tumblr culture

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1

- Chapter 2 -

The sayings of Wen Mao were not exactly what Nie Mingjue would consider to be entertaining reading, but he put in the effort to learn them in the hope that it would explain something about the people around him. They were always speaking in significant tones and looking at each other, finding meaning in the spaces between words, and he felt as though he was falling further and further behind in understanding what they meant.

“- be beheaded for tens of thousands to revile,” he murmured, staring down at the words with a frown. It seemed straightforward enough at first glance, but surely it couldn’t mean what it said, not with how Wen Ruohan regularly behaved. “Wen-da-gongzi?”

Wen Xu twisted to look at him.

“This particular saying – the one about people who oppress others and do evil using the power of their clan –”

“You’re still reading that old thing?” Wen Xu asked, sounding exasperated. “Why? Haven’t you memorized it yet?”

“I can recite it,” Nie Mingjue said. “But I don’t think I understand it. Aren’t these sayings supposed to serve as a guide for behavior for the Wen sect? Take this saying. It can’t be right. I mean, your father is always going around doing things on the basis of his sect and clan having the most power. So is the nuance in the definition of ‘oppress others using the power of your clan’, maybe, or possibly in the interpretation of what’s being defined as ‘evil’? Or is there some other –”

“No one listens to those sayings,” Wen Xu said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? There’s the rules on paper and then there’s the rules in reality, and only the latter matter.”

“But then why have the rules on paper at all?” Nie Mingjue asked, utterly baffled. The Nie sect didn’t have sayings, like the Qishan Wen sect, nor rules, like Gusu Lan; it had principles, basic ones, and everything else in the world could be debated based on how those principles interacted with reality. It was simple and straightforward, yet allowed for a certain degree of independent thinking and flexibility: as long as you could account for your behavior with one of the principles, the action was generally considered acceptable; if you couldn’t, you knew you had done wrong. “If they’re not being used, then they’re hardly worth the paper they’re written on. Just replace them with new ones!”

“Knowing the sayings of Wen Mao is our tradition.”

Nie Mingjue frowned, turning the words over in his mind and trying to understand what he was missing. “So the tradition is to know the sayings but not follow them?” he hazarded. It seemed utterly bizarre to him. “That’s very complex. Is the idea to teach people to think for themselves?”

Wen Xu laughed – the first instance of that that Nie Mingjue had heard, and it didn’t sound quite right, sounding less like a laugh and more like a strangled noise that echoed in the ear in a manner not unlike the yelp of an injured dog. “You’re getting further away, not closer,” he told him. “Just – do as you’re told, all right?”

Nie Mingjue was trying.

He attended the classes and did his best to excel in them. He maintained his training even when the Wen sect techniques didn’t work quite as well for the saber as Nie sect techniques. He took care of Nie Huaisang, ensuring as much as possible that he did the best he could in both classes and training.

He didn’t grieve for his father out in public where people could see, keeping his pain to the late hours of the night, when his weakness could not be used to hurt his family and sect.

It would all be so much easier if they just told him what they wanted.

-

It was another few weeks after the Wen cousins joined them that Wen Ruohan finally decided to attend one of the dinners himself, sweeping in unexpectedly to seat himself at the head of the room.

The start of the meal was as silent as a Gusu Lan banquet. Everyone had recently started talking a little more during meals, probably as a courtesy to the two of them since Nie Huaisang couldn’t stop running his mouth about everything and mealtime was the ideal place to catch Nie Mingjue up on everything he’d done that day, but now it was as if that had never happened, everyone reverting to the silent and gloomy atmosphere the meals had all had at the beginning.

At first, Nie Mingjue thought it was silence out of respect for the food, like it was for the Gusu Lan, or maybe just the quelling presence of an elder, but after a while Wen Ruohan finished serving himself, and then he looked down at them and began asking questions.

Nie Mingjue’s father had done the same, sometimes, but where he’d asked questions about their studies and training and general well-being, about their friends or their hobbies, wanting to know more about what interested them, Wen Ruohan seemed instead to take vicious pleasure in quizzing them all on various hypotheticals, testing their intelligence and retention and ability to deliver an answer on the spot.

Nie Mingjue was able to answer the questions directed at him, and Nie Huaisang lucked out in the first round – it was a question about poetry, moderately obscure but at least something Nie Huaisang actually knew – and the others were able to answer theirs as well, but in the second round Nie Huaisang was not so lucky and he got a question on sword forms.

“I – don’t know?” he said, sinking down a little in his chair.

All the other Wen children averted their eyes, except for Wen Xu whose eyes went vacant as if he were deliberately forcing himself not to really watch even as he did not turn his head away. A cruel smile played around Wen Ruohan’s lips. “How – disappointing,” he said, though his tone was far from disappointed. More like anticipatory. “You will need to be punished, of course.”

“For what?” Nie Mingjue interjected, forcing his voice to remain level and disinterested. “Not knowing the answer, or missing the logical fallacy in the question?”

Dead silence.

He looked up and met Wen Ruohan’s eyes.

-

“When you said I could practice on you, I didn’t think you meant that you’d be throwing yourself into trouble,” Wen Qing scolded. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped bandages around his chest and back, but that was fine – he didn’t actually think he needed bandages, since the bleeding had stopped, but it was, in fact, good practice for her so he didn’t say anything about it.

“If I didn’t interfere, he would have punished Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said instead. Wen Ruohan had actually given him a choice: three strikes with the whip for Nie Huaisang, for failure to answer, and two for himself, for insolence, or else ten for himself alone.

He’d chosen the latter, of course.

“He knows he’s your weakness now, you know,” Wen Xu said, standing by the door watching. Wen Chao, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning were all behind him, Nie Huaisang sniffling and Wen Ning biting his nails and Wen Chao’s tense shoulders up high by his ears. “He’ll use him against you.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, then stopped when Wen Qing poked at him. “It’s not like it would be hard to guess,” he said. “And our teachers would have told him that we were close anyway. If he was always going to know, what does it matter to tell him?”

“Aren’t you worried about him knowing?” Wen Chao burst out. “Not that you care about Huaisang, but that you’re stupid over it – he’ll think less of you because of it. It’ll make it harder to avoid disappointing him in the future.”

The way he looked at Nie Mingjue’s back made clear what being ‘disappointing’ would entail.

“If it’s a choice between suffering pain and having to hold myself distant, I’d pick pain every time,” Nie Mingjue said, then smiled ruefully. “I’m not smart enough to play the mind games of Qishan, A-Chao; I’d only ever trip myself up even trying. I’ll find my own way to survive.”

Wen Chao turned away from him.

“You’d better,” Wen Ning suddenly said, his reedy little voice unexpectedly fierce. “You’d better survive.”

“He will,” Nie Huaisang said, and he was a little fierce, too. “He will.”

-

The cultivation styles of Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were not that different, even if the Nie used the saber and the Wen the sword, and Nie Mingjue had always had something of a genius for cultivating. Although he had suffered a setback at the death of his father, he was young and unwillingly resilient; once he was properly settled in at the Nightless City, he began to progress quickly once more, earning the praise of his tutors and teachers alike.

It drove Wen Xu up the wall.

“What’s the use of having extra years or height,” he snarled, viciously kicking a practice dummy, “if you match up to me so quickly? If we spar and I lose and he sees…”

It was not necessary for him to identify who ‘he’ was.

Nie Mingjue looked at Wen Xu, feeling helpless. “If I pulled my strikes, he would know,” he said, and Wen Xu jerked as if he’d been struck by lightning.

“You can’t say something like that!” he hissed. “That was almost an offer!”

Nie Mingjue was out of his depth again. “No, it wasn’t,” he said, and Wen Xu relaxed a little. “I was explaining why it wouldn’t make sense for me to offer –”

“You’re hopeless,” Wen Xu declared, scowling. “Don’t you have enough trouble, without drawing more on your head?”

“My shoulders can bear the weight of a little trouble,” Nie Mingjue said with a shrug. “Besides, you have the harder hill to climb. I’m only his ward, not his son, after all, and anyway I only want him to leave me alone, while you want to impress him. If it costs me nothing, why shouldn’t I help you?”

Wen Xu was silent for a moment. “Some things will never be more than dreams,” he finally said, shaking his head, and Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure of what part of his statement he was reacting to. “Do you train outside of the regular hours?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Yes,” he said. “I like to train in the mornings, before breakfast, and I meditate with Nie Huaisang in the afternoons. Would you like to join in?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Wen Xu said, although for once he didn’t seem especially resentful about it. “It’s one thing not to have as much talent, that’s the disposition of the heavens, but not putting as much effort? Now that would be beneath me.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, understanding. “I’d be happy to have your company.”

“I don’t understand how you just say things like that,” Wen Xu muttered nonsensically, and stalked off before Nie Mingjue could tell him that he probably didn’t need to bother with coming to the afternoon sessions, since those weren’t really about his cultivation.

Instead, he put Nie Huaisang on his lap and helped guide his brother’s feeble qi through a full rotation, meridian by meridian. The doctors of Qinghe had helped put together this routine to strengthen Nie Huaisang, to empower his too-weak musculature and help build his foundation piece by piece so that he could one day create the golden core with his own efforts, even if they were weaker than most. It was time-consuming and exhausting for Nie Mingjue, who had to deal with trying to direct spiritual energy that wasn’t his own through an exceedingly complex sequence, and Nie Huaisang had complained about it being boring when they were back in Qinghe.

He didn’t complain now, though Nie Mingjue sometimes wished he would. It would make things feel more normal.

Nie Mingjue explained what he was doing to Wen Xu when he showed up, and to Wen Chao and Wen Ning and even Wen Qing when they unexpectedly appeared as well, but they all decided to sit in the little garden he’d found and meditate alongside him anyway.

“It’s a nice place,” Wen Chao mumbled, not looking at him. “And you don’t own it.”

Wen Qing shoved him. He shoved back.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, breaking them up with his hands, a little puzzled. “You and your cousins do. But if you find it peaceful and conductive to your meditation, you are welcome to stay.”

He wasn’t sure how quiet they really found it – he’d been born with his nose stuck in other people’s business and couldn’t help but offer unsolicited advice whenever he saw something that he thought could be improved, telling Wen Ning to prioritize finding his calm over any specific technique, walking Wen Chao through breathing exercises he thought would suit him better, showing Wen Qing the pressure points that could be pressed to help induce relaxation, even making small suggestions to improve Wen Xu’s form that mostly got glares and eye-rolls – but they came back every day.

-

Wen Ruohan attended dinner with them again only a week after the previous time, asking new questions and letting his eyes linger on Nie Mingjue and the way his actions were slower than usual, a smile curling his lips at the involuntary flinch Nie Mingjue gave when he twisted to respond to a question with a demonstration.

Wen Xu had advised Nie Mingjue to play up the injury, rather than try to deny or suppress it, in order to give the impression that he was nearer to his limits than he really was, a stratagem designed to reduce future injury, but Nie Mingjue had never really known how to dissemble.

He answered the questions directed at him with his tone a little short but carefully near to neutral, keeping his eyes down in what could be seen as respect. Perhaps Wen Ruohan found his little rebelliousness entertaining, but the questions didn’t seem that bad this time, and everyone was able to come up with something to satisfy him, even Nie Huaisang who grimaced and strained himself to recall the most basic concepts and Wen Ning who knew the answers but stuttered so badly in Wen Ruohan’s presence that he could barely utter them aloud.

When dinner was done, Wen Ruohan asked Nie Mingjue to touch his toes and laughed at him when he couldn’t, pushing his head down to ‘help’ his inferior flexibility and tearing the few marks the whip had torn into his skin open again as he did.

“Do better, next time,” he said, and left without demanding any other exhibition of talent.

“There’s a discussion conference coming up soon,” Wen Xu said, looking down at his mostly unfinished plate. Noodles, as always, with pork and vegetables in a sauce, pungent but not as spicy as Yunmeng, served alongside a too-thick lambs’ blood soup and delicate side dishes that were more appearance than taste; it was the usual food they got, and most of the time they all ate it quite happily. “He’ll be busy for a while, preparing for that.”

“Could you show me where the kitchens are?” Nie Mingjue asked instead of anything else. “I have the sudden desire for barbecue.”

Qinghe used more salt than Qishan and applied spices in a different fashion, focusing more on the savory meat and evoking sour flavors using vinegar; it took them the three incense sticks to teach the cooks how to prepare it, but that meant that by the time the food was ready they’d all regained their appetites.

“Aren’t there medical cuisines, too?” Wen Ning asked Wen Qing, slurping up the thick noodles that Qishan people apparently couldn’t do without but which at least were swimming in a proper soup for once. “To strengthen the muscles, replenish the blood, that sort of thing.”

“There are,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I’ll ask my teachers about it.”

“Can I come?” Nie Huaisang asked, and it was so unexpected for him to ask to take more classes that Nie Mingjue dropped the piece of meat he’d been dipping right into the sauce. “Hey, food is good! How boring can a class on food be?”

“I’m always willing to encourage your interest in things,” Nie Mingjue said, and everyone laughed at him even though he was being sincere. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent chef someday, Huaisang, if that’s what you like.”

“You’re just calculating whether wielding a kitchen knife still counts as cultivating,” Wen Xu said with a smirk, which of course meant that Nie Mingjue held out his hands and pointed out that the Nie were butchers, after all, and that in turn made Nie Huaisang start complaining that cooking and butchering weren’t the same thing in the slightest. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Wen Chao laughed at each of them equally, adding unhelpful comments all the while.

By the time they went to their afternoon lessons, it was as if Wen Ruohan hadn’t been there at all.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wen qing #wen ning #my fic #my fics

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 96

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 21 (Part 6)

There’s a burly man standing to the side of the wrestler, and in the middle of the winter, and it’s the Twelfth month no less, he’s stripped to the waist. With a figure that dwarfs even Chang Liujun’s, and a hefty, muscular face, he’s looking the assassins standing across from him up and down with disdain.

“Wonderful!”

As someone gets thrown onto the ground, Cai Yan laughs, leading the crowd in a round of applause. The rest of the functionaries nod along with Mu Kuangda in approval.

The Mongolian Envoy gives Cai Yan a nod, and Cai Yan bestows the winning warrior a cup of wine. The warrior comes up and thanks Cai Yan.

“After waiting for so long,” the envoy says, “we’ve finally managed to meet Your Majesty and Your Highness. It’ll be quite the thing to boast about in front of our people when we get back.”

“Of course I’m very glad that you’ve come such a long way to celebrate my son’s birthday,” Li Yanqiu replies. "As the capital’s relocation was not settled ere now, we did not have time to receive your delegation.”

Duan Ling and Mu Qing step down from the winding gallery into the garden. There are many flowering trees planted in the garden, and Mu Qing is about to walk farther in when Duan Ling tugs at his sleeve to let him know this is far enough. The Black Armours standing on guard outside are about to drive them off as they approach, but Xie You is walking towards them from the other end of the gallery, and he gestures at the guards.

That’s why they get to stand behind the flowering bushes to listen to the goings on inside. Through the bushes, he can even see Wu Du spacing out ten steps away.

Cai Yan says, “I did read the last letter he sent, but as governmental affairs have been taking up all of my time, I haven’t had a chance to write a reply. Now that there’s an imperial order as well, I’ll trouble you to bring it back along with the letter.”

The envoy immediately replies, “That’s wonderful. Our crown prince has told us that we must bring his blessings to Your Highness by your birthday and to ask for a letter in reply.”

“What blessing?” Cai Yan smiles. “I’m surprised that Batu still thinks of me.”

“His Highness said that though you’re ten thousand miles apart,” the envoy says solemnly, “he’s gazing at the southern region from afar and celebrating Your Highness’s birthday today in order to commemorate the bond that was formed between you at the Illustrious Hall.”

Cai Yan gently smiles, heaves a sigh, and shakes his head.

“His Highness had a dish specifically prepared. It’s called the ‘Cai Dog’, and he told us that we must make sure to present it to Your Highness today.”2

Cai Yan’s smile freezes in an instant.

“I had been told that your people don’t eat dog meat, or is that untrue?” An official asks.

Those words have been rather baffling, and most of those present can’t quite comprehend what the envoy is saying, but upon observing the expression on Cai Yan’s face, the envoy begins to smile. “It’s true, we don’t eat dog meat. Dogs are our faithful friends, and in order to commemorate the work dogs do for us, we have kneaded leafy vegetable juice into dough, moulded them into dog-shaped buns that are then steamed. They are thereupon distributed to the commoners as a sign of good luck.”

Duan Ling digests these words in silence.

Batu has definitely taught his envoy to say these words; he wonders what the look on Cai Yan’s face is right now. The truth will out as they say, and no matter how much Cai Yan tries to hide things, some people are bound to find out eventually. Duan Ling finds this funny, but he can also feel that Batu’s wrath is just about to throw itself in Cai Yan’s face from ten thousand miles away — that’s the only reason he’s taught the envoy to say these series of malicious words in order to provoke Cai Yan. As for whether it’s a threat or simply a taunt, he has no idea.

“Please, bring it forward.” The envoy raises his hand.

And so the servants bring forward two platters filled with dog-shaped steamed bread, mottled-green in colour, setting them down in front of Cai Yan.

Cai Yan’s expression is seriously turning green one moment and white the next. He forces a smile, “How thoughtful of him.”

Everyone is finding this quite funny, but among those present who are in the know, only Lang Junxia is aware of Can Yan’s nickname, while Wu Du could make several guesses. Lang Junxia turns his head to give Wu Du a look that speaks volumes, but Wu Du ignores him, and instead he glances over at the flowering bushes across from him and suddenly spies Duan Ling peering from behind the bushes, trying to get a better view.

“Mongolian customs are certainly interesting,” Cai Yan says to Li Yanqiu. “Borjigin has always been very cordial when we were in Shangjing.”

Li Yanqiu nods; the envoy adds, “His Highness sincerely wishes to ask Your Highness for a handwritten letter in order to soothe his yearning for you.”

As soon as he says this, everyone starts to laugh, thinking to themselves that this barbarian’s trying to speak Han, but even his vocabulary is wrong.

Cai Yan lets out a breath. “Since that’s the case, let’s get some ink and paper out here.”

