#we tried going to a historical small town but it was not accessible AT ALL

[thedisablednaturalist]

Went out Saturday for date night with my beloved~ I decided to be snail themed to match my new @mayakern skirt!

@accessfashion

#chronic disability #fibromyalgia #chronic pain #wheelchair #disability #spoonie #accessible fashion #wheelchair fashion #mobility device users #my face #snails #bugblr #i love lavender can u tell #we tried going to a historical small town but it was not accessible AT ALL #like...gravel roads everywhere and no sidewalks AND we had to cross train tracks at one point #at least some of the buildings had ramps but..how do you get to those ramps?? #i love historical areas but come on yall #have a hundred years to make things accessible its not that hard #if u cant tell my earrings are strawberry snails #wrenfea.txt

[dweemeister]

November 15, 2023

By Jonathan Mahler, James B. Stewart, and Benjamin Mullin

(The New York Times Magazine) — It was April 2022, and David Zaslav had just closed the deal of a lifetime. From the helm of his relatively small and unglamorous cable company, Discovery, he had taken control of a sprawling entertainment conglomerate that included perhaps the most storied movie studio on the planet, Warner Brothers. The longtime New Yorker had always loved movies, and against the advice of several media peers, he had moved to Hollywood and taken over Jack Warner’s historic office, hauling the old mogul’s desk out of storage and topping it off with an old-time handset telephone. So far things were going great. He had met all the stars and players, was widely feted as the next in line to save the eternally struggling industry and was well into the process of renovating a landmark house in Beverly Hills. “You’re the dog that caught the bus,” the billionaire octogenarian cable pioneer John Malone, one of Discovery’s largest shareholders, told him. All he needed to do now was pay back the $56 billion in debt that he piled onto the new company to make the deal happen.

Money is never just lying around Hollywood, and the town was still reeling from the pandemic. But that was OK. Zaslav had set a “synergy target” — cost cuts, essentially — of $3 billion in the next two years, and now, with the clock ticking, he got to work. To help, he had brought along his chief financial officer from Discovery, an amateur pilot and former McKinsey consultant named Gunnar Wiedenfels. As spring turned to summer, they laid off hundreds of workers, shuttered or reorganized divisions and suspended or canceled hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of programming. Anything we don’t think is awesome, Zaslav told executives, stop production right now. Turn the cameras off.

Cuts are the norm after a merger, but Zaslav and Wiedenfels were pushing things hard, and in sometimes unorthodox directions. By shelving several nearly completed projects — including the animated, direct-to-streaming movie “Scoob!: Holiday Haunt,” and the fourth season of the postapocalyptic TV series “Snowpiercer” — they saved millions in postproduction and marketing costs, as well as residuals down the line, and they locked in hefty tax breaks up front. Like so much of what happened in Hollywood, all this was reminiscent of a Hollywood production — in this case, the beloved 1967 Mel Brooks comedy “The Producers.” There, the producers, Max Bialystock and Leopold Bloom, realized that under the right circumstances, a producer could make more money with a flop than a hit. For Zaslav and Wiedenfels, the money would come from making sure that no one would get to see the shows in the first place.

Then they came for “Batgirl.” The big-ticket streaming project had just finished filming in Scotland when Zaslav took over, and he and Wiedenfels had immediately identified it as a target — a “free ball,” as Zaslav described it to several colleagues. The audience test scores for a very early cut were not encouraging. Still, a number of executives warned him not to shelve it. “Batgirl” was a $90 million entry in a multibillion-dollar universe of movies and television shows based on DC Comics. Michael Keaton was reprising his role as Batman, and sequels were already in the works. Plenty of movies had tested poorly but still earned millions. Killing an all-but-completed movie would alienate the people Zaslav — or at least Hollywood — needed most: the people who made the movies. It was to no avail. On Aug. 2, the word came down: “Batgirl” was dead.

As predicted, the backlash was immediate and emotional. Stunned, the film’s up-and-coming directors, Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah, tried to look at their footage, but their access to the production server was denied. The head of the DC unit, Walter Hamada, who was not consulted on the decision, asked to be released from his contract and would leave before the end of the year. Courtenay Valenti, one of the most respected development executives at Warner Brothers, was equally devastated and would be gone in a matter of weeks, ending a 33-year run at the studio. The news dominated the Hollywood trades for days. Under fire, Zaslav defended the decision in an earnings call with analysts, saying he shelved “Batgirl” to protect the DC brand. More quietly, Zaslav also sought cover in the authority of Bryan Lourd, the powerful co-chairman of Creative Artists Agency and a leading arbiter of Hollywood mores. As Zaslav told it to several associates, Lourd had supported the decision, observing that it wasn’t in the interest of C.A.A. clients, like the film’s star, Leslie Grace, to be associated with a bad movie. But a C.A.A. spokeswoman denied that. “Bryan Lourd was not consulted in advance of the studio’s move to cancel ‘Batgirl,’” she said.