Lang Junxia steps forward, “It’s freezing and Your Highness’s hands are going to get cold. There’s no need to do this yourself. I can write on your behalf.”

The envoy seems to be thinking about this, and as he’s about to speak, Lang Junxia cuts in, “It’s been many years and I rather miss His Highness as well. He should be eighteen by now — is he married yet?”

“His Highness is out on the battlefield fighting for the Khan. As a highly valued grandson of the Khan, he is not yet engaged.”

Lang Junxia gives Li Yanqiu and Cai Yan a bow before he takes a seat set at the side of the pavilion, and taking the brush and ink, he begins to write. Cai Yan easily comes up with a few conventional greetings, and Lang Junxia writes them down; it’s no more than things that happened during their years at the Illustrious Hall, and the letter begins with reminiscing before the subject turns to the relations between their empires.

From behind the bushes, Duan Ling’s mouth quirks in a slight smile as he listens. He can’t see the look on the envoy’s face but he already knows that Batu has become aware that Cai Yan is impersonating him. He has no idea how Batu has managed to guess though.

Soon, the envoy is bringing up certain topics regarding their time at the Illustrious Hall, passing on Batu’s words. He speaks of the Illustrious Hall’s headmaster, as well as Helian Bo, testing him between the lines. To his surprise, Cai Yan manages to respond to all these inquiries flawlessly.

“Our crown prince also wanted to know if Your Highness has met with Zongzhen.”

“I nearly got dragged to Shangjing and became a study partner for him.” Cai Yan smiles as he answers, then he heaves a sigh. “Destiny does make such fools of us. If I really did end up going, maybe dad would still be here, and we’ll all be alive.”

As soon as those words leave his mouth, silence falls over the garden.

“Your Majesty?” Mu Jinzhi says very quietly.

“Rong’er,” Li Yanqiu says, “don’t think about that all the time anymore. How many times have I told you that already?”

“Yes,” that’s all Cai Yan can say.

Listening to all this quietly from behind the bushes, Duan Ling feels rather complicated all of a sudden. As he looks up, his eyes meet Wu Du’s through the leaves to find Wu Du watching him, his gaze full of tenderness.

“His Highness would also like to ask if Your Highness finds him more to your liking, or finds Yelü Zongzhen more to your liking.”

And now everyone is feeling even more awkward, all of them are finding that it’s such a humorous way to ask this question. And so Cai Yan says to Li Yanqiu, “Mongolians are all like this, straight arrows.”

“Seems like Yelü Zongzhen and Borjigin often vied for your affections,” Li Yanqiu jests, “it seems you get along with others well.”

Cai Yan immediately denies this humbly, and says to the envoy, “Naturally, I’m closer to your crown prince.”

Mu Kuangda’s expression darkens and he coughs, but Cai Yan is pretending he hasn’t heard, and continue to say to the envoy, “We really have no idea where the sword of your realm is, but if we do manage to find it, it’ll surely be an honour for us to return it. Wuluohou Mu, do put that in the letter as well.”

Lang Junxia finishes writing the letter and gives it to Cai Yan. Cai Yan takes the seal from his attendant, and puts his stamp in the bottom left corner.

The envoy says cheerfully, “Though it’s not in Your Highness’s handwriting, upon my return, I can at least say my mission is complete.”

“Is there anything else that Borjigin would like to say to me?”

The envoy falls quiet for a moment, and he looks this way and that as though he would like to say something. At that moment, Duan Ling keeps getting this feeling that the envoy still has other plans.

But to their surprise, Li Yanqiu says, “It is cold and the days are short. You should return to the palace while it’s still early. Come over in the evening, and let’s talk.”

Cai Yan hurriedly acquiesces, and Li Yanqiu gets up without saying anything more; everyone bows to see him out. After Cai Yan sees Li Yanqiu and Mu Jinzhi off, he doesn’t take his seat again, but remains standing, glancing over at the envoy. An attendant steps up to him; it is the new arrival Feng, who says to the envoy, “Do you have anything else to say? If you do not, His Highness will be leaving as well.”

Li Yanqiu’s departure seems to have left the envoy’s plans in disarray. Cai Yan says, “If there’s anything else, please speak with Chancellor Mu. Passing your message onto these officials here is tantamount to passing it to me.”

The envoy looks over at the assassins standing farther down. “Our crown prince would like to have a wrestling match with Your Highness once more.”

“What?” Cai Yan’s face clearly shows how impatient he feels, and suddenly he gets suspicious that he may be falling for some trick. His gaze sweeps over the envoy’s Mongolian attendants, questioning whether Batu has come along with the group in disguise — it’s not an impossibility.

Paranoid, Cai Yan is still looking the Mongolian envoy’s attendants up and down. “It’s not like he’s come, so how are we supposed to wrestle?” He says, while at the same time he’s fully preparing for Batu to show himself.

Fortunately the envoy is replying with a smile, “Oh? Does that mean Your Highness is agreeing to a match?”

Oh, Cai Yan, you idiot, Duan Ling thinks. Even when Borjigin doesn’t show up he can still prank you like this, which makes me wonder whether it’s fortunate or unfortunate that you ended up sitting in that position.

Cai Yan’s mind is in utter chaos, feeling that anything he may say could be used against him. Luckily, Mu Kuangda cuts in now with a smile, “If so, then why not let us each choose one of our own to represent His Highness and your crown prince, and get a good match in? Once we’ve fully enjoyed ourselves we can all go home, and not have to stand here in the cold all day. I’m an old man, not like you young folks who grew up in the north.”

The envoy says, “That’s exactly what we were meaning to do. Our best warrior Amga will represent our crown prince. But I wonder which warrior will fight for the Empire of Chen?”

Nobody says anything. You’ve got to be kidding — act like clowns and wrestle with a boorish fool? That’s just downright humiliation.

Duan Ling knows the envoy will definitely say something like “in all the vast territories of Chen, is there no one who’d dare wrestle with one of our warriors” or some such. The kind of stuff that comes out of Batu’s head, well, Duan Ling knows that like the back of his own hand.

“Which warrior?” Being here at all makes Cai Yan flustered and irritable; he wishes the fight would be over already so he can leave. The longer this goes on, the more likely they’ll see flaws in his act.

“Chang Liujun,” Mu Kuangda says.

Chang Liujun is about to answer, but then Wu Du has taken a step forward. “Then do allow me to spar with your warrior on His Highness’s behalf.”

Duan Ling’s heart sharply rises up to this throat. Mu Qing doesn’t even know what to say, his expression clearly expressing “why is he so keen on showing off” as he looks at Duan Ling. But Duan Ling knows that the “His Highness” in Wu Du’s mouth refers to him, and not Cai Yan. In Wu Du’s eyes, the real main character of this formal birthday celebration visit has been standing behind the bushes — the Duan Ling who hasn’t shown himself.

“Wu Du has not fully recovered from his injuries.” Zheng Yan says languidly, “I better take his place.”

“There’s no need to trouble the two of you.” Lang Junxia gives Cai Yan a nod.

“How about this …” Cai Yan’s head spins through a series of possibilities and says, “Wu Du’s injuries haven’t fully healed, so why not …”

But Wu Du disregards everyone else in the garden, and draws the Lieguangjian from its sheath by his waist. A bright metallic whistling rings through the area. Suddenly, all goes quiet.

Mu Kuangda says with alarm, “Wu Du!”

At Wu Du’s provocation, the expression of the warrior from the other side immediately darkens.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

Cai (Cai Yan’s last name) and Cai (vegetable) are homonyms; “Cai Dog” was also what Batu used to call Cai Yan when they were kids. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[dindjarin-mandalorian]

Building Blocks (Din Djarin and Grogu)

Author’s Note: I’m not going to link to my Masterlist or AO3 in this post because I don’t think Tumblr likes links, but you can find both linked at the top of my blog on desktop, or in the pinned post on mobile/desktop. :)

Summary: Din starts to learn what it means to be a parent.

Warnings: None. This is pure fluff. 

Tagged List:  If you’d like to be tagged when I post new fics, just let me know! You can comment here or send a message. I’m always happy to tag!

-

Din had never had much experience with babies or small children. He hadn’t had any siblings, and growing up with the Mandalorians had limited his exposure to anyone under the age of ten. He’d seen parents out with their babies in the market occasionally, and once, at a bazaar, a tiny child had toddled over to him and grabbed hold of his leg, laughing up at him in delight, but that was the extent of his experience with babies. 

Every now and then, when he was feeling particularly lonely, Din would think about the distant future and envision a spouse and child. He never allowed himself to picture them clearly, and he didn’t even really think they would ever actually exist outside of his head, but it helped him feel less alone.

At other times, however, he swore he would never marry or have children, for one reason or another. Sometimes it was because it was so hard to meet someone as a Mandalorian, at others it was because he felt his life was too dangerous and complicated to even consider bringing a child into it. And every now then, in his darkest moments, he didn’t think he was good enough for anyone, that no one would be able to love him, and that he didn’t deserve it anyway.

Thankfully, those truly dark moments were few and far between, and he rarely even thought about a future spouse or child on an average day. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t thought about possible future children in weeks on the day he’d first picked up Grogu. Children had been the last thing on his mind, even as he’d carried the child back to the Client - which was still something he didn’t like to recall. Even after he’d rescued him from the Client and gone on the run, he hadn’t really thought much about the fact that Grogu was basically a baby, even if he was older than Din.

But at some point between the rescue and cutting up tiny pieces of fruit for Grogu to eat for lunch, Din had begun to realize that he was, in fact, a parent.

At first, he’d scoffed to himself at the thought. He was simply trying to return the child to wherever he belonged, but he knew now that he was going to be heartbroken if that day ever arrived. Something had changed, and he wasn’t even completely sure when the exact moment had happened. It could have been the first time Grogu had fallen asleep in his arms, or the time he’d panicked when he’d lost sight of Grogu at a market, or the time Grogu had first smiled at him. 

It could have been one of a thousand different moments, but all he knew for sure was that, surely, what he felt for Grogu was what a parent felt for a child. At least, he knew he would die to keep Grogu safe from harm, and he imagined that’s what any good parent would do.

It was the smaller, less life-and-death moments of parenthood that still baffled Din, however. He hadn’t realized how picky babies could be until he’d traveled to three different planets one night before finding something Grogu would eat. And the fighting-sleep thing made no sense to Din. How could anyone - even a child - give up a chance to sleep ? If he could, he would nap at least twice a day, and yet Grogu would fight it every single time until he finally passed out from exhaustion.

He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that children required a lot of attention, but he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of constant attention until he’d caught Grogu in the Razor Crest’s weapons closet, about to pull out a knife that was longer than Grogu was tall. He’d thanked the stars that he’d found him before anything had gone wrong, and vowed that he’d do a better job of watching him in the future.

That was easier said than done, however, as Din learned the hard way. Grogu seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye at times, and he was a master of hide and seek, able to remain completely silent if he so chose, at least until a tiny gurgle of laughter gave him away.

Din had no clue how to keep a baby occupied, and had finally stopped at a market to shop for some toys, something to keep Grogu out of trouble. He settled on some blocks, which Grogu enjoyed sending flying at Din’s helmet at unexpected times; a small stuffed bantha; a ball that they could kick back and forth when Din would land the ship somewhere safe for Grogu to stretch his tiny legs; and a book of colorful pictures of creatures from various planets.

Grogu loved for Din to tell him stories of the different creatures, and he would frequently retrieve the book from wherever Din had last hidden it, waddle over to the pilot’s chair and squeeze Din’s leg to get his attention, waving the book in his tiny arms until Din gave in, picked him up, and began to tell him a story. 

At first, Din had been self-conscious about the whole thing. What did he know about telling stories? But he soon realized he knew a lot about the various creatures, and, after a time, felt comfortable enough to weave tales of wonder and excitement for Grogu, his rapt audience. Din had started to enjoy it as much as Grogu, and he’d finally stopped hiding the book.

Sometimes Din considered moving to a completely different galaxy and raising Grogu on his own, but he knew that Grogu deserved to choose what he wanted. After his meeting with Ahsoka, he knew he needed to find a Jedi to train Grogu, and soon. He didn’t like to think about losing Grogu, though, so he’d kept putting it off.

Din sighed as he put the Razor Crest into hyperspace, which would buy him a few hours of free time. A block clinked softly against the back of his helmet, and he laughed under his breath as he stood and watched Grogu playing with his blocks.

“Want me to join you, buddy?”

Grogu squealed and waved his arms in the air, a block grasped in each hand. Din sat on the floor next to him, and Grogu immediately placed both blocks in Din’s hands.

“What are we building?”

Grogu began to babble instructions, moving his hands in what Din assumed was a description of what he wanted.

Din smiled behind his helmet. “How about you start building, and I’ll follow your lead?”

The little one laughed and waved his hands in the air again, then picked up two more blocks. He stacked them on top of each other, then motioned at Din and babbled for a few seconds while Din chuckled.

He stacked his two blocks on top of Grogu’s. “Like that?”

Grogu clapped his hands and picked up another block, sending it floating until it perched precariously on top of the block tower.

“Good job, buddy! You’re getting better at that now.”

Twenty minutes later, Grogu was satisfied, and Din, still unsure what they had actually built with the blocks, grinned behind his helmet. “That looks great, Grogu.”

Grogu babbled happily and Din realized it didn’t matter that he thought they’d only succeeded in stacking the blocks into various towers. It only mattered that Grogu thought they’d built something special. It was the time they’d spent together that mattered. And as far as Din was concerned, they’d built a masterpiece. 

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #grogu fanfic #din djarin #grogu #my writing

[creatingnikki]

Should I just leave tumblr?

Due to bullying.

2020 had been a fucked up year for most people. For me it wasn't just covid 19. In early summer I was afraid of being kicked out of my house and not having a place to stay. It was one of the most terrifying times of my life. I didn't know what to do or who to look towards for help and support. In all that life wrecking stuff I didn't respond to my friend. My dear friend Autumn. We had been friends for as long as I probably started using Tumblr.

When I reached out to her after things got sorted out a bit she decided to ghost me but before saying that I haven't been there for her. I understood one could be mad especially when they felt like a friend hadn't been there for them so I decided to give them some time to be mad at me, to argue with me, and then to get over it.

Then I had a seizure. And my life as I knew it completely changed. I didn't share this with them. I didn't want to leverage that. That's the last thing I wanted to do.

Yet, this friend decided that I was a toxic manipulator and the best is to ignore me.

If you know me, you know I'm anything but that person. I'm not an angel, I make mistakes and unintentionally hurt people too sometimes. But I realize that and I truly apologize and I try to fix things.

But not responding to a few texts while my life is completely shattering shouldn't be cause for someone to write me off. Or even of they want to, thats their choice. Fine, I was just making my peace with it. But to have their friend attack me? That's cruel and unfair and unacceptable.

I have received a lot of anon hate over the years but all of that was bearable because I knew it came from a random place. Those people didn't know me really and I didn't care about them.

But to wake up, while I'm trying to figure out therapy, seek out a second opinion from a neurologist, adjusting in my new house and trying to be a little excited about my birthday, to messages like this just absolutely broke my heart.

Nothing I have ever written on my blog has ever implicated anyone specific on tumblr. Any writer would, especially one who writes from pure emotion like me, know that when you are writing about something it's never one person or one incident or one memory. It's a jumble of multiple such that make you feel the same way.

I never went around and played the victim and told anyone about what went on between me and Autumn. But I didn't know what to do or how to process or how to not absolutely break down after seeing this in my inbox.

What this is is pure bullying. And I never expected to be a victim of that on a place like tumblr that I have always considered my safe haven.

Not replying to a friend for a few weeks when you're trying to hold your life together is not you walking out of their life. Trying to patch things up with them with carefully distanced messages like on their birthday and around Christmas so that it doesn't feel like clingy behavior or coming off too strong isn't playing mind games. It's being considerate of how they must be feeling and not wanting to impose on them.

Before this post, I haven't ever said or done anything that would paint me as the victim in relation to my friendship with Autumn. And even this isn't about that. This is about feeling attacked and bullied by chronicallykalene.

It makes me feel so helpless and weak and angry as if I'm back in high school being bullied and cyber bullied by a group of people. Only this is worse. Because this was supposed to be my safe space. My instinct and tears right now tell me I should go off tumblr. But the life wisdom that I have in me knows that isn't fair or right to me. But right now seriously I don't think I can take this. So I don't know what to do. Other than try to be okay and breathe.

Also like accusing me of sending my self "fake anons"? The only thing I can think of about that is what my parents always say. When people accuse you of such things it's probably because that's what they do.

I think what's unhealthy behavior is labeling every single person who doesn't appease to you or pisses you off as a psychological abuser and toxic person who needs help.

I do not have ten thousand anonymous blogs where I go bitch about people without them knowing it's me. But I can write whatever I want on my blog. And yet I never wrote anything implicating or abusive against someone who was supposed to be my friend.

I should stop here because I feel like I shouldn't have been the one justifying. It just baffles me because people who are supposed to be the 'kind' ones sit on a morally high horse and go around slaying people thinking that they deserve that. In this case with their words. But who doesn't know that words are the most painful.

[kalee60]

So @larkboyd this happened and I don’t think I have any excuse for it... apologies as I haven’t written for Merthur in quite some time - but your enthusiasm stoked mine - so... errr - enjoy?? 

Based on this Tumblr post here

No warnings except it gets a little spicy ;)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“You look like a startled Stoat,” Arthur called out to Merlin, and Merlin couldn’t help the way his shoulders stiffened. For God’s sake he was trying his damndest to keep them alive - all while not letting a slip of magic out, and quite honestly Arthur was getting on his last nerve.

“Yeah, well at least I don’t look like a bone-idle toad,” Merlin snarked, enjoying the way Arthur straightened and seemed to startle, like Merlin was being inordinately rude, which he wasn’t - he always spoke to Arthur in that way. 

“You’re saying I look like a toad?” Arthur finally drawled like he couldn’t comprehend the thought, that it was an impossibility to look thus. Merlin was not going to pander to him and confirm that he actually was the most striking man he’d ever seen, and his chiselled features made Merlin’s insides quiver. He was a prat, a pillock and the most infuriating man, no, it was worse - Prince - in the known world. And Merlin wanted him desperately. Much to his disgust.

It made him feel off-balance, so with as much snideness in his tone that he could muster, he responded, “yeah, and maybe one day you’ll magically transform into a handsome prince.” 

Throwing his ruck-sack onto his back he tried and failed to notice the way Arthur touched his face as if to check for warts, then ran a hand through his hair, before gazing down at his body, which left Merlin able to look his fill without being caught. Damn it, he had to curb this - want, deep inside.

“Since magic’s outlawed that’ll probably never happen,” Merlin continued, trying to dampen his desires, it was almost impossible though. And he felt his attraction to Arthur was almost as hard to hide as his magic. “Come on let’s go.”

Arthur followed mulishly behind him. Looking after a Prince was more than a full-time job.

~~~

That evening, Merlin tried unsuccessfully to light a fire, as Arthur watched him too closely to use magic. It was getting cold and he was hungry and he needed to heat the stew else Arthur's royal pain in the behind would complain for hours.

“What’s taking so long?” Arthur whined, “usually it takes you two seconds.”

Merlin wanted to snap that things would go quicker if Arthur deigned himself low enough to help sort out their camp (allowing him a swift glimpse of gold to infuse his eyes and get the damn fire started), instead he ignored the prat.

“It’s cold,” Arthur pressed and Merlin looked up archly, his brow raised and he couldn’t help the utter look of annoyance that crossed his face. Arthur saw, if his small smirk was any indication. The clod-pole knew exactly what buttons he was pressing.

“Go get some more kindling,” Merlin demanded, and when a twig flew past his ear he looked up incredulously. “Did you just throw a stick at me?”

“I’m helping with kindling,” was the response, and Merlin couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter, which turned into something a little more. Then Arthur joined in, and everything was just absolutely ridiculous. He also wished Arthur’s laugh didn’t make his stomach feel all jittery. The low cadence, deep and full of filthy promises, but not ever aimed at him. Never him.

Merlin was a servant, not a potential bed partner. More pity to Arthur, as Merlin had many, many interesting skills.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur actually stood up and began to gather wood, which in turn meant he could use magic to light the fire, and soon a warmth was flowing against the front of his body as he nurtured the small lick of flames into a steady blaze.

“There you go, that wasn’t hard. You could have managed that ten minutes ago, I can’t feel my fingers,” Arthur came up next to Merlin, very closely, and rubbed his hands together and held them out to the fire.

“You’re lucky you can still feel your arse, considering it’s the largest part of you,” Merlin said under his breath.

“What was that?” Arthur asked, not sounding at all very forgiving, and Merlin knew he’d pushed a little too far and gave a beaming smile instead and said he’d put the stew on, which interestingly made Arthur’s gaze soften and his eyes drop to Merlin’s mouth. And although it wasn’t intended to be read in any way other than general, it still sent a zing up Merlin’s spine.

Licking his lips he let out a small cough which startled Arthur into a scowl and a ‘hurry up, I’m starving’. Of course he was.

Dinner wasn’t a fancy affair and they both ate in silence, and as the light disappeared completely from their small part of the forest, sheltered by a rock face, Merlin knew it was going to be too cold overnight for him not to use magic in some way to keep them warm so as not to end up dead from the chills. But he couldn’t. It would be too reckless and an ongoing spell would tax him too much, and honestly he’d never performed such magic anyway. He looked between their two cloaks and swallowed all of his pride. He had to keep the future King safe at all costs. Even the cost to his dignity.

“I think we’re going to have to stay close tonight,” he tried at first.

Arthur’s flat look did not instil confidence, “excuse me?”

“Err, it’s too cold tonight, you can tell by the rings around the moon that the fire won’t give off enough warmth, and since we don’t have proper blankets, we’re going to have to…” Merlin trailed off at the look on Arthur’s face, one he couldn’t really decipher through the flickering flames, “... cuddle.”

“Merlin, are you suggesting the future King of Camelot, cuddle for warmth with his servant?”

What. A. Pillock.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, a dead Prince won’t become King. Even if he’s more frozen than you are now.”

Arthur blinked once, then scowled in such a familiar way it was almost endearing, then finally, much to Merlin’s utter shock, he created a space before him. Not behind. It seemed Arthur was going to allow Merlin to curl up in front of him, closest to the fire. And that was - unexpected.

Although when Merlin made his way over, he instead, lay down behind Arthur as close as he dared. At least behind him if he needed to use magic, he could keep it hidden, to a degree.

They laid awkwardly for about half an hour, when Merlin began to shiver, he couldn’t help it and soon he was wracked with them, trying not to jostle the surly prat before him. Sure he could use a spell to warm himself, but he just wasn’t confident in such close quarters, he’d wait until Arthur fell asleep but of course the dollop-head refused to do anything but stay on guard.

“For the love of Camelot,” Arthur finally huffed and his arm reached out behind him, groping at poor Merlin until completely baffled, his arm was yanked back across and over Arthur. What in hell was he doing? “Better?”

And surprisingly, yes it was, but did he admit that? Instead he took it for what it was, shared body warmth and snuggled in closer, feeling the sharp inhale from Arthur as his hips unintentionally ground into his backside. He swallowed his apology, not wanting to draw attention to it. Trouble was, all of Merlin’s attention was honed in on every breath, every noise, the way the firelight played over Arthur’s golden hair, making it appear ethereal, and he needed to rein in his galloping thoughts. Arthur was not someone he could lust after. Not someone he could have.

“Do you really think that of me?” Arthur said quietly and Merlin craned his neck to try and hear the soft words.

“Think what?”

“That I look like a toad,” was the response, and Merlin bit his lip to stop the laughter bubbling up.

Lord, Arthur was the vainest and most obtuse man in a thousand forests.

“Honestly?” he asked with only a hint of mirth in his voice.

The nod was so unlike Arthur, usually he was full of gust and bluster, but for some reason Merlin decided that the truth wouldn’t hurt. Well part of it.

“No, I don’t think you look like a toad,” he felt Arthur relax a little against him, “but you do look like a prat, not even in training anymore. I’m pleased to confirm you have entered the esteemed ranks of complete and utter fully fledged royal prat.”

“Oh…”

“You sound disappointed? I can still say you look like a toad. Magic, as discussed, won’t help you. But a kiss might...” And what the actual hell just slipped out of his mouth? He was going to blame his absolute lack of brain cells on the fact he had Arthur basically wrapped up in his arms, and the smell and very aura of the larger-than-life man had enraptured his senses until he didn’t even know what he was saying.

It didn’t mean he was lying though.

Arthur went still, very still and Merlin braced himself for a walloping - which didn’t come.

“That could…” Arthur stopped and coughed, his voice thick with something and Merlin held his breath, what was happening between them like an out of body experience. “...could be amenable.”

“Amenable,” Merlin couldn’t help chuckle.

“I mean, I don’t want to be a toad for the rest of my life, who does?”

“No, no of course you don’t.” Merlin barely whispered as Arthur tilted his head back, and suddenly Merlin had pouty lips made for kissing (among other activities he tried not to image too often) within his reach. The small uncertainty in Arthur’s eyes almost hidden by the darkness and Merlin had to school his own features, knowing Arthur could quite simply see his expression clearly in the firelight.

He didn’t wait for a second invitation, not sure if this was his only opportunity to kiss Arthur, other than in his fantasies, he wasn’t about to turn it down, and as he lowered his head, he heard the small inhale between Arthur’s lips, and then they were kissing.

It was everything and unlike anything Merlin had expected. Arthur’s lips were soft, so unbelievably plush under his own cold mouth and he couldn’t help dive deeper, taste further, take everything on offer. And just when Merlin thought his luck had run out, Arthur sighed into his mouth and opened himself more, pressed his body firmer against Merlin and his hand tangled up in Merlin’s hair and, god, it was good. It was perfect, actually.

Merlin couldn’t say how long they lay there, kissing, learning each other’s mouths, seeking to shock and make the other gasp, as when Merlin discovered that Arthur enjoyed having his hair pulled, delighting him to no end.

But it was when a hardness pressed insistently against Merlin’s leg, he realised they’d gone from a fairly innocent teasing to something much more.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, diving back in for another kiss, devastating the blonde, if his hazy wild eyes were any indication. “What do you want?”

Arthur didn’t answer for the longest moment, and Merlin was beginning to think he wouldn’t.

“What any good serv… friend would give, nothing more, nothing less.”

Merlin mulled on the words for only a second, making up his mind in less than that.

He rolled Arthur back so he was facing the fire again, Merlin pushing right up against his back, his own hardness tight against Arthur, and although he wanted friction, he had a different plan. The small huff of air, almost as if Arthur were trying to hurry him up, so very familiar and Merlin pressed himself tighter against him, enjoying the hitch of Arthur’s breath.

It was too cold to undress and they had been limited with bathing except the dip in the river earlier that morning, so Merlin had one or two options left to him. He decided quickly what he wanted.

He spared a kiss against the back of Arthur’s neck, and snaked his hand down into the soft folds of Arthur’s pants, grasping his dick firmly, and Arthur bucked against him roughly, and for a moment, Merlin thought he’d overstepped. 

But then the way Arthur went boneless and whispered ‘please’ into the night urged Merlin on with his movements.

Arthur was large in his hand, and so very hard, and as he stroked up firmly, his mouth watered, hoping at some stage he’d be able to wrap his lips around the girth, wanting it desperately. Arthur shook in his arms, so Merlin repeated the movement, up and down - slowly, glacially.

“Merlin…”Arthur tried to sass.

“Hmmm,” he replied cheekily, knowing exactly what was going through his mind.

“Move.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

Arthur husked in an uneven suck of air as Merlin’s fingers danced across the tip of his dick, finding wetness, enough to spread down his shaft to ease his movements.

“I’m your… oh, god that… bloody hell…” Arthur arched back as Merlin bagan to lazily step his fingers up then down. “I’m your crown prince and I demand you… you know.”

Merlin smirked against his shoulder, not able to stop the small press of his lips on Arthur’s ear, “I’m not sure I know at all, Arthur.”

Maybe it was Merlin saying his name out loud, making it more real, but Arthur moved his head to look back over at Merlin, pressing himself forward as if searching for - oh… Merlin kissed him hard, tongue pushing in and Arthur moaned around him, the vibration of it hitting him square in the gut.

Arthur was stunning.

Merlin began to stroke him hard, Arthur’s lips loosening over his until they were only sharing air, the punched out gasps leaving Arthur’s throat had Merlin puffing out sharp breaths, whispering words of encouragement that Arthur was gorgeous, that he could let go, let Merlin take care of him. He didn’t relent, his pace becoming brutal, with one goal in mind, to get his Prince off. To make him fall apart from only his hand.

“Let go for me,” Merlin rasped, lips pressed on Arthur’s.

It was all he needed, Arthur’s lips clung to his suddenly as he moaned deeply and began to release in Merlin’s hand, the stickiness and warmth pleasing Merlin to his toes. He did that, he made Arthur feel like that. Made him lose control. 

It was a heady and addictive feeling.

The kisses turned soft, Arthur still breathing heavily, and Merlin removed his hand, looking down at his soiled fingers and Arthur gave him a look.

“Don’t you dare wipe that on me.”

Merlin smirked, it was not his intent.

One finger disappeared into his mouth and Arthur made a strangled noise as Merlin sucked his second finger clean. Arthur tasted like nothing on earth, and Merlin wanted more. But was it his lot in life to be able to taste Arthur Pendragon from the source?

“You’re going to kill me, Merlin.” Arthur growled before pinning him to the ground shockingly easy. “Wait until I get you back to the palace and into a bed, you’ll not survive the night, especially after a bath - you smell like a boar.”

Merlin laughed, “I smell like you - so are you a toad or a boar.”

Arthur’s hand on his dick stopped the flow of teasing words.

~~~

If Merlin and Arthur were inseparable after their two night jaunt stuck in the woods, and if the other Knights happened to see Arthur’s hand slip into the breeches of his most loyal servant on the odd occasion. Well, it was just as easy to look the other way.

After all - it was their future king and consort they were in the company of.

#mywriting #kalee rambles #not an ask but more of a nudge... 👀 #merthur #I should be working on my Stucky fics *shrugs* oops - this just fell out of my brain instead #quick fic

[goofygomez]

Hallelujah - Clouis OneShot

Hey y’all! I’ve decided to repost all my works onto Tumblr for those of you who might not have heard of them or just prefer reading on this site. I will be shooting to post one per day starting today. I hope you enjoy. (Also, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3)

Description:  After having a nightmare, Clem finds Louis alone in the music room, and he shares something personal with her.

Wordcount: 3029

---

Clementine jerked awake, covered in a pool of her own sweat. She’d been having nightmares again after what happened. This nightmare, however, did not concern the McCarrol Ranch, but Marlon’s untimely death, and the person who’d pulled the trigger. Ten days were certainly not enough to forget what AJ had done. She looked around and took in her surroundings. All the little trinkets she’d collected decorated the room, and gave it her own little touch. She looked at the deer skull on top of the door and grinned. It looks awesome, she thought to herself.

Fortunately for them, the rest of the kids had let her and AJ stay, at least until after the raider attack, which didn’t seem to be coming any time soon. It certainly had everyone on edge.

She scrubbed the grogginess from her eyes and lifted herself from the less-than-comfortable bed. She took a sad glimpse at the sleeping form of AJ. He’d been getting stronger, but still not strong enough. He’d never been shot before, and she had hoped that had stayed the case for a while longer. On their makeshift nightstand stood the wildflowers she’d found on that bench, though now their purple color had faded somewhat into grey.

“I’ll have to water them or AJ’ll have my head when he recovers,” she said to herself, frowning at the thought. If he ever recovers, that is.

“No, stop it Clementine,” she scolded, “He’s gonna be fine.”

She didn’t know how long she’d been talking to herself, but she estimated it had been around three years. Was she going crazy? No, she just needed someone other than AJ to talk to, that was all. She decided that she wasn’t helping anybody by standing around, so with a swift motion she grabbed her trusty hat and made her way to the courtyard.

Looking around, she couldn’t find a soul, which was strange. Maybe it’s earlier than I thought, she reasoned. The sun was barely scraping the roof of the school and yesterday really had been an exhausting day. Clearing the debris from around the school had not been an easy task, so everyone had volunteered to help in one way or another.

On a hunch, she turned around and walked into the admin building. Walking around the place seemed odd, like she didn’t really belong there. Of course, that much was true. She and AJ were merely outsiders to this place, guarded so strongly for close to nine years. And now it was preparing for a war with a group of raiders who were ready to take kids for their own battle up north.

Before Clem could delve further into her own thoughts, a soft, sweet sound caught her attention and she stood still, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. She rotated slowly on the spot, until she realized there was only one place that sound could be coming from. Sighing, Clem walked down the hallway and opened the door to the music room, which was ajar.

Inside, she saw the hunched figure of Louis sitting on the piano stool, playing a soft melody that seemed to envelop the entire room as he played it. Clementine leaned on the doorframe for a moment, admiring Louis’s music. After a few minutes, Louis stopped abruptly and stiffened. Clem took a step forward and let out a breath,

“Hi, Louis,” she greeted lamely, hoping against hope that she hadn’t been the reason he stopped playing.

For a moment, Louis didn’t stir. He sat on the stool, perfectly still, looking at the keys with a sunken look in his eyes. The girl was about to talk again when he turned around and smiled at her. A real, genuine smile. It was the first one she’d seen him wear since that fateful night ten days ago. A silent, grieving Louis was much sourer than a happy, gleeful one, Clem gathered.

“Oh hey there, Princess,” he said with a wink in her direction, causing her eyes to roll and the beginnings smile to form on her lips.

“I hate it when you call me that,” she warned, trying as hard as she could to fight off the urge to keep smiling. She moved closer and sat on a small chair beside the piano stool, facing Louis.

“Yet here you are,” he rebuked, turning his attention back to the piano and pressing a couple of keys with no real pattern to it.

Silence fell between them once again as Louis started playing the beautiful song again. It filled Clementine with a joy and serenity that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as though, while that song was playing, everything that was going on outside came to a standstill. Time stopped for the two of them, and the only thing in the world was this room.

Then, to both Clem and Louis’s surprise, he started singing. It was a beautiful sound, Clementine decided, and the words seemed to roll off his tongue so elegantly, as though he’d sung that a thousand times over. She had the overwhelming urge to close her eyes, almost as if that would bring the lyrics closer to her heart.

“I’ve heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the lord,

But you don’t really care for music do you?

It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing,

Hallelujah.”

Although Clem was clearly enthralled by the words being sung by Louis, the boy stopped singing and glanced at her, careful to keep playing the tune. She was so beautiful when she didn’t know she was being watched, Louis thought. The way her curly brown hair rolled over her face from behind her hat; the way her lips curled upwards as the muscles on her face relaxed and became accustomed to the music. There was really only one word to describe her, Louis gathered: breathtaking.

After a few moments of not hearing any singing over the piano, Clementine opened her eyes and eyed Louis quizzically. He was staring at her with a smile on his face. What was he looking at? Did she have something on her face?

“Why did you stop?” was all she could say when she realized the song probably had more than just the one verse.

Louis thought hard about the next words he said, before settling for, “would you like me to teach you? I am the best piano teacher in the world, currently,” he finished with a cheeky grin.

At the request, Clem’s golden eyes lit up with a sparkle that Louis figured had been lost long ago. He didn’t know why he knew this, but her demeanor around other people suggested she hadn’t had such a fun time growing up. Well, who had, anyway?

“You could do that?” her words cut through his thoughts and Louis put on his signature smile back on.

“Of course,” he assured her, “c’mere.”

Nodding, Clem sat beside Louis on the piano stool and set her small hands hovering over the keys. She eyed the piano with hesitancy, as if it was about to come to life and eat them both. Louis swiftly took her hands in his and moved her fingers to be over the C key, the E key and the G key.

“You know, for a walker killing machine you have the softest hands,” he commented before finishing the final touches to her hand placement. Clem couldn’t help but blush at his comment, though the reason for it was a mystery to her. Why was she embarrassed about that of all things?

“Uh, thanks?” she said uncertainly, her eyes darting from her mentor to her right hand forming the C chord on the piano.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, still smiling that devilish smile that seemed to light up the room more than the sun streaming from the high windows. “Now, you’ve got the placement down. Just press those three at the same time,” he instructed, pointing at her right hand.