At Discovery, producers referred to having their budgets slashed as “getting Gunnared,” and Wiedenfels maintains a hard-boiled, McKinsey-esque attitude toward the bottom line. “It’s hard work,” he says. “You don’t make friends.” Zaslav, a born salesman who would prefer to make friends, is more reflective. “You do sometimes get bloodied,” he said in a wide-ranging interview at Warner Brothers Discovery’s corporate headquarters in New York. But business is business. “We have made unpopular decisions because they were necessary.”

That joke about selling to Saudi Arabia in the end. Just... no.

#David Zaslav #Warner Bros. #Warner Bros. Discovery #WBD #CNN #TCM #SaveTCM #Discovery Channel #WGA #SAG AFTRA #SAG #labor #Barbie #DCEU #Batgirl #The Flash #Wizarding World #Harry Potter #Steven Spielberg #Cannes Film Festival #The New York Times #The New York Times Magazine #news

[dark-side-blog3]

From "Phantom Blood" to "Stone Ocean", which JJBA part do you think would be the best to be isekai'd into, and which one would be the worst?

Thanks for sending in the question anon! I've been thinking about it all day and going down a bunch of historical rabbitholes to make my choices (which, after typing out several hours later, I realized wouldn't be much fun for anyone to read).

For me personally, I’d say the best one to be isekai’d into would be Diamond is Unbreakable (part 4), and I think the worst one would be Battle Tendency (part 2).

I give my reasoning below, with some heavy editing, which may make it sound a bit strange. I have a tendency to talk too much, so I've tried to edit it down. It's still a bit long.

++++++++++++++

I can't see any benefit to phantom blood, considering Dio is at full overpower with abilities we never see again in other parts, and everyone else would simply be too easy to force into backing off. Johnathan is easy to manipulate, so is a young Erina. Speedwagon can settle for less than he wants in a relationship if he feels Johnathan will judge him for it. And Zeppeli... Is kinda the only threat, but I can't really fathom what a relationship (platonic or romantic) would be like with him. In any case, not the best, but not the worst.

Battle Tendency has my ass beat. I do not run, I will not run, and what would even be the point when more than half the characters in this arc are superhuman/cyborgs? I can't outwit, lie, cheat, or gross out any of them and expect to survive. Even the ones that wouldn't kill me like Suzie Q just have an impenetrable state of delusion. I cannot win this one. Having a horrible time here. Dare I say, the worst time actually.

Because yes: Vento Aureo is all about the mafia having superpowers, and it's well established that they can be some crazy, creative fucks when it comes to torture and murder. And they should be the absolute worst, because organized crime can do way scarier shit than anyone can in Stone Ocean simply because resources and time aren't hard to get.

BUT! I think since there isn't a world war going on, with cyborg Nazis-- Which is a low bar, but such is life when you overthink-- is what makes Vento Aureo better than battle tendency.

And Stone Ocean is... Bad but tolerable. I'd just try my best to mind my own business, and crumple like a paper ball when someone pulls possessive/obsessive shit. It probably wouldn't even connect in my brain the characters are acting yandere, I would just assume they're doing standard prison things since I got isekai'd into the prison arc.

Now that narrows done the best choices between prt 3, and prt 4.

I'mma go ahead and say it: I'd prefer a small town in Japan to crossing countries and continents.

Diamond is Unbreakable has it all. Modern-ish technology, the original pop culture yandere herself, reliable access to medical care (good luck finding my very specific pills in the middle of a desert), and thankfully: A much smaller cast. Keeping track of all the characters in Morioh? Infinitely easier than keeping track of all the characters in Stardust Crusader. Even if we're including those one-off villains, and random background characters, a-la those twisted wonderland isekai.

Though considering JJBA is a franchise that's mostly manga and anime, it's not likely the multiple characters would become interested in the isekai'd victim, since the mechanics would be fundamentally different. A reader or a viewer isn't really a god, they're more of a prophet, if even that. Or just really good at cold reading someones personality. To continue this tangent just a smidge more, I think if you said you got isekai'd, the only people who would both understand what you're saying and believe you is Toshikazu, and maybe Koichi.

What the hell am I supposed to do being dragged place to place, or sitting in a house for three months? With the tech from the 1980's?

#would you rather ask game #ask game #yandere ask game #yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo

[shallicomparetheetolagrenouille]

2023 in books: n. 11

I happened to start this collection of short stories while reading a mediocre novel at the same time (the one I’ll post about after this) and, boy, was the quality of the writing undeniable - there was a stark difference and it was so needed after the recent disappointments (Tornare a casa and La vita segreta degli introversi).