She did as he said, and smiled at the sound that she had created. It wasn’t anything special, obviously, but it amazed her nonetheless. After trying a few times and perfecting that chord, they moved onto the other two. It took less than half an hour to learn the rest of the sequence, by which time Louis was ecstatic.

“You’re a damn natural, Clem,” he kept saying whenever she managed to string all four chords together. “Now it’s starting to sound more like it,” he encouraged, which made Clem smile.

She didn’t know what it was about him, but at that moment, she felt safe. Thoughts of the impending raider attack were pushed from her mind completely, and the horrors she had experienced lately were greatly diminished while they were in each other’s presence.

Louis felt his face hurting from smiling so much, and wondered how it was that he could be this way after what had happened barely ten days ago. Of course, he knew that already. He was with Clem. There wasn’t much to it, and he knew the reason he seemed to forget the world when they shared time together.

While Clem kept playing the four chords over and over, Louis cleared his throat and started singing again, this time starting with the second verse.

“Your faith was strong but you needed proof,

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.

She tied you to the kitchen chair

She broke your throne, she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.”

Clementine must have zoned out somewhere during that verse, because before she realized she had closed her eyes and kept on playing from memory.

“Look at me, Louis!” she called enthusiastically, careful to keep her eyes closed as her fingers gracefully moved from a C chord to an Am chord.

“That’s great, Clem, I knew you were a natural,” he exclaimed. Only he wasn’t looking at her hands, but at her. The way her face lit up when she realized she could play with her eyes closed could have illuminated the courtyard, had it been night. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was laughing.

A genuine Clementine laugh was not something Louis got to experience often, so he soaked it in while it lasted. After a few seconds of hearing no more feedback, Clem opened her eyes and glanced at Louis. The question that had been forming in her mind finally made its way to her lips.

“Louis?”

“Hm?” he questioned, turning to the girl sitting beside him.

“Why were you here today?”

Boy, was that a question. Louis’s featured contorted into a frown and he looked away for a moment. It was no use hiding it from her; she had a way with faces, he knew.

“I wanted to tickle the ivories once more before the raiders come knocking,” he said nonchalantly, but frowned when Clem’s concerned parent look locked onto him. Sighing, he looked down at his hands.

“I just… wanted to play that song again. It’s been a minute,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

As she stopped playing, Clem placed a tender hand on his forearm and looked up into his chocolate eyes. Those damn, beautiful eyes. What’s wrong with you, Clementine? Be there for him, she chastised herself.

“How long has it been?” she asked him softly, turning on the stool to face him fully.

“Last time I played it, it was on Marlon’s fifteenth birthday,” he told her, looking away again, fighting tears that threatened to break surface with his eyes.

“Oh,” was all Clem could muster when he shared that information. She knew Louis hadn’t been himself lately, and that was entirely because of the lack of one very important person. Marlon had been his best friend, his brother, and Clem and AJ had taken that away from him as quickly as two days after they’d saved them.

“Yeah,” he replied lamely, looking into her eyes with a sad smile on his face.

Before she realized, Clem opened her arms and embraced the boy in the most motherly hug she could muster. She cursed herself for being so awkward, but Louis actually leaned into the hug, wrapping his long arms around her and sniffing softly. They stayed like that for a few minutes before breaking apart and straightening themselves.

Louis was the first to recover from the wave of emotions that overtook both of them after that rather personal exchange. “Thank you, Clementine. I know I’ve been a dick lately, and I’m sorry. Haven’t really been the amazing companion I usually am. I just needed some time, you know?”

Clem shook her head and smiled at the boy, “you have nothing to apologize for. You had every right to be mad. I would have been, too,” she confessed, knitting her brows together in concern for Louis.

A soft chuckle left Louis’s lips, and Clem thought she was making progress. He raised his head until they were face to face and at that moment Louis realized something. He would have to stop sitting on his ass, and start acting. The past was gone, and he had to think of the future. With a long sigh, Louis straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

“Um, Clem?” he said softly. Such a smooth talker; damn it Louis, he cursed himself.

Her golden eyes scanned his hard features slowly before settling on his eyes. She looked deep in thought as well, though what thoughts troubled that beautiful mind of hers, Louis didn’t know. She nodded for him to continue and he did.

“Okay, I’m gonna get serious for a moment,” he began, nodding along as he said the words he’d rehearsed over and over in his head.

Clem’s eyes opened wide and she quickly placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “Oh my god, Louis, are you feeling okay? Should I get Ruby?” she mocked him, making a sizzling sound as she removed her hand.

“Ha ha, hilarious,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “I thought I was the jokester here.”

“I know, I am too,” she reminded him, though she could sense he was actually being serious when he didn’t laugh at that. “Right, sorry. Continue.”

“I’ve been battling with myself for the last two weeks, and it hasn’t really been easy,” he started, fumbling over his own words and frowning at his awkwardness. Clem encouraged him with a smile and he sighed.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it. I like you, Clem. As in, like-like you,” he explained, topping it all with a cheeky smile that contrasted with Clementine’s shocked expression.

The following seconds were a blur of emotions in Clem’s head. The first of which was astonishment. Louis likes me? Likes me, likes me? she kept thinking. She started grasping at the pieces of the puzzle and understanding took over her features. It all made sense now.

The senseless flirtations at every possible opportunity; Louis’s insistence that she come with them on hunting trips, even though they weren’t really speaking at all; his stupid query about her ever having had a boyfriend. Louis really liked her.

She racked her brains for something to say back to that, and came up empty. The truth was that she liked him too. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had grown quite fond of Louis in the past two weeks. Not only that but, even if Louis hadn’t told her, she knew he’d been the one to help AJ up after Marlon pushed him onto the ground. That had been the first time someone other than Clementine came up behind AJ and came out uninjured. She realized then that AJ must have really looked up to him to trust him the way he would trust Clem.

She couldn’t really lie, either; she did think he was cute. From the moment they met, that fact had been in the back of her mind almost constantly, but now it flew right past her eyes in front of her and screamed at her to go forward. Louis’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

“Oh no, I’ve made it awkward,” Louis exclaimed, “whelp, gonna go throw myself into the river and never come back,” he started to get up but was yanked back down by Clem, who took a moment to look into his chocolate brown eyes before doing something she’d never done before.

She kissed him.

It was a sweet kiss, filled with the underlying feelings they were both feeling as they embraced. She felt as though she was sitting on a cloud, and she never wanted to come down. She couldn’t actually describe the feeling, though. It just fit.

As they broke apart, both panting from the intensity of the situation they now found themselves in, Louis searched her features for any indication that that was real. He thought he might be imagining things, but he could have sworn she was grinning with her eyes closed. She kissed me? was his only thought.

“I like-like you too, Louis,” she finally said, breathless. Even after that kiss, Louis was still baffled that those words had come out of her beautiful mouth. He took a second to savor the moment before saying,

“Wait, so when you said you had feelings for someone back at that game, you meant me?”

Blushing, Clem pursed her lips and looked away. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Holy shit, it’s me!” he exclaimed, eyes wide as plates as he took in this new-found information.

Another kiss from Clementine shut him up for good. They embraced tenderly sitting as close to each other as the rickety piano stool would allow them. After a good few minutes, Clem broke apart from him and glanced at him quizzically.

“By the way, what was that song called?” she asked, the twinkle in her eye making her even more beautiful. As if that was possible, thought Louis with a grin.

“Hallelujah,” he said, embracing her again.

#fanfic #clouis #twdg final season #twdg clementine #twdg aj #don't judge me it was my first story

[mrsren]

15, 20, and 24 for the writing asks xx

Thanks for the ask! 

15. Post a line from a WIP you’re working on. 

Because I have no self control, I will give you four lines from the next chapter of PA. 

Draco had been civil, offering his hand to shake while stating they could get along well enough when Potter had punched him. Just remembering, Draco raised his hand to his nose.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“That’s eight years overdue, mate.”

It’d been about Granger and the night in the Astronomy Tower.

20. What’s a common writing tip you almost always follow? 

Write what you know is a pretty common one for me, but I’ve taken to yeeting my dialogue tags out the window in favor of strengthening my writing. It’s not always fun, but I do see a difference when I edit for that specifically. 

24. Do you have any abandoned WIPs? What made you abandon them? 

This is undoubtedly going to end up being a kind of long answer, and since I don’t want anyone to have to scroll, it’s under the cut. 

I have one [two, kind of] abandoned fics. 

There is Unsteady, which you can read here, if you really want to punish yourself. This is an eighth year fic, with Hermione and Draco both as Head Girl/Head Boy, and in my honest opinion, it isn’t very good. But the main reason why it was abandoned was because I got traction with Getting Even, and then I dreamed up The Red String of Fate, and I just hit the ground running with it. 

I really don’t think many of my readers realize Unsteady exists. There are continuity errors, and places where I think that I had mistakes that I had to make in order to improve. Still, I really hate leaving something unfinished. Something else is that I’ve written fanfiction off and on for ten years. While now I’m pretty open with the fact that I cannot function with an outline and path to the end, I have only recently become this way. And with this fic, I wrote myself into a corner, didn���t even try to utilize world-building, and basically tried to fly by the seat of my pants before subsequently having my pants ripped off. There are readers that still hope I finish it one day. Honestly, I still hope that too. 

I had uploaded a note in December of 2018, I think, that I was going to delete it. I chose not to because 

I may want to come back to it some day. In a way, I kind of am with writing Spirals because I’m in a place now where I can write these scenes that involve mental health, and now I’m much more comfortable in my characterizations. 

I value those reviews that were left to me from readers that took the time to tell me what they thought. It’s a very rough piece of work, and I felt that deleting it would almost be like disregarding what they thought, and losing those reviews was not something I was willing to do. 

The second story is a little trickier for me to explain how I feel because my stance on it often changes. 

So, here is a post where I embarrass myself by being absolutely too honest and cringy, but hey, this is tumblr. We’re all cringy here, right? 

It’s been a while since that post, and once again, I think my perspective has shifted. For one, now that I’ve hit a thousand reviews, I feel that I was putting too much of my self worth in the hands of readers when I shouldn’t be putting that kind of pressure on them. 

I’ve gone through ups and downs and revelations and I really just think that I’m not ready to write that story yet. I’ve come a long way in terms of being kinder to myself rather than comparing myself to others, but I’m not to the point that I’m able to completely let go and write a story because hey, this story makes me really happy. 

Some days, I’m great at that, but Kismet is more draining than it is enjoyable, and I hope that eventually changes. I’ve considered recently publishing the outline because I have doubts of it ever being completed, but sometimes I get a review on it, and I’m just baffled that it hasn’t updated in nearly a year and someone in the world clicked on that story, and they like it. 

I think if I finish it, I’ll change things because that’s what we do as we grow as writers. We change, we grow. I wouldn’t pull the original because those reviews are so incredibly important to me. That’s a little sappy too, but I’m sentimental about projects I’ve worked on. But, who knows where my mind will be in six months, or a year? 

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Consider this,,,, Rafael Barba x Minnona Efron + fake/pretend relationship or being stuck in a hotel with only one room (+ 1 bed :))) available (what a concept!) or both tropes in one fic perhaps? Like it starts out with them being kinda mean 2 each other but it gets all soft @ the end ya know? (Ughhhh I'm weak) It just baffles me how there's zero (0) fanfics w these 2 I'm so desperate I sent this exact request to every svu writing blog I could find rip me

Dearest anon,

So, I wrote this down as Minonna x Rafael fake dating and completely failed to write down the entire prompt before I had written over 5,000 words--completely my fault by the way!-- and I am so so sorry because after I read this I was like, “Fuck! I love the hate to soft aspect of the request! What the fuck Amanda, pay attention!” But since it’s already been about a thousand years since you first requested this, I’m going to go ahead and drop what I wrote and then later, I’d like to come back to these two and do a separate imagine with the hate to soft facet. Hopefully you’re still on tumblr and/or still active so that you’ll see that second one (ps- you can always dm or send an ask and I’ll be sure to tag you in if you’d like)

This one includes fake dating, betrayal, soft Barba, vulnerable Minonna and them working together for a change! I hope you like it :)

Sinceriously,

Hero

Rafael huffed in the line at the coffee shop, throwing his arm forward so that his sleeve would ride up and reveal the time on his watch. He had exactly ten minutes to grab his much needed coffee and get back to the office to begin preparing his opening argument for his case. His day had already been a barrel of shit, starting with the verdict from the Simon Wilkes case. As if the loss hadn’t been enough, Minonna Efron’s words in the elevator had not only made him feel defeated, but bamboozled on top of it. How could he have been so stupid as to let Murphy and Benson convince him to even take the case. 

   He’d seen how overzealous the Lieutenant had been from the beginning, how he’d pushed and pushed until one too many buttons had been triggered for Rafael. He wasn’t immune to dark fantasies of his own, but with every shred of new information uncovered about Wilkes, he could feel his stomach turn again and again. There was a hard line for Rafael when it came to things like consent and children--it was why he had requested a post as the ADA for SVU both in Brooklyn and, later Manhattan--and Wilkes had crossed it over and over with his depraved imagination. But as much as he would never admit it outloud, Minonna had been right. A justice system in which a person could be criminally tried merely for their thoughts wasn’t one he wanted to fight for. 

   The line moved again and he flicked his wrists again--six minutes. Rolling his eyes, he began to mentally prepare himself for the stale coffee at the DA’s office when he saw someone step closer to him from the corner of his eye. Shifting his gaze, he was met with none other than Minonna Efron. She had two cups in her hand and a sheepish smile on her face as she held one of the cups out to him.

   “Peace offering?” she said in a small voice that reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. Mousey yet determined to be among the big fish in the vast pond. His eyes squinted at her, leary. Minonna raised a brow carefully. “Come on, Barba...I was just doing--”

   “--Your job. I know,” was his clipped response, eyes flickering to the coffee she was offering him. He sighed heavily and reached out with a gentle hand. “Thank you.”

   She nodded. “I’m sorry about what I said…”

   Rafael knitted his brows.

   “In the elevator when I said that bringing his ex-wife and son was low even for you,” she said, lowering her eyes. 

   He snorted as his own gaze fell to his coffee cup again. “You were right. It was low...I just can’t understand how a person could have such--” He paused, pursing his lips as his eyes roamed for a moment, eyeing the sidewalk outside. There was no sense in arguing in circles.

   “Neither do I,” she replied in a hushed voice. “And you’re a good man, Barba. Not like most ADAs I usually go up against. You just want to do the right thing. I should’ve never said that, I was angry about something else and I used that anger during trial...I guess, too, a little after.”

   His eyes came back up to hers and he inhaled through his nose, nodding once. Offering her a half smile, he held up the cup. “Thank you.”

   “Carmen said you like it sweetened and black. Two sugars, right?” she asked as they moved out of the line and closer to the door.

   He grinned for the first time that day and nodded, taking a tentative sip. “It’s perfect, actually. And the first break I’ve caught all day, so...thank you.”

   “Well, it’s the least I could do after wiping the floor with you,” she teased, mirroring his smile.

   He opened his mouth as his brows furrowed above his eyes. “I would hardly call the verdict wiping the floor with me,” he said. 

   “Not guilty on all counts, Counselor.”

   Smirking, he tilted his head. “Touche.” The sound of the door opening caught her attention and her expression fell, her face draining of it’s color. 

   “Oh not today,” she whispered to herself before her eyes found his again, one hand coming up in attempts to hide her face from whoever she’d just seen. “I--”

   “Minonna!” A woman’s voice cut her off and Rafael turned to find its owner. A tall, brunette with a prominent nose very much like Minonna’s walked up to them with a grin on her face. “I’m so glad I ran into you, I haven’t gotten back your invitation for the wedding.” Brown eyes shifted to his and the smile on the woman’s face faltered for a brief moment. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

   He almost began to shake his head when Minonna stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We were just getting some coffee together before we have to get back to work.”

   “Oh?” The woman looked him over as if assessing him. “I didn’t realize you were dating again.”

   Again Rafael went to answer in the negative but was beat to words by Minonna again. “Yes! This is Rafael Barba. Um...Honey, this is my sister, Maya.”

   Blinking at Minonna, Rafael opened his mouth and cleared his throat as he looked back to Maya and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you, Maya.”

   “You too, Rafael,” Maya replied. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other?”

   “You know, Maya, I’d love to stay and chat, but we actually have to go. Come on…” Minonna looked at him with panic in her eyes. “Sweetie!” she blurted out, wrapping her arm quickly around his and pulling him with urgency towards the door as she regarded her sister again. “I’ll make sure to get that invitation back to you as soon as I can!”

  Rafael’s mouth opened and closed as the defense attorney pulled him out onto the sidewalk and down two blocks before she finally slowed down. Turning to face him, her mouth began guppy-like motions, much like his had not two minutes earlier, and Rafael could swear he saw tears in her eyes.

   “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered in one breath, the arm around his pulling away to press her palm to her forehead.

   “Are you alright?” he asked. If he’d thought her initial approach in the coffee shop had reflected her demeanor the first time they’d met, now she was all but falling apart in the middle of Chinatown. Rafael reached a gentle hand to touch her elbow. “Minonna.”

   “I’m so so sorry,” she said again. “I don’t know why I let her think you were my boyfriend, I’m so stupid--”

   “--It’s alright, just...tell me what's going on,” he replied.

   “Oh, you don’t wanna hear about my troubles,” she whispered with a chuckle.

   Rafael arched a brow, narrowed his gaze with a smirk and tilted his head to meet her eyes. “I asked, didn’t I?”

   She looked so sad, so radically different from how she’d looked earlier that day in the elevator. Rafael couldn’t help the way the hand on her elbow rubbed her upper arm in comfort as her eyes met his. “My sister and I haven’t always had the best relationship.”

   The corner of his lips quirked upward briefly. “I suppose that’s not uncommon with siblings.”

   “But I bet it’s pretty uncommon for your sibling to sleep with your boyfriend,” she answered, a sad smile on her face as she lowered her eyes. “Even more uncommon for her to get engaged to him and then invite you to the wedding.”

   His head jolted back as if he’d been slapped in the face. Being cheated on by an ex was something he could definitely relate to and was already enough of a blow, but her sister? He’d certainly heard stories of sibling rivalry. Hell, he had stories about his own sisters for days, but he could never imagine being betrayed by one of them in such a manner and what’s more, rubbing it in her face afterwards. It was borderline unspeakable.

   “Minonna, I’m--”

   “--Sorry?” she asked with a sorrowful chuckle. “Yeah, me too.”

   “Didn’t your parents say anything to her?” he asked. He couldn’t help it--his mother would’ve had plenty to say if one of his sisters had betrayed the other in such a way.

   “They passed away years ago,” she answered, shaking her head.

   Rafael pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

   She offered him a smile and though it still didn’t quite reach her eyes, it wasn’t nearly as broken-hearted as before. Minonna bobbed her shoulders, looking down at her coffee cup and toying with the lid. “She always hated me when we were kids, but it got so much worse after they died.”

   “Still…” He shook his head. “Your own sister.”

   She sniffed, lifting her gaze as if bottling all the emotions back up and squared her shoulders. “She’s the only family I have left. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

   Rafael knitted his brows in thought, gaze shifting to the side before he looked back at her.  “Maybe there is.”

   It was her turn to look at him curiously, blinking twice. “What do you mean?”

   “You could stand up to her. She has no right to treat you as if you’re some stranger off the street,” he said, lifting his chin and puffing out his chest slightly. “You’re going to that wedding.”

   “What?” she asked in a huff of a laugh.

   “Mhm...with your boyfriend,” he said with a soft smirk. 

   “Are you serious?” she asked, brows still knitted over her eyes.

   “As a heart attack,” he answered.

   Minonna shook her head idly, stare never leaving his. “Why?”

   “Because, Minonna, it isn’t right that your own sister betrayed you like that. And despite the fact that every other time we’ve interacted you’ve been a thorn in my side, there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of. You have a good heart. You’re...an anomaly amongst defense counselors. Beyond that, you’re smart, passionate...that idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

   The defense attorney blushed as she reached up and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Rafael couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction to the compliments. 

   “You really wanna go with me?” she asked, laughing as she added, “Pose as my boyfriend?”

   “Would that be so terrible? Some would argue I’m quite a catch,” he replied. “Besides, worse case scenario you’ll have someone to dance with...and someone to make fun of the bride and groom with, and make no mistake, I fully expect that we will roast them both. One at a time if we must.”

   She laughed earnestly, tears slipping from her eyes, which she wiped immediately. Rafael reached into his front pocket, taking out his pocket square and handing it to her with a smile. She nodded thankfully as she took the offering, wiping under her eyes.

   “So? When is it? And what color is your dress?” he asked. “I’ll have to be sure to match my tie.”

   “In two weeks and...I don’t have a dress yet. I was convinced I wasn’t going to go--”

   “--Well, then you’d better go shopping,” he answered, smirking at her.

Two weeks later...

Rafael got out of the uber on Minonna’s street after he’d asked the driver to wait for him to come back down and jogged up the steps to the stoop. Pressing his thumb against, he smirked to himself when he heard Minonna say she would be right down. Sighing, Rafael slipped his hands into his pockets as he glanced back at the uber. If he were being honest, he was happy to have someone to take out. Work had swamped his life quicker than flash fire, and his social life had suffered for it. To be able to relax for one night with someone by his side to enjoy it with was a welcomed change in his usual schedule on a Saturday night.

   The sound of the front door opening prompted him to turn his head, his face falling as a breath blew past his lips at the sight of Minonna Efron. Her dark-blue, short sleeved dress clinged to her bust and fell off her waist and hair was down, waves framing her face and she went without her glasses. He’d always thought she’d looked prettier without her glasses on, but now she looked more like a goddess than a defense attorney. 

   “Wow,” he whispered, a smile coming to his face as he looked her over appreciatively. “You look stunning.”

   Minonna blushed as she smiled and looked him over. “Thank you. You clean up rather nice, too.” She saw a pink hue grace his cheeks as he smiled back at her and bit her bottom lip.

   “Shall we? I have an uber for us,” he said, offering his arm to her. As she nodded and took the offered arm, he caught a whiff of her sweet-scented perfume and shivered as goosebumps spread over his arms. Even as they stepped down to get into the uber, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. 

   “You’re staring, Barba,” she said, eyes facing forward as a smile slowly crept on her face.

   “I’m sorry, you just look so different than how I’m used to seeing you,” he answered. “And maybe tonight you call me Rafael.”

   Minonna blushed; she had always found him attractive, from the moment she’d first met him by the holding cells of the 16th precinct. His eyes and that damned smirk had practically made her weak at the knees when she was meant to go up against him in court. It had been nearly impossible to for the first few days, but it wasn’t long for her to accept that he was likely the type of man to date gorgeous women. He was the kind of guy that in high school would’ve been the class president and captain of the debate team, while she was the type to have been the love-sick puppy dog that always offered to help with anything he needed, but never be noticed by him. So, now, in an uber with him, sitting so close and having him look at her the way he was...saying things like how beautiful she looked...it made her feel like a silly teenage girl with a crush.

   “You’re just being nice,” she said in a shaky voice.

   “No, I’m not,” he whispered, waiting until she met his eyes to add, “I really can’t take my eyes off you.”

   She swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to gain her composure again. “You know, for an ADA, you’re very charming.”

   Rafael grinned, nodding his head as he took a deep inhale of his own. “So,” he said, turning to face forward. If he kept looking at her he would end up suggesting they skip the wedding and go to dinner alone instead. “We should get our story straight.”

   She looked befuddled for a moment, brows pulling towards each other and causing a soft wrinkle in her skin between them. “Story?”

   “In case people ask about our relationship,” he reminded her, taking pleasure in the way her eyes lit up when she understood.

   “Right! Yes,” she replied. “Um, well I suppose we don’t have to lie about how we met.”

   “I think you’re right about that,” he mumbled with a smirk. “I thought you were so adorable; a little fish trying to swim in such a big pond, but with a fire in your eyes that made my palms sweaty and my stomach do somersaults.” 

   Minonna licked her lips, wondering how much of what he said was true and how much of it he was exaggerating for the sake of their ruse. She decided to assume it was the latter and began to play along. “You were so cocky, but I thought it was a little charming. I was nervous on day one of the trial.”

   “You were?” She nodded. He hummed around a smile, glancing out the window. Had she really been nervous around him? “So...how long did it take me to finally ask you out?”

   “After you won the trial,” she answered.

   He arched a brow. “Wow, I didn’t waste any time.” 

   “Oh yes, you’re aren’t a very patient man. To be honest, I’ve often wondered if you still would have asked me out had I won that case,” she teased.

   Rafael grinned, biting down on his bottom lip. “Of course I would have, but I probably would’ve waited at least until the end of the day.”

   She giggled, hand over her mouth as she shook her head. “How long have we been dating?”

   He paused to ponder, head tilting from side to side. “Six months?”

   Minonna nodded and found herself wishing that there was more light so that she could see his eyes while sitting this close to him. She could stare at his eyes for days and never grow tired of them. Inhaling through her nose, she caught the scent of his cologne and her stomach fluttered as the musky aroma invaded her senses, making her feel dizzy despite the fact that she was sitting down. His shoulder was so warm against hers, even with his jacket in the way and she found herself pressing more firmly against him as the uber came to a stop in front of the hotel.

   Rafael paid the driver before he looked at the woman beside him. “You ready?”

   “Yes,” she whispered, taking another deep breath as he opened the door and offered his hand to help her out. She grinned, accepting his grasp and fighting a shiver as it danced over her spine. Dear Lord, would she ever be able to be his opposing counsel again after having felt the warmth of his skin against hers?

   As they walked to the entrance, he pulled her closer and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be afraid. You look beautiful and we can leave anytime you want.” 

   His breath tickled the skin below her earlobe and Minonna swallowed the lump forming in her throat as another flush of goosebumps formed over her arms. She was grateful that he hadn’t seemed to notice as they walked into the ballroom and were shown to their seats. Luckily he hadn’t thought to ask why she wasn’t in the wedding party, but then he likely assumed that she wouldn’t have agreed to that to begin with. She wouldn’t have. Her sister wanted to rub her nuptials in her face, but she would’ve never wanted to take the chance that people would be talking about anything other than her. 

   Rafael let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the decorations that in his opinion were a bit on the tacky side. The white linen that had been laid on the floor between the two clusters of seats had red, scripted lettering on it that read, Of all the walks I’ve taken, this is my favorite one, with the date printed beneath it. The seats were practically bare and appeared to be framed by bamboo, with only white, sheer material tied to the ends all the way up the aisle and the tan curtains in front of the windows were too plain for his taste. 

   Moving his arm to rest on the back of Minonna’s seat, he leaned closer to her to whisper, “Would it have killed them to ask for a little color in here?”

   “She’s always thought white and eggshell are more elegant,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “I think it looks washed out.”

   “So do I,” he replied. 

   “I’m surprised she was okay with the tan drapes.”

   It wasn’t much longer before the ceremony began and Minonna couldn’t bring herself to look up, even the famous wedding march began to play, signally everyone to stand. Fingers brushed against hers and she looked up at Rafael to find him smiling at her. The entire time her treacherous older sister walked down the aisle, she was staring into the gorgeous green eyes of Rafael Barba. Even when they sat back down, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, nor did he take his off her, his own way of showing her exactly in whose corner he was tonight. 

   Manners be damned, Rafael was determined to pay the bride no mind at all. He’d resolved to place all of his attention and looks of adoration on the woman who had suffered a breach of trust that was unthinkable by two of the people closest to her. About two thirds into the ceremony, right around the time when the officiant asked if there were any objections to the union, his thumb gently stroked over her skin, eyes still locked on hers as a soft smile graced his lips.

   They didn’t applaud when the new couple was pronounced man and wife, they didn’t stand as the two newlyweds made their way back down the aisle. They just sat in their seats, staring at each other, united in every way they could be in that moment.

   “You would be very good at a staring contest,” she said as people began to file out of the room.

   “I’m stubborn,” he answered, his smile growing when she laughed and finally broke eye contact. “You feel like going to the reception?”

   She sighed as her eyes lingered on the altar for a moment before turning her head to meet his eyes again. She didn’t want to go to the reception, didn’t want to see the smug look on her sister’s face when the bride realized that she had shown up, but she also certainly wanted to have a dance with Rafael Barba, if only to feel his warmth on a much larger scale.

   “Why not. A couple of dances, some snarky remarks here and there and then we can blow this popsicle stand,” she answered, chin lifting proudly. “Besides, I could definitely use a drink.”

   “I like the way you think,” he replied, standing and instinctively reaching for her hand, sliding his fingers between her slender ones.

   The reception was held in the room across the hall and somehow was decorated even tackier than the ceremony room, but all Rafael could do was watch the woman at his side as she scanned the space for the bar. Pointing, she pulled him towards the left side of the ballroom, where the bar was and ordered two scotches, neat.

   “Neat, huh?”

   “Consider the situation,” she replied, earning a snort from him.

   “Good point,” he mumbled.

   “Did you see her dress?” she asked, taking up one of the tumblers that was placed on the bar in front of them and taking a long gulp. “It was practically a ball gown.”

   “I was actually far too happy looking at you,” he replied with a smirk, his hand releasing hers to move to the small of her back. 

   “Minonna?!” he heard from behind them, turning to look for the source and seeing a tall blonde-haired man grinning at his date. “Wow, you look incredible!” Rafael tried not to feel jealous of the way the man looked Minonna over. “I didn’t think you would make it.”

   “I wouldn’t miss my sister’s wedding,” Minonna answered sarcastically. Rafael couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to repress it. “Tom, meet my boyfriend, Rafael Barba. Rafael, this is Tom, he’s the groom’s brother-in-law.”

   Tom’s brows rose on his forehead as he shook Rafael’s hand. “Oh, well, it’s...nice to meet you.”

   “Where’s Sarah?” Minonna asked, smiling tightly at the blonde.

   “Oh, she should be back any minute. She just went to the restroom,” Tom answered, glancing at Rafael before he looked back to Minonna. “I didn’t know you were dating again.”

   Clenching her jaw, Minonna fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was about to answer when Rafael beat her to it.

   “Well, a woman like Minonna wasn’t gonna stay single for very long. She deserves to have a man that worships the ground she walks on.” He smirked at her, pulling her against his side. The smile she gave him made his heart melt in his chest and Rafael winked, giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

   A woman walked up--presumably Tom’s wife-- and placed her hand on his arm. “Honey, did you get us drinks?” She looked at him and Minonna and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Minonna...you came!”

   The shock in her tone was clear and Rafael arched a brow as his date answered, “Sure, we didn’t have anything else to do.” She bobbed her shoulders before placing her hand on Rafael’s chest and introducing him to Sarah.

   “Your...boyfriend? You brought your boyfriend to my brother’s wedding?” Sarah asked, her expression one of borderline offense.

   “Of course I did,” Minonna answered with furrowed brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”

   “Well, it’s a little tacky, don’t you think?” Sarah asked with a snort. “I mean, did you even ask if you could bring a plus one? Cause I helped with the invitations and I distinctly recall that yours didn’t include a plus one. I hope you don’t expect him to be fed, too.”

   “Oh, come now, Sarah,” Rafael teased. “It’s not nearly as tacky as your brother being a cheater or his new wife being a backstabber. Besides, if the food is anything like the decorations at this wedding, I’ll gladly pass on eating anything.” Turning his gaze to Minonna, he gave her waist another squeeze. “Cariño, we should probably go and find our table.”

   “I think you’re right,” she answered with a grin, glancing back at Sarah, who looked positively nonplussed. “It was good to see you both.”

   Without another word, the two of them walked away. Minonna gently nudged his ribs as they walked to a table near the back where they had all the seat assignments. “Oh my God, did you see the look on that witch’s face? I bet she’s never been talked to like that in her life.”

   “I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to say that to you,” he answered.

   “Yeah, she’s kind of a bitch if you didn’t notice,” Minonna replied.

   “Oh I noticed. I just feel bad for Tom,” he said. 

   “I feel worse for her four kids,” Minonna laughed, looking on the table for her place card. Finding it, she picked it up. “And of course, Maya put me at the kids table. No plus one even though I wrote it into my RSVP. I mean, I understand it was a last minute addition, but she could’ve at least had someone call to let me know beforehand.”

   “Oh, this is going to be fun after all. If you thought I could roast someone, kids have no filter,” he replied with a mischievous grin.

   “Now that is low, counselor,” she said with a serious expression before it morphed into a smile. “Let’s do it.”

   “That’s the spirit,” he mumbled, following her to the table where all the children were.

   “Should we incite a food fight?”

   “That’s probably the line right there,” he advised.

   “Hm, I’ll concede, but don’t think I won’t be imagining Maya and her dress covered in whatever it is they serve.”

   “Fair enough,” he replied as they reached their table. He wondered for a moment whether he would be taking a seat away from one of the children, but to his surprise, the young girl sitting beside Minonna looked up at him and smiled with excitement.

   “You can have my seat!” she said. “I wanna play. I don’t want to sit down, it’s boring.”

   He smiled down at the child. “Well, thank you very much. What’s your name?”

   “Daniela.”

   “Well, Daniela, I really appreciate your offer,” he said.

   “And I think you kids should be able to play as much as you want,” Minonna added. She almost felt guilty, encouraging children to run amok and quite possibly ruin the wedding for her sister...almost. “Hey, how about a game of tag?!”

   Rafael’s eyes widened at her a smirk grew on his face.

   “Yeah!!” Daniela shouted, turning to a younger boy beside her and touching his shoulder. “You’re it!!” She ran off towards the table with all the gifts and cake, some of the children following behind her.

   “You are bad,” Rafael mumbled to his date while he sat down beside her.

   “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she answered with a grin.

   The DJ turned on the mic, welcoming everyone to the reception and introducing the wedding party as well as the new bride and groom. Minonna rolled her eyes as her sister and her ex began their first dance as husband and wife. Sighing, she smiled thankfully at the waiter, who brought over salads and picked up her fork, using it to idly move the green leaves around her plate. She thought she was fine, but watching the two people who’d betrayed and hurt her so deeply dancing at their wedding was a harsh reminder that, to them, she hadn’t been enough. 

   “You okay?” she heard Rafael ask her as the DJ invited others to join the newlyweds on the dance floor.

   She bobbed her shoulders. “I guess. I know there isn’t anything I can do except move on. I just have a feeling I’ll be moving on without my sister, and that’s a little sad. I mean, what she did was so hurtful and I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive her for it but…”

   “She’s your sister,” Rafael said. “I understand you not wanting to lose the only family you have left.”

   Looking up at the ADA, she nodded and offered a heart-broken smile, allowing his gorgeous eyes to ground her. He glanced at the dance floor before turning his gaze back to her and, reaching over, he took her fork out of her hand and set it back on the table.

   Standing, he offered his hand. “Come on.”

   “Where are we going?” she asked with knitted brows.

   “Dance with me.”

   Her mouth fell open as she let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “No, no--”

   “--Come on, Minonna. Dance with me,” he said again, smile on his face and hand held out to her. “I can see them from the corner of my eye, she’s looking right over here.”

   Sighing around a smile, Minonna swallowed and took his hand, letting him lead her out the dance floor in a spot that wasn’t too close to the newly weds, but close enough for them to clearly see if they wanted to. She nearly lost her breath as one of his arms wrapped securely around her waist, bringing her flush against him, while the other held her hand to his heart. Her heart hammered in her chest and she could’ve sworn her knees were trembling from their close proximity. And his eyes, dear God, if she’d thought it was an experience to stare into his eyes while sitting beside him, she had no idea how mesmerizing it was to see them this close. They consumed her all while making the outside world fade away, and then it was just the two of them.

   Glancing down at his lips, she wondered what they might feel like pressed against her own. She imagined based on his ability with words both in and out of the courtroom that he was probably a very good kisser, and she longed to know for sure from experience. Her eyes drifted back up and the corner of her lips quirked upwards as her gaze paused momentarily on the light smattering of freckles on his nose, a feature she’d never noticed before. Meeting his stare again, she allowed herself to be immersed in all things Rafael, almost forgetting where they were. Despite the fact that she knew he was only doing her a favor, she let herself imagine that it was real. That their relationship had been her salvation from the utter humiliation and demoralization of finding her big sister in bed with her then-boyfriend.

   “What are you thinking about?” he asked in a soft voice, only loud enough for her to hear.

   Minonna blushed, lowering her eyes. “Just that what might’ve been the most depressing night of my life has turned out to be a really amazing one.” She lowered her voice to whisper to add, “Thanks for doing this for me.”

   He smirked softly at how lovely she looked when she blushed, the scent of her sending his senses into overdrive. What may have started out as him feeling sorry for her had become so much more in such a short amount of time, and he pondered on whether they would go back to their snarky, slightly venom-laced interactions when the night was over. Swallowing his nerves down as his knuckles tucked under her chin, he brought her eyes back to his. Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn’t crossing a line, he slowly leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her pout.

   A shiver fell over his shoulders, tingles cascading down his frame and settling in his groin, the process starting over when she began to kiss him back. His pulse, hot in his ears, quickened when he felt her fingers lacing in his hair. When they broke apart just as slowly as their kiss had begun, his forehead pressed against hers as he stared at her lips, slightly pink from their kiss.

   “Was that okay?” he mumbled.

   She smiled, nodding her head. “It was more than okay.”

   Grinning back and brushing his nose against hers, Rafael pulled her closer, both arms now holding her against him by the waist. He turned his head to inhale the scent of her shampoo, humming on his exhale and closing his eyes.

   From her peripheral vision, Minonna could see her sister staring at them with a grimace on her countenance, and the defense attorney smiled to herself, snuggling further into the prosecutor’s embrace. Whatever pain or resentment she’d had left over what her sister and ex had done had vanished, the bliss and safety she felt in the arms of ADA Rafael Barba taking their place.

[thedivergentdreamer]

Allies and Tone Policing

In a previous post, I wrote about civility and bigotry. I still believe in what I wrote, to an extent -- mainly that we should try to assume a person is just ignorant, not malicious. 

Some background on what prompted me to write that article...

A liberal Facebook page I liked shared a Tweet aimed at trans allies, saying that we were promoting lies by saying things like “gender and sex are not the same thing.” I was confused because, well, gender and sex aren’t the same thing. (Are they?) Several of us followers asked for clarification. Why was this wrong? If it really is wrong, then what is correct instead?

But rather than helping us understand our mistake (I still don’t think there was one), the page owner and several of their rabid followers accused us of being bigots. We were baffled. We tried to explain that no, we are not at all anti-trans, we’re allies trying to understand so we don’t inadvertently do harm. 

The OP had suggested reading/following trans authors. We were asking how to find them. You can find the autistic community by searching for #actuallyautistic. Was there a trans equivalent?

The response was nothing but mockery and derision. “We’re not going to hold your hand, figure it out yourself,” and “Oh look, this one wants a cookie for being such a good ally.”

I unfollowed that page. I felt very confused and frustrated. 

Meanwhile, a discussion about allyship was happening in a Facebook group for librarians. The group had tens of thousands of members and was very liberal. I figured if I could get reliable information anywhere, it’d be here.

So, in a discussion about allyship, I asked for a starting point to hear the authentic voice of trans folks, so I could be a better ally. I was shocked to get even more vicious dogpiling response than I had gotten from the other page.

I couldn’t believe the bullying I was seeing. I would never treat a sincere ally this way. If someone asked, “Where can I read things written by autistic people?” I would be thrilled to tell them about the #actuallyautistic tag, not mock and insult them for daring to ask!

I expressed this to the group. I told them I’m also LGBTQ+, disabled, and autistic. It made zero positive difference. If anything, they used it as fodder for further attacks. A group admin even joined in on the attacks and punished me by removing the Conversation Starter badge I had earned.

Sometimes Google is just too broad and you want to make sure you’re not getting bad info, but... what do you do? About a year later, I still don’t know how to find #ownvoices for trans people. And I am too afraid to ask anywhere.

So yes, I still stand behind my previous post about this. Sometimes allies do get bullied. This is an ugly truth we need to stop pretending doesn’t happen.

After the above situation, I saw people in other groups educating allies about self-education. They explained that marginalized folks are already exhausted from the daily battles they face in life (don’t I know it!) and that having to educate every single person they meet is further exhausting. They wished allies would attempt some research of their own first, and then ask for clarification if needed, rather than expecting the marginalized person to do all the heavy work for them.

That made complete sense to me and was certainly more helpful than “lol ally wants a cookie”! I understand that it takes a lot of emotional energy to educate, but the ROI is much better than mocking and insulting your allies. 

My personal policy

If someone is being blatantly bigoted and hateful, I report the comment as hate speech and then keep scrolling. Trolls are not worth my precious limited energy. 

However, what if someone seems to be ignorant or misguided but well-intentioned rather than hateful?

If I have enough energy, I educate them.

If I have less energy, I ask for help from others to educate them (e.g., “I don’t have the spoons for this right now, can someone please explain to this person?”).

If I have zero energy, I just keep scrolling without responding in any way at all. Because it’s not my job to educate the world. My primary job is to take care of my own health. Someone else can take on the burden for today.

That’s the beauty of a healthy community and allyship. We help each other. It’s a relay race, not a single-person marathon. If you don’t have the ability to control your emotions or educate people today, that’s fine! Walk away and take care of yourself. Not everything requires a response. 

Having been on both sides of the matter, I really believe it’s better to give no response than to give a nasty one.

Now, on the flip side...

There are times when marginalized people are not bullying their allies, and yet are accused of doing that -- when the marginalized person’s justified distress is used as an excuse for allies not to listen to them.

That’s where tone policing comes in. I found this comic strip to be fantastically informative. I hope you find it helpful, too. (If it’s too small to read, try this link. Tumblr doesn’t seem to play nice with these image dimensions.)

#actuallyautistic #tone policing #ownvoices

[kmp78]

TO ALL YOU READERS OUT THERE.

As we all know, on Dec 17 aka tomorrow new über-sensitive rules on tumblr kick in, which means all content their bots/algoritms regard as "unsuitable" will be banished from the platform. 😒

Seeing as I have almost 4 years worth of posts in my archives amounting to a grand total of tens of thousands of posts overall, there is no way for me to go over all of them and remove potentially forbidden ones.

And frankly I wouldn't even know where to start, since we have not been given any concrete guidelines regarding words/pics which "might" need to be deleted, and even if I did have guidelines to work with, the task would be too huge to undertake.

I can find over 1000 posts with the search word "P * r n" and that's just a fraction of the kinds of contents I imagine might need to be removed (one by one, of course), so that gives you an idea of the scale for that task... 😶

Yeah, there's just no possibility for me to do that.

Therefore there is a very good chance that when I wake up tomorrow morning, this blog will no longer exist.

It won't be by my choice, as I don't have any desire to retire from this project, but I can't fight against the powers of the admins on this one. 😔

So, in case that happens, I just want to say a few things while I still can.

First, a MASSIVE thank you to all who have read this blog (just on/off or regularly) and especially to those who have contributed to the making of this blog via asks, submits, reblogs and private chats. Without your contributions this blog would not be what it is (in good and in bad...), and I have no doubt that without your assistance in providing content, I would have left a long time ago.

Altho, in a cruel twist of fate, many of those provided contents will no doubt now be the reason for this blog's demise... 😂🙊

But tbh I'm not even upset about it, because the amount of entertaiment and laughs we have shared over here over the past 4 years could never be measured in money or any other form of currency.

Same of course goes for the amount of tears and aggro shared here... 😝

And speaking of which: let me just give a big ol' "F U C K Y O U and I wish nothing but the absolute worst in life for you and yours and if I saw you on fire on the street I'd struggle to even piss on you to put out the flames, you useless blob of floating diarrhea" shoutout to each and every disgusting c u n t out there who I have had the misfortune of sparring with over the years.

No need to name names.

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND YOU MOST DEFINITELY KNOW WHY I DESPISE THE LIVING SH*T OUT OF YOU.

You folks, with your pathetic fanfics and truly insane "HE'S GAIIIIIIIIII, YANNO!!!!" desperado'ing etc. and especially that one Aussie psycho and the yankee-doodle liverspotty "My BFF Aka The Old Hag Tooootes Is Ferking JL" bulldog (seriously SEEK PSYCHIATRIC HELP IMMEDIATELY), are a true waste of oxygen and pathetic testament to what a sad conglomerate of mentally challenged retards aka SFGs this fandom is.

Whatever misfortunes life tosses your way, just know you've truly deserved it. This "snow N- word" girl from "a 3rd world country across the Atlantic" has enjoyed laughing at and ridiculing/exposing your embarrassing asses here (especially those of you who turned on me for whatever reason), and will continue to do so forever. Your hilarious insanity will never be forgotten. 😙😙😙✌

No kidding, folks: your mothers FOR REALS should have spat you out.

Or maybe swallowed... 🤔 I dunno what kind of sticky-bottom slaggies your mumzies are/were so yeah maybe a good gulp would've been more her MO. 🤷🏼‍♀️

A special shoutout indeed to all those who befriended me for years and know FULL WELL what bull manure this fandom and Leto are, but still woke up one morning and decided to start hating everything about me (for reasons which are still baffling for me): you disgust me and quite honestly make me a bit sad. You USED to be sane and sensible, until the kool-aid kicked in.

Perhaps one day the magic will wear off and you'll come back to your senses again, altho for most of you I don't hold out much hope... oh well, it's not like anyone's life would be worse off without you in it. Mine certainly hasn't been! 🤣

And to all those countless fools out there who wasted their time creating fake accts with my name and pics hoping I'd quit: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂.

I hope at some point in life you look back on your actions and realize how insane you stalkers were to obsess (yes, obsess) over me.

Your efforts really got you nowhere... ⛔

Oh no wait I got major laughs and kicks from ridiculing you, so yeah you did get that far. 😂

You deserve to feel #proud . 🙏

If I'm worthy of THAT MUCH attention from you...

Damn, I must be quite awesome! 😎

(I am, actually. 🙃 Oh and I also like pizza, with pineapples and a slice of Leto... 🍕😂😎)

And then on the other side of the fence:

I could never fully express my gratitude and appreciation to the people who I have become friendly with over these years.

You also know who you are, and I will be reaching out to you via private chat later today! 😉

Honestly, you have been the absolute best thing about this entire experience and I'll value the times and experiences we have spent together for the rest of my life. 💓

The support I have received both publicly and especially privately from many out there (some I still have the pleasure of keeping in touch with, and some who have sadly faded into the distance) has been much appreciated and I hope you all realize it.

THIS community is leaps and bounds superior to the actual Mars one.

Thank you for the laughs, the freak-outs, the arguments, the secrets, for taking part in my competitions and puzzlers, for reading my Finland posts, for suggesting non-Mars topics, for sharing personal stories...

It has been one hell of a trip! 😂

I wish you folks nothing but the best and if this is the end, then perhaps at some point, somewhere out there, our paths shall cross again! 😉😘

My IG acct ( @kmp78 ) will remain (unless they too see it worthy of deleting...), so that's where you'll find me if all else fails! 😜

Also my secondary acct here ( @kmp78secondaryblog ) will remain UNLESS it's also taken down by the admins.

And of course my e-mail ( [email protected] ) also reaches me in the future, as well as my Twitter ( @kmp78obvs ).

And with that... well, there's not much else to say, I guess. The situation is what it is. 😞

Have a nice Sunday, everyone!

God willing we will meet again tomorrow. If not, then c'est la vie! 😘👋

With much ❤❤❤ (or perhaps🖕🖕🖕, depending on reader),

K

#personal #tumblr ban #thank you

[killian-whump]

@nortromthesilencer replied to your post “About this Protest...”

Social media addiction is detrimental to mental health and anxiety in the long run.

Yes, that is true.

However, your assumption that I am “addicted” to Tumblr based solely on what I wrote in that post is disturbing and infuriating. By your logic, I am similarly “addicted” to any other things I might use to distract myself during a panic attack or highly anxious period, including (but certainly not limited to):

Playing video games

Reading books

Talking to friends/family

Meditation

Needlepoint

Exercise

Writing

Watching films/shows

Customizing Funko Pop figures

Talking to a healthcare provider

Taking a walk

Cleaning/Organizing something

Rhythmic breathing

Jigsaw puzzles

Oh, but perhaps you got the impression that I’m “addicted” to Tumblr because I expressed uncertainty about being able to go 24 hours without visiting the site. Surely, that IS a red flag for addiction. However, that isn’t at all what I was talking about - and the fact that you didn’t understand that tells me you’re nowhere near experienced enough with anxiety/panic attacks to be judging others on how they handle them in the first place.

Anxiety is unpredictable. You don’t know when it might hit or what might trigger it. Some days you might not have any attacks, another day you might have several. And each one is different. Sometimes, the only thing that gets you through a panic attack is having other people around you to talk to and comfort you. Other times, the mere presence of other people in the near vicinity can actually make the anxiety worse.

My statements about possibly needing to visit Tumblr for distraction have less to do with “I can’t make it 24 hours without logging in” and more to do with “If I happen to have an anxiety event in those 24 hours and feel like Tumblr surfing is the right kind of distraction to get me through it, I’m gonna toss the lofty ideals of this protest out the fucking window and surf away without guilt, because my own personal comfort takes precedence over sticking it to Tumblr.” Implying that this kind of voluntary priority setting is akin to addiction is, frankly, insulting to people who struggle with actual addictions - people whose personal priorities, self care and rational agency are overtaken by their overwhelming compulsion to partake in their addiction.

I could see if you were concerned that I WAS exhibiting that kind of uncontrollable, compulsive behavior as my sole means for coping with my mental illness in an unhealthy way - but I clearly stated, right in the post you replied to, that I engage in distractions like Tumblr surfing whilst waiting for my medication to kick in. That, alone, should tell you that I am under a doctor’s care, responsibly taking medication prescribed to me for my specific illness(es), and NOT using distraction as my sole means of self-treatment of an anxiety disorder. Your pithy reply on Tumblr.com is not going to do anything for me that my doctor doesn’t already do, buddy.

Look, I get it. A lot of people DO use unhealthy distractions to cope with anxiety. Hell, I used to BE one of those people - and have tens of thousands of dollars in debt to show for a decade of unhealthy compulsive shopping to prove it. Making sure I don’t relapse and making sure that my current coping strategies are healthy and safe are a constant part of my life now. The last thing I need is some yahoo showing up in my notifications, cheapening my struggles as a recovering addict by histrionically acting like me logging on during a protest for ten minutes to distract myself with GIFs of my favorite actor’s handsome face is somehow a red flag akin to the time I spent money I didn’t have on something I didn’t want/need, then hid it under my own sofa so no one would ever find out about it, forgot I ever bought it, and then bought it again a month later and found the first one whilst trying to hide the second one under the fucking sofa again.

...and your comment is all the more baffling because it was made during the protest in question, meaning you obviously didn’t partake in it, yourself. So, really, you’ve got no right to judge anyone for being on Tumblr that day for any reason whatsoever. With that intention taken off the table, I honestly can’t figure out WHY you felt the need to comment at all, other than in a misguided effort to try to make yourself feel superior to a random stranger on the Internet by “schooling” them with a random and completely irrelevant factoid about things you clearly know next to nothing about. In which case... How'd that work out for ya?

#responses #nortromthesilencer #personal #off topic #tw anxiety #kw gets mad

[nemfrog]

NEMFROG REPORT 4

Week ending October 14, 2017

If you want to reblog any of the images, please use the links. That maintains the history and the archiving which I work to provide.

Join me again behind the scenes as I wipe off the makeup and strike the sets on this week’s Nemfrog Follies.

You, my audience, clapped merrily for more posts than usual this week, while at the same time you weren’t shy about tossing rotten fruit this way when you saw the intermittent dud on your feed. Still I’m feeling a bit baffled. After 22,101 posts on Nemfrog I thought I knew where the Venn diagram of my taste and your taste intersected. But, no. I know from nothing.

The image above, of the map of the United States with clusters of dots exemplifies this. As I write this report,  21 hours since the map reached you, it’s attracted 3959 notes. Four thousand notes in less than a day? That’s happened less than a half dozen times in Nemfrog history.

It wouldn’t be quite true to say that I almost didn’t post it. When I found it on the Wiedrick Historical Education Curriculum Collection of textbooks on the Internet Archive, I loved it. It matched so many categories I look for. Maps. Dots. Black backgrounds. Absurdity. I know that “each dot represents 5,000 hogs” makes sense in the realm of data visualization. But outside that realm? It may be from now on whenever I see a dot, any dot, I’ll think that it represents 5,000 hogs. A blackhead on a face? Hogs. A lot of hogs.

Even so, I didn’t expect much of reception for the post. For one thing, I posted it around 1am Pacific Time, when Tumblr posts are like those trees that keep falling in the woods that no one hears. America has gone to sleep and Europe isn’t up yet. But more than that, Tumblr doesn’t like my maps very much. You do like dots, but not maps. And then there was the whole pig farming issue. Hog farming on an industrial scale is an environmental insult. As intelligent as dogs, pigs raised on those factory farms live short lives of horror. I thought because of the prevalent vegan ethos on Tumblr, many might mistake the post as some kind of endorsement. But I know that treating animals as industrial parts is an indictment of a sick society.

So, I’ve rarely been this wrong about a post. In the time it’s taken me to write this the count jumped from 3959 to 4603. Who knows where it will be when you read this. 

This image of a solar eclipse, which I processed on Pixlr and posted during the eclipse excitement in August, is the last Nemfrog image that attained some virality and I was caught by surprise that time too. I mean I did it and it’s cool  and I’m especially gratified when the processed images I make get a good reception. I just didn’t think the blue moon with the pink corona would end up in Nemfrog’s top ten.

If I had written this report yesterday, before the map with dots caught on, the yellow crescent moon picture would have been this week’s clearcut favorite with over two thousand notes. And this one is a post that almost didn’t make it to the screen. Not because I had doubts about its charm or thoughts that Tumblr would reject it, but because it appears originally as a small image among less interesting other small images which somehow dimmed it’s value for me.

This is what the page with the crescent moon looked like when I downloaded it, except it was on its side. Now that I look it again I think I may post the bookcase, the piano and the pail. 

Speaking of smash hits, this week, this image of three shining black cherries, went over the 25,000 note threshold. Groups of threes are pleasing. That along with the the strong contrast of the black foreground and sepia background, plus the in-your-face closeup of the fruit draw in the eyes. But when you think about it, this nursery catalogue photo would be nowhere without the stems.

And now, before you chase me off the stage, the stats. You can easily see the surge in the last day resulting from the popularity of the map with dots. Welcome new followers, and thanks to everyone for making this a rewarding week on Nemfrog.

#nemfrog report 4 #week in review #nemfrog

[not-a-space-alien]

Your Own Side Outtake #5:  Be Sure to Like, Comment, And Subscribe If You Want To See More

Rating: G

Series masterpost

On AO3

Adramelech was gaining weight.

Sylvia could not figure out why.  It was one of the many things she had noticed about her demonic companion since they had moved in together.

Back up a little. Sylvia and Adramelech had moved in together.  It was a relatively recent development, one that Sylvia had mixed feelings about.

Sylvia herself had been the one to suggest it, saying that they could save money by sharing a flat, and she regretted it as soon as Adramelech accepted.  Because now she had to confront her feelings, which didn’t make much sense to her.

Sure, Adramelech loved her, but he loved her in the same way that he loved their dog Paprika and his friend Aziraphale.  He loved a lot of things.  He was just kind of that way.  And Sylvia was starting to think that maybe she loved Adramelech, but not in the same way that she loved their dog Paprika.

Which was something she was not pleased to have to suddenly start wrestling with herself about. Because even if she made up her mind, she was sure Adramelech would not reciprocate her feelings. And now she had to stand seeing him every morning with his hair mussed up from sleep, sleepily padding into the kitchen and offering to cook her breakfast…

They had separate bedrooms. Adramelech had not seemed to care either way, but Sylvia had insisted on that point.  It was a good thing they had gone that route, though, because their flat also came with two bathrooms, and another thing she had discovered about her companion was that he spent at least three solid hours in the bathroom each day, if not more.

Usually one solid hour of that was luxuriating in the bathtub.  He came home every week with different concoctions for the bath, one of which was, alarmingly, named a bomb. When she saw what color the bathtub was after the water had drained, she understood the name.

And then there was the hair and makeup.  Adramelech had an entire closet full of things that looked like torture instruments for beating his hair into shape. He had a flat iron for when it was too curly, and when it was too flat, he had a curling iron.  He had shampoos and sprays to make it less volumous when it took up too much space, and when it didn’t take up enough, he had volumising shampoos and sprays to make it take up more.  And his beard.  He had a kit the size of a toolbox full of scissors and tweezers and trimmers of every conceivable shape and size for his facial hair.  Sometimes he spent an hour meticulously plucking his eyebrows out, only to draw them back on with what looked like a pencil. He bought makeup that was the exact same shade of brown as his skin tone and put it all over his face before beginning any of his makeup, and his face always looked exactly the same with or without it.

There was so much makeup. Sylvia wanted to suggest to him to start buying it in gallon drums instead of those tiny palettes the store gave him.

And the most amazing thing to Sylvia was that Adramelech did not grow bored of it, ever.  Each new compact case was met with the same enthusiasm as the last few thousand. Each new eyeshadow had endless possibilities. And sometimes when he was upset, he could go buy a new and exciting color and feel better.  Sometimes Sylvia could tell the difference between it and the colors he already had, and sometimes she could not.

It was baffling to her. For a while after she had been incorporated, Sylvia had been afraid to try any of these aspects of making up one’s appearance because she thought it would be considered vanity.  But she had gotten over it eventually, and had tried putting on makeup and shaving her legs, and she hadn’t liked it at all.  She stuck to simpler trappings from then on.

Sometimes Adramelech even sat in front of the computer, recording himself putting on makeup and narrating what he was doing as though he were explaining it to someone else. That part she did not understand most of all, but Adramelech had always been a bit….strange, so she did not bother him about it.

“Come on!” Sylvia would shout, banging on the bathroom door a few minutes after they had been scheduled to leave for some event.  “We’re going to be late!”  And Adramelech would always say he wasn’t done with some aspect of his preening routine, which he estimated would take another five minutes and invariably took at least fifteen.

Sylva had simply gotten into the habit of telling him they had to leave about half an hour earlier than they actually did, which usually got them there on time.

But back to the first thing. Adramelech had been gaining weight, and Sylvia could not imagine why. He ate like…well, like a bird.  Sylvia was not sure to exactly what extent a demon’s eating habits correlated with the feeding habits of their animal form, but she had never seen Crowley swallow a mouse or Maltha begin to peck at birdseed, so she had no way of knowing.  But Adramelech had always eaten very lightly and consequently had always been rather skinny.

One day she could hear Adramelech getting upset about how his favourite pair of purple jeans no longer fit him, and she offered to take him clothes shopping, which she regretted after it ended up taking about six hours.  He fretted about how he had gone up a pants size.

“That’s no big deal,” Sylvia told him.  “Goodness knows we don’t have to worry about our health.  And it’s not like you’re the only one.  You’re still much smaller than Aziraphale.”

Adramelech did not seem convinced, saying it was all well and good when Aziraphale was fat, but Adramelech had a different image to maintain.

“For whom?” said Sylvia incredulously.  “Adra, don’t worry about it.”

Sylvia would find her answers soon enough, but not in the way she expected.

It happened one day when Adramelech was doing that strange thing, talking to his computer while putting on makeup. When Sylvia brought him a mug of lemonade, he pulled her into view of the screen and said excitedly, “Hey, everyone look who it is! It’s Sylvia!”

“Adramelech, who are you talking to?” said Sylvia, a bit alarmed.

“Oh, I can edit you out if you don’t want to be in the video,” said Adramelech, beginning to brush some of his foundation onto Sylvia’s face.  She scrunched up under the attempts at beautification, sipping her own lemonade in between strokes.

“You’re making a video?”

“Yes. I’m showing everyone how to blend this new highlighter I just got.”

She looked down at the smattering of makeup on the table.  “…and why are you doing that?” she said, feeling completely lost.

Adramelech blushed.  “Er. To inspire vanity.”

“Vanity?”

“Vanity is my favourite mortal sin.”

"...Mm-hmm.”  She took another sip.  “And who exactly are you showing? Who is ‘everyone’?”

“My Instagram followers, mostly,” said Adramelech.  “Although my YouTube channel has been getting more subscribers.”

“People go online just to watch you do your makeup?”

“You’d be surprised how humans eat it up. One of my Instagram posts was shared to tumblr and it’s got over ten thousand notes.”

A few rapid clicks pulled up a blue website on his screen.  Sylvia looked at it without understanding much.

“This person called you their ‘gender-nonconforming husband,’” said Sylvia.  “You’re not really married to them, are you?”

“I’ve never met her, actually.  And I’m not really sure what that word means.”

“Adramelech, how many of these videos have you made?” said Sylvia, taking control of the mouse and scrolling down his YouTube page.

“I make one every week,” said Adramelech.

“…all right,” said Sylvia. “And people go online to watch them?”

“Yes.”

“But why do you put them up? Just for fun?”

“Vanity.”

“Adramelech, I’ve never seen you put this much work into anything.  That can’t be the only reason.”

“Well, I do get paid…”

“What?  How?  YouTube is free, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s ad revenue.”

“How much?”

“Ummm….”

“How much?”

Adramelech pulled up his bank account and showed her.

“Adramelech!  Every time I go to pay the electric bill you tell me you don’t have any money! What are you spending this all on?”

“Er, well, some of it is for more makeup, and some on stuff for the bath…”

“And the rest of it…?”

“Look, have you ever been to Lush?” said Adramelech.  “That stuff isn’t cheap.”

“Adramelech!  There’s no way you spent all of this on cosmetics!”

“All right,” said Adramelech, sorrowfully.  “You caught me.  I didn’t spend it all on cosmetics.”

“What?” said Sylvia. “Then on what?”

He shame-facedly evacuated the computer chair and led her into his bedroom.

“Please don’t judge me, Sylvia,” he said, weeping.  “This is so embarrassing.”

“What?” said Sylvia, growing alarmed.  “What is it?”

Adramelech put his hand on the knob to his closet.  “You don’t understand what it’s like being a demon.  You get…urges!”

“Urges?” said Sylvia. “Adramelech, I swear to God, what have you got in this closet?”

Adramelech chickened out at the last second. Sylvia wrestled past him to pull the closet open.

A cascade of plastic sacks came tumbling out, falling over each other with a rattling noise.

Sylvia blinked at what had come out of the closet.  “Is this… birdseed?”

Adramelech wrung his hands.

“You were hiding fifty kilos of birdseed in the closet because you didn’t want me to see you eating it?”

Adramelech dramatically threw his hands over his face and fell backwards into the plastic sacks, sprawling out among them.  “It’s not even the healthy kind!” he sobbed.  “It’s the kind they tell you not to feed to ducks because it’ll make them overweight.  It’s just so good!”

Sylvia’s face turned red as she suppressed a laugh.  Adramelech’s feathers flared out.  “It’s not funny, Sylvia!  I know I have a problem!”

“The only problem is that you won’t help me pay the electric bill,” said Sylvia.  “Come on, Adra.  Stop being so melodramatic. I don’t care if you eat birdseed.”

“Really?” Adramelech sniffled.

“Of course.  It’s going to take a little more than that to drive me off.  You’re stuck with me, weirdo.”

Adramelech brightened.  “I can always count on you, Sylvia.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic

[panharmonium]

Glancing sideways at Obi-Wan, remembering his former Master’s restrained but heartfelt praise of that mission, he felt a twinge of guilt.

I wish I could tell him about Padme. The Jedi are wrong. Love doesn’t weaken us. It makes us stronger. I wish Padme and I could show him that. He’s very alone.  (Karen Miller, Wild Space)

about the quote accompanying that last edit - 

i haven’t read wild space for so long, i forgot a lot of the things i didn’t like about it.  but like all the karen miller books i’ve read, it’s not my personal favorite.  and it’s been a long time since i wrote any star wars meta, but i’ve had that edit in my likes for months and i don’t want to attach a bunch of irrelevant meta to someone else’s lovely work, so here i am.

to whoever the anon was who asked me if i would write jedi order meta (a million years ago, i realize) - at the time i said i wasn’t sure, but times have, apparently, changed.

disclaimer:  personal opinions ahoy!  if they are not your opinions, that’s great! cool beans!  this is a fictional universe in which we all engage for fun; no need to get stressed - please feel free to hit the ‘ew, don’t like it’ tumblr button and go have fun with fandom in whatever way appeals to you! :)

(that disclaimer includes a request to please refrain from reblogging this for the sole purpose of arguing or starting a star wars debate™, even a good-natured one.  i’m literally just trying to organize my own personal interpretation of something on my own personal blog, for my own personal enjoyment.  i promise you there is no need to hit me up with ‘BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THE FOLLOWING REBUTTAL - ’  i promise.  it’s cool.)

(under a cut for absurd length and many scanned book excerpts)

so, that wild space quote.  

my response to it hinges entirely on a question of author vs. character.

if this is solely a character’s point of view, then i find it eminently believable. this is a thing anakin might say.  it demonstrates yet again anakin’s fundamental misunderstanding of everything he’s ever been taught, but it’s very much a believable misunderstanding for him to operate under.

if this character bit is supported and endorsed by the author - which i suspect is the case, given that this is the angle i see the majority of star wars authors and fans taking - then that’s a different thing.

i feel like i’ve written variations on this post several times before, but surprisingly enough i am still staunchly opposed to virtually every interpretation of the jedi i have ever read, including wild space (shocking, i know, what can i do). it’s frustrating to me that the Prevailing Opinions out there about the Jedi Order are virtually all assumptions, not facts, and that these assumptions have for some reason been accepted as the only possible truth, the only possible extrapolation from canon, when in fact it is just as reasonable, just as textually-supported, and, i would argue, more realistic for us to extrapolate and make inferences supporting a different conclusion.

anakin’s interpretation of the jedi order in the quote above represents the Prevailing Opinion: “the jedi are wrong.  love doesn’t weaken us.”  this interpretation, in turn, relies on an assumption: “the jedi think love weakens us.” however, contrary to popular belief, the statement "the jedi think love weakens us” IS in fact exactly what i said it is: an ASSUMPTION.  

a presumption, i might even say, and one that i don’t personally feel is particularly well-supported by canon.  even anakin himself, when teased by padme, shows that he’s been taught enough jedi philosophy to know that “love” is more complicated than “love/emotions = bad!” and that “love” and “attachment” are not the same thing.

Padme: Are you allowed to love? I thought that was forbidden for a Jedi.

Anakin: Attachment is forbidden.  Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi's life.  So, you might say that we are encouraged to love.

which is still something of a rudimentary explanation, less nuanced than what an older knight or master might give you, but it absolutely indicates a deeper philosophical understanding of jedi pillars than what people usually credit anakin for knowing or obi-wan for teaching.

obi-wan says in ANH that the jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy for “over a thousand generations.”  now, even estimating ridiculously low and saying that humans in the star wars universe only ever live to be thirty years old (i don’t know! it’s a dangerous galaxy!), a thousand generations is still thirty thousand years.  that’s…. significantly longer that our society’s entire written history, never mind the lifespan of any one modern-day religion.  

when we have so little canon information about the jedi order, obviously everybody is free to extrapolate about it however they like, but - when you look at things and recognize how truly old the order is - it’s just baffling to me that there is so little attention paid to canon/legends textual evidence of the philosophical nuance of the jedi order, to the near-certain existence, as with any real-world religion, of varying yet equally accepted schools of thought within the jedi order (not schools of thought elevated above the jedi order by some lazy label like ‘grey jedi’), to the idea that the jedi order is OVER A THOUSAND GENERATIONS OLD, and can you honestly not envision the sheer volume of scholarly debate and theological treatises and movements and growth and accumulated history and depth and internal interpretations that this organization necessarily must encompass?  think about any real-world religion today - think about how many different interpretations one religion might have for a single line of holy text, never mind an entire holy book - think of all the non-textual supplementary material that contributes to any philosophy or theology, i.e. the hadith; think about the exegesis that accompanies any religious text; think of the incredible volume of critical thought and literature and liturgy that falls under the umbrella of just one modern-day religion, and can you honestly imagine that the jedi order - which again is tens of THOUSANDS of years older than any of our religions - isn’t bursting at the seams with philosophy and history, with debate and interpretation, with myriad streams of literalist and revisionist schools of thought - ALL equally jedi, and ALL included in a jedi education?  

do we honestly think that the jedi code is five precepts scribbled on a piece of flimsi, and that everybody interprets them the same way?  we know that’s not true.  mace windu tells qui-gon that taking a second padawan is impossible because “the code forbids it,” and i hear that - but nowhere in the familiar ‘there is no emotion’ mantra do we get guidelines for padawan-raising.  that directive has to come from somewhere else.  we KNOW there’s more text.  we KNOW there’s more history.  but somehow we just refuse to extrapolate this knowledge out to its fullest logical extent, which is that the jedi order has a thousand generations’ more history, more text, more commentaries, more scholarly debates on every subject, and that while one tradition for, say, padawan-raising is accepted currently, the one-padawan/one-master convention isn’t just some arbitrary rule.  every structure and every tradition comes with a history, a conversation, and about 200 philosophical treatises, all of which are considered equally Jedi, and all of which are available to be checked out from the Archives.

this is how it would really work: padawans taking exams are tasked with answering questions like ‘explain, with textual evidence, so-and-so’s interpretation of the Fourth Precept, including references to such-and-such’s landmark rebuttal and the modern-day commentaries of X, Y, and Z.”  when masters tell their students that levitating their clothes into the laundry chute is a frivolous application of the Force and thus to be discouraged, certain impudent young scholars *cough obi-wan kenobi cough* troop down to the Archives and return later that night with ten different texts in hand, all of them ruminating on virtue or vice: applications of the force in everyday life, relevant portions circled. padawans taking saber classes are instructed not only in the elements of combat but in philosophical paradigms, and ethical dilemmas - a “real discussion about competing conceptions of the good” (to quote the office, of all things!), as in this excerpt from cloak of deception:

or this, about emotions:

With both eyes open now, he studied his Padawan. Obi-Wan sat cross-legged in a chair with his eyes closed. But his shoulders were tensed, and beneath his eyelids Qui-Gon could see movement.

“Are you all right, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked softly.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and met his Master’s gaze. “Yes,” he said slowly. And then, “Well, I don’t know.”

“You are afraid,” Qui-Gon stated plainly.

A look of shame came over Obi-Wan’s face, but he did not deny it. “My heart is full of dread,” he admitted. “I wish we were on another mission - any other mission. I am not sure I have the courage to face the Holocron…”

Qui-Gon leaned toward his apprentice. “You have every right to be afraid,” he said quietly. “Allow yourself to feel the fear - really feel it - and then let the emotion go. If it comes back, feel it again and let it go again. There should be no shame in one’s emotions.”

“I am not at fault if it comes back?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up.

“No, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied. “We cannot control how we feel. Only how we choose to handle our feelings.”

A look of true relief crossed Obi-Wan’s face, and he smiled slightly. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. (JA, Jude Watson)

about love:

No attachments. He did not see this as a conflict. He saw it as a great truth - that he could love, but have no wish to possess. That he could trust, but not resent those who let him down. (JA, Jude Watson)

about discipline, from Rogue Planet - discipline tempered by understanding, discipline that instructs rather than punishes, discipline that is as willing to point out the teacher’s error as it is the student’s:

and

THAT is the kind of education obi-wan kenobi received, and that is the education he provided for his own student. that is the jedi order. qui-gon jinn’s interpretation of jedi precepts and philosophy doesn’t make him something un-jedi.  it doesn’t make him a radical, and it doesn’t make him a “grey” jedi. “grey” jedi isn’t a thing.  differing interpretations and meaning-making, in this thousand generation-long tradition of scholarship and spiritual development, IS jedi - certain universal principles that the entire order accepts, but with nuances, readings, and applications that vary across individuals/traditions/historical periods.  

THAT is the jedi order.  or at least, it’s a more realistic conception of the jedi order than the oversimplified, unlikely, and unimaginative version that authors are typically referring to when they write sentences like “the jedi are wrong about love.”

#boop be doop i fell down a star wars shaped hole today #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #that quote though -_- #'i wish padme and i could show him that' honestly the most condescending foolishness #like obi-wan doesn't actively choose the life he lives every single day #also uhhhhh good lord it's late #this is why i don't write meta anymore; i don't have tIME #but anyway the jedi deserved a few hours of my day #star wars #meta #order appreciation

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 01: THE TEMPLE KNIGHTS

QUEST SUMMARY:

After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan’s superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it’s not as easy as signing on the dotted line…

CHAPTER 2: KNIGHTLY

Looking down at the tiny little section of his tent where his bunk sat, Jahaan suddenly felt very sentimental. This ten by ten square of cloth and grass had been his home for the past two years. He’d had bunkmates come and go, but there he remained.

From under his low bed he dragged out a tattered rucksack, dusted it off, and opened it up wide. All that was inside it was his paypackets from his time in the Guard, alongside a thick sweater and an amulet he was given in Menaphos as a child, just before he left the desert city.

Then, he pulled out everything he’d kept over the years from beneath the bed: a small fishing net, an iron dagger he’d smithed himself, a bronze hatchet, a tinderbox, and a handful of runes for some of the simplest of spells.

After carefully packing all of these into his rucksack, he searched around the rest of the tent for some spare rations he could commandeer for his travels. All he managed to find were stale bread rolls and a couple of bruised bananas. Frowning, he packed them anyhow, hoping the Temple Knights would feed him better than he was used to.

“Knock knock,” Ozan called out from outside the tent, poking his head in and examining the lavish surroundings. “You all packed?”

“Yep,” Jahaan confirmed. “Are you sure you want to risk coming to Falador with me? Didn’t you say the White Knights had a warrant out of you for trying to steal Sir Vyvin’s armour?”

Ozan snorted. “I’d rather take my chances with the White Knights than the white wolves on that mountain. I’m sailing to Catherby from Port Sarim, so it’s on my way.”

Shuddering at the thought of traversing White Wolf Mountain - once is enough for a lifetime; very few people survive it twice - Jahaan agreed Ozan’s chances with the Falador army were much better than those beasts. Besides, it gave them a chance to spend some quality time with their adopted troll baby, who as they were talking, chewed at his bunkmates bed linen.

“Seeing Ariane, are we?” Jahaan guessed with a wink.

Ozan broke out into a blush. “Maybe…”

The next morning, they were ready to leave. Well, Jahaan was - it took a few kicks to wake Ozan up at the early hour. After saying his goodbyes to his former comrades, Jahaan and Ozan left the principality and headed into Burthorpe’s town centre, making straight for Doric’s armoury. Over his time in the Guard, Jahaan had grown rather fond of the dwarf that owned the shop. He was always on hand to fix his dented armour, reminisce about battles since gone, or just share a pint of ale, or two, or seven...

The little bell rang as soon as Jahaan entered the hut, and he was greeted by a jolly smile from the dwarven store-owner. “Jahaan!” his gruff voice cheered.

However, as soon as the dwarf set his eyes upon Ozan, his warm demeanour slipped away in a heartbeat.

“Hey, no! You! Get out! Get!” he grabbed the newspaper next to him, rolled it up and repeatedly banged it on the counter, occasionally pointing it up at Ozan, who stood baffled in the doorway.

“What?! What have I- HEY!”

The dwarf resorted to throwing things from his perimentre at Ozan, luckily veering towards stationary and papers rather than one of the myriad of weapons that surrounded him. Jahaan didn’t dare step between them, but he tentatively reached his hands out, trying to calm this particular storm without landing a tape measure to his skull.

“Doric, take it easy!” he pleaded, snapping at Ozan, “Wait outside.”

Still completely perplexed by the dwarf’s hostility, shielding his face with his arms, Ozan wailed, “I haven’t done anything!”

“I find that hard to believe. Now close the door behind you.”

Once he was content Ozan had left, the dwarf untensed his shoulders, calming his angry breathing. Putting down the ruler-turned-spear, he said, “You shouldn’t hang around with scum like him.”

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan straightened his collar out and asked, “What happened between you two?”

“My wife!” he exclaimed, loudly. “He went for my wife!”

“I did not ‘go’ for your wife,” Ozan defended, muffled from beyond the door. “I was just being polite to her!”

From the impact of the hammer Doric threw against the door, the wood splintered quite grandly.

Gruffly, Doric continued, “Philanderin’ cad… I won’t have him anywhere near my shop.”

“Yeah, this does not come as a surprise to me,” Jahaan concurred, ignoring the insulted outcry from outside. “I just came to say my goodbyes. I’m on my way to Falador - Commander Denulth has recommended me for the Temple Knights,” he could barely contain his pride.

The dwarf shared in his glee too, his eyes lighting up like the distant stars. The glint in them was warmer than a thousand candles. Rushing around the counter, he squeezed Jahaan in a tight embrace, nearly crushing Jahaan’s hips as he did. “My boy! I’m so proud of you, laddy. Ahh you’ll make a fine knight. Promise you’ll come back and visit, only without that good-for-nothin’ behind you.”

Winking slyly, Jahaan replied, “How about I promise you that he’ll never step foot in Burthorpe again, lest he lose one of the two things he prizes the most?”

A smirk broke out on Doric’s hardy face. “Sounds fair to me. Oh, before you go, I wanna give you somethin’...”

Brushing off Jahaan’s assurances that he needn’t gift him anything, Doric began rummaging in the back of his shop. When he returned from the store room, he was holding a razor sharp, beautifully crafted, cyan blue dagger. He offered it up to Jahaan, who’s shining eyes were transfixed on the perfect blade, mouth agape. “I’ve just started smithin’ runite. This one turned out the best.”

Jahaan breathed out, slowly. He’d never even held runite before. “For… for me?”

“That’s right, laddy. Here, take it.”

Very delicately, Jahaan plucked the dagger from Doric’s hands, holding it as gentle as if it were a newborn baby.

Laughing, Doric exclaimed, “Those things are meant for fightin’, you don’t need to be so scared of the damn thing. Hold it like a man!”

Feeling more comfortable with Doric’s assurance, Jahaan switched up his stance and twirled the blade around it fingers, a trick he’d learnt from a fellow guardsman a year back.

“That’s my boy!” Doric slapped Jahaan on the back, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re a good lad. Don’t die out there.”

Tucking the blade in his belt, Jahaan smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to.”

When Jahaan emerged from Doric’s store, he saw Ozan had given the storefront a wide berth. The younger man’s eyes shot to Jahaan’s hip, eyes wide and shining. “Whoa, is that a dagger in your belt, or are you just happy to see me?”

Grinning, Jahaan took it from his hip and allowed Ozan to carefully inspect it. “A parting gift from Doric. He told me to castrate you with it if you returned to Burthorpe.”

Instantly, Ozan pushed the blade back in Jahaan’s direction. “Well, I’ll cross this off my holiday destination list then.”

“Seriously though, Doric’s WIFE?”

“I didn’t know she was his wife!” Ozan protested, like a child desperately proclaiming he didn’t spill the ink while covered head to toe in it. “Come on, we can probably make it to Taverley in time for dinner if we pick up the pace. This pretty face does not scream ‘wild camping’.”

They made it to Taverley by twilight. At Ozan’s insistence, they stayed at one of the nicest little bed and breakfasts in the small town. In exchange for a few gold coins and a couple of pints, Ozan regaled the patrons of the establishment with daring tales of how he defeated the legendary ‘three-headed mountain jackal of Nardah’ with only a slingshot and some rotten fruit. Naturally, he’d embellished a little… the jackal only had one head, and he had a bow and arrow to fight it off. The only reason it was vicious in the first place was that, drunkenly, Ozan thought it’d be funny to throw a rotten apple at it. Still, the patrons seemed to get a kick out of the tale, and Jahaan wasn’t about to pass up free ale.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast for themselves and a half a can of garbage for Coal, they set off for Falador.

The crisp, beautiful weather of northern Gielinor shined on them that morning; glistening dew graced the grasslands that bordered their pathway, while the early morning sun bathed everything in an amber glow, carving out a picturesque scenery that stretched out before them. Along their travels, they encountered many other citizens making their journeys between the two cities. Some pushed carts full of wares and goods to market wherever the market took them; Jahaan had to drag Ozan away by his hair on more than one occasion - the man was like a magpie for anything shiny.

Coal was testing out his little legs to the maximum, determined to keep up with the two of them. The poor thing was barely as high as their shins, so Ozan and Jahaan took it in turns to let him sit on their shoulder as they traversed the pathways. Coal’s eyes shined with glee at the excitement of being up high.

They reached the high walls of Falador by twilight, white bricks tinted pink in the evening shadow. Half a dozen White Knights stood watch outside the entrance, with more pacing the fortifications above them.

Suddenly, Ozan stopped walking and passed Coal to Jahaan. With a wince, he hopped backwards a few steps. “Uhh you two go on without me. I’ll find a more interesting way inside.”

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan pointed out, “I thought you said they wouldn’t remember.”

“I did? Well…” he laughed nervously. “I mean, they probably wouldn’t, but… they have big swords, and after all that walking, I really don’t fancy having to make a run for it. You know, IF they happened to remember. Which they probably wouldn’t. But-”

“Just go,” Jahaan interrupted, shaking his head with a grin. “I’ll meet you at the Rising Sun Inn. If you don’t get thrown in the castle dungeon, that is…”

Modern day Falador was founded in the Year 8 of the Fifth Age, and with a population of over a hundred thousand, it stood as one of the largest cities in all of Gielinor, and the capital of the Asgarnia region. Citizens came from far and wide to trade in the market square that bustles from dawn to dusk, or to enjoy the variety of inns offering a wide range of scrumptious dishes. The main attraction, however, was the White Knights Castle, the largest fortress in the Saradominist world, managing to stand superior to the castles of the kings in surrounding regions. Though technically Falador was still a kingdom, the king - King Vallance - has no power in the city. As he is very old and very ill, the White Knights gained political supremacy in his absence, and in order to ‘protect’ the king, they moved him to an undisclosed location. Many speculate the king is long since dead, but voicing such rumours isn’t wise if one values their tongue. The impressive military of the White Knights and the Faladian City Guards have long held back sieges from the Black Knights of the North, along with keeping at bay smaller Zamorakian plots and civil unrest spurred from those not content with the vice-like grip the Knights hold on the city.

With a friendly nod to the Knights he passed, Jahaan stepped forward into the perfectly paved, pristine city of Falador. Instantly, the crowds hit him, a pained cry from the blissful serenity outside the walls. Knowing he’d have to be ruthless, Jahaan steeled himself and weaved his way determinedly through the masses, mercilessly carving a path for himself. Though he tried his best to dodge and weave, sometimes a stern shunt to the shoulder is necessary to kick-start the idle legs of lazy tourists.

It’d been quite a while since Jahaan had last been in Falador, but he was too proud to ask for directions. Deciding the main road was doing nothing for his sanity, he thought it’d be wise to try and bypass the crowds by dipping into the side streets and making his way across the city through them.

About an hour later, and after passing the same barber’s three times, he regretted everything.

“Ozan better spin a really good tale to buy us dinner…” he grumbled to himself, continuing through the darkening city in what he hoped was the right direction. Coal was already growling with hunger; it took a lot of energy he didn’t have to keep the troll from trying to eat everything they passed.

After gods knew how long, he finally stumbled into the Rising Sun Inn, just as the sun had set. Ozan was already waiting there, at the bar, surrounded by two ladies and three pints of ale. Seeing an exhausted Jahaan stagger over the the bar top, he tutted and said, “And here I thought you were standing me up. Thank goodness I had these lovely young ladies to console my wounded heart.”

Trying and failing to a muster a polite smile to Ozan’s company, Jahaan slumped over the bar and motioned for a drink. “Dinner’s on you,” was all he said before he closed his eyes and tried to remember what silence sounded like.

Jahaan didn’t fully remember the large roast lamb Ozan had ordered for the two of them, accompanied by another two pints of ale. He didn’t remember Ozan joining in with the local musician who sang Oh Tales of The Elves three times on Ozan’s behest, until the patrons were so sick of it they threw a shoe at him. Jahaan didn’t remember the bar fight that ensued, not after the shoe incident - Ozan had shrugged that off with a laugh - but when he overheard someone saying he sounded like a strangled oxen. He didn’t remember four pints of ale dotted between these events, or the three that followed. He didn’t even remember going to bed, so it was quite a shock when he woke up with Ozan curled up next to him, sporting a fearsome looking black eye and cuddling Coal.

Jahaan’s pounding, swirling head, however, did not thank him for it. After revisiting last night in half a bucket, Jahaan at least felt well enough to rouse Ozan. However, he quickly thought better of it - the last time he dealt with one of Ozan’s hangover’s still gave him nightmares.

Instead, he stretched out his muscles, picked up his dagger and backpack, and went downstairs to eat the blandest thing on the inn’s menu.

A hearty breakfast of weak tea and unbuttered bread later, Jahaan was ready to face the world. Then, he opened the door, and shrivelled as the midday sun pierced his retinas and scorched his very soul, igniting his previously dulled headache.

“This is going to be a long day…” Jahaan sighed to himself, taking a deep breath before making his way towards Falador Park.

Falador was home to the largest park inside of any city in Gielinor; thirty acres of lush grass and neatly plotted flowerbeds, all attentively tended to by farmers from across the city. Alongside beautiful rows of multi-coloured petals were many patches of crops that helped feed the citizens of the Kingdom of Asgarnia.

The man he needed to speak to - Sir Tiffy Cashien - was known for spending most afternoons by one of the ponds in Falador Park. It stretched a quarter of the length of the city, with ponds, fields, trees and flower gardens to while away the hours around. The last time Jahaan had passed through, he saw the revered Knight gleefully feeding the hungry ducks half a loaf of bread in the oval shaped pond near the centre of the park, but he’d never dared approach the man before. In all honesty, Jahaan was rather embarrassed to introduce himself. He didn’t want to look like a fool, or trip over his words, or his laces, or anything that fate would deign rather amusing in front of one of his heroes.

After wandering the perimeter enough to confidently shake off his hangover, or at least shrink it to a reasonable size, he made towards the oval pond.

Here, predictably, he found Sir Tiffy Cashien sipping delicately at a cup of tea.

Before he started to approach him, however, his eyes caught sight of the six marble statues bordering the eastern edge of the pond. Halting in his tracks, he swallowed down bile that rose to his throat. The familiar eyes of the statues seemed to be following him, staring through his very being.

Taking a long, quivering breath, Jahaan shook his head, as if to physically shake the thoughts from his mind. Then, he steadied his resolve back to the task at hand.

Rummaging through his backpack, he plucked out the sealed envelope and, with as much grace and confidence as he could muster, walked up to the knight.

Sir Tiffy’s Temple Knight armour gleamed in the sunlight, wrapping around him like a golden cloak. Despite his age, his physical stature was still rather impressive, and his accolades spoke for themselves: decorated warrior, expert swordsman, and a soldier in the War of 164. Now he headed up recruitment for the Temple Knights, a Saradominist military organisation. Jahaan had always dreamed of meeting the man in person, only hearing tales of his bravery and valour around campfires in Burthorpe.

When Jahaan approached, he was greeted with an astonishingly welcoming smile that warmed his heart. “Good day, m’lad! How may I help you?”

“Sir Tiffy Cashien,” Jahaan kelt, bowing his head low. “I bring correspondence from Commander Denulth of the Imperial Guard of Burthorpe.”

If he had been looking into his eyes, Jahaan would have noticed Sir Tiffy sour at the name. “Hm. I hope this here isn’t another conscription request. I say, I get about one a month, what?”

After motioning for Jahaan to rise, Sir Tiffy carefully prised off the seal, slipped the letter out of its envelope and readjusted his monocle before beginning to read. The natural friendliness in his features gradually returned the further down he read. Once he was done, he carefully folded the letter up and tucked it away into his little satchel, regarding Jahaan with a curious expression.

“The commander has a lot to say about you, young lad,” Sir Tiffy remarked. “He thinks I should make you a Temple Knight. What do you make of that?”

As he rehearsed, Jahaan replied, “It would be an honour to serve the kingdom, sir.”

“Ah, but we don’t just serve the kingdom, m’lad - we serve Saradomin,” Sir Tiffy pointed out. As he spoke, his long white beard tickled his chin, and it made him smile even more. There was an air of joy about the man as he fumbled his way around a sentence, sipping his tea intermittently and with delight. “Are you a Saradominist, son?”

Jahaan bit the inside of his lip. “Yes sir.”

It didn’t fool Sir Tiffy, evidently, as the man raised an eyebrow and pressed, “Are you really, lad? To be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me - unless you’re a Zamorakian, you can become a Temple Knight. Traditions aren’t my cup of tea. Tea is my cup of tea, here. Are you a Zamorakian, my boy?”

“No sir.”

“Guthixian, perhaps? You spent a lot of time with them up there in Burthorpe,” Sir Tiffy guessed, curiosity growing tenfold when Jahaan said he wasn’t. “Well, what then?” his eyebrows narrowed. “You aren’t another one of those cabbage worshippers, are you? Son, if I come across another one of those nutrition-guided fanatics I’ll-”

“I’m not particularly religious, sir,” Jahaan broke in, trying not to smirk at Sir Tiffy’s flurry. “I mean, I grew up in the desert, and they have the Pantheon, but I wouldn’t call myself an avid practicer of anything.”

Sir Tiffy seemed a little perturbed by this. “Not religious, m’lad? Hmph. Rare to see one of those nowadays. Well, better than the cabbage god.”

Taking the final sip of his tea, Sir Tiffy took his time to breathe in the fresh air around him, admiring the ducklings playing in the nearby pond. “I’ve got something that needs urgent attention, but these ol’ bones weren’t meant for travelling. One of our operatives - Sir Tendeth - is on his way back from a reconnaissance mission, gathering information about a possible attack on human settlements. He’ll be sailing back from Mos Le'Harmless tonight. Go to Port Sarim to meet him, and bring him back here safely. He's undercover, so he’ll probably be dressed as a pirate. Help me here, and I’ll make you a Temple Knight in no time.”

Suppressing his urge to grin in excitement, Jahaan once again bowed low. “Yes sir!”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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