The first story is about Caterina, a four-year-old that survives the rest of her family after a plague epidemic in the 17th century in a small village in Tuscany; since her family home is quite far from the village and she cannot find a living soul in the woods, she comes to the conclusion that she is the only person left alive in the world. She then manages to survive via accessing the remains of the orchard of her home and tending to the smaller animals, such as hens and goats. She grows up in solitude until she is about sixteen years old, when she is seen by a few village people - except, since she has kept to herself so long and the village has a had a series of misfortunes (bad weather, babies dying, even impotency of a random guy), she gets identified as a witch and blamed for it all. What got me the most, aside from the beautiful descriptions of her feelings and her life in the woods, was the fairy-tale atmosphere at the beginning of the book, which made me feel like there could actually be a non-devastating ending to the ominous vulnerable-girl-gets-tried-and-turtured-as-a-witch storyline, but alas, it was heartbreaking despite the initial serenity. It was wonderfully written and I liked all the references to the historical facts in the area of the setting and to actual treatises of the era about ‘witches’ confessing to anything just to end the tortures of the Inquisition. It just left me heartbroken and emptied of hope in humans’ decency

The second one is a happy story, thank fuck! Basically, an orphan girl gets assigned to a rich family as a servant when she is still a child, and there she grows decently cared-after. A rich, charming, handsome foreigner settles in the small town to start a mining business and starts visiting the members of the family as they are the only proper acquaintances for him - one of them is an unmarried woman in.. her thirties, I guess, as it is said that she rejected the would-be husbands her brothers introduced to her for quite a few years and was starting to lose hope in ever getting married - except she likes this foreigner and thinks she is liked in return. One day, this man asks for a private meeting and she thinks, “ah, he should have gone to my brothers for approval, first, but he is showing the respect he has for me by treating me like the mistress of the house”, thinking he wants to marry her, but what he does instead is ask for the hand of the pretty orphan girl (she is a teen by then), as he fell in love with her footprints on the sand of the riverbank and met her there and fell in love with the rest of her. The servant girl likes him, too, and accepts his offer of marriage if the lady agrees - which she does. The lady even offers to have the local seamstresses prepare her trousseau, on the condition that they use her designs for the embroidery. On a small tablecloth she has the illiterate seamstresses embroider a curse on the newlyweds and their family! But she is thwarted in the sweetest way, which I am not going to spoil - this was a really cute and uplifting and surprising story, especially considering that the cursed tablecloth actually exists! I loved the fact that we get the original inscription in the afterword and can enjoy the fact that, at least in this tale, a person’s mean spirit and vengefulness was duly contrasted and defeated! I loved it!

The tale of wind cookies! It’s such a whimsical and sweet story, I loved the descriptions of people’s reactions to the heavenly scent and how simply magical it all feels, from beginning to end

#2023 in books #bianca pitzorno #sortilegi

[elliewritessometimes]

IT’S @mattieswheelers BIRTHDAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELY WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH

beCAUSE of this, myself and @notsomightymightytiger decided to steal tea leaf’s time travelling mattie au and create a whole entire fic with their ideas and also a design that @ari-is-anxious did a while back!! hope you enjoy aaaaaaa <3333 aLSO stabbies try and spot as many starboard references as you can heheheh 

this can be read on ao3 here if you prefer the format :)

tw: swearing, murder (it’s minor and resolved tho jsgh), religion (nicco my love read with care), blood, i really hope i haven’t missed anything please do let me know if i missed anything

-

Mattie had always been able to time travel. For as long as she could remember, her walk-in wardrobe had been lined with silver metal and held no clothes at all. As a child, this made it all the more exciting, though as she grew older and actually started to want to own clothes, it became a little inconvenient. She supposed all great inventions came with some kind of sacrifice.

Her uncle had made the time machine as a gift when Mattie was born. Her parents, like any basic adults, assumed the wardrobe-sized box was simply a toy and had taken no interest in it. Mattie, from the age of about three when her curiosity had really set in, was the one who discovered that the machine was in fact a working portal and not just a children’s toy. Since then, she had been happily travelling time and space during the darkest hours of night.

(You may have entirely valid concerns about a three year old having full access to time travel - luckily, not just for Mattie’s safety but also that of the entire human race, her uncle had set what were effectively child locks on a lot of the controls. These were diminished the day that Mattie turned thirteen. Uncle Calvin had always been a little weird, but he certainly wasn’t heartless.)

-

Usually, Mattie’s time travel didn’t affect her life. Sure, it made for some pretty awkward conversations as Mattie spurted some knowledge which could never have been explained through a textbook, but those could often be blamed on watching too much Horrible Histories as a child (“Mattie, I swear to God, you’re so bageling British, and yet you’ve never been there, I don’t understand.” “Horrible Histories is a masterpiece! You’re just jealous that you’re too American to have seen it.” “Actual asshole of a child.” “Farrah-!”).

It was going well until Mattie’s freshman year at Giles Corey. And then three of her fellow highschoolers were murdered. And suddenly Mattie had a way to prevent that from happening.

In some stroke of luck, she passed out at the sleepover and didn’t find out about the murders until she was sitting in the back of a cop car, driving to her house to pick up her things. She remembered thinking how weird it was that she wasn’t being taken straight to the station, but brushed that away in favour of ‘going into her wardrobe to change out of her bloody clothes’.

The time machine was cold like it always was and that forced her out of her muddled state quickly enough. She thought back to the victims. Chess. Farrah. Clark. Snapping on her goggles, she pressed a button, whirled backwards through time and space, and appeared at the gate to Riley’s neighbour’s house.

She really wished that she had actually changed her outfit - the damp blood turned cold with the breeze and sent shivers up her spine. The smell perhaps or just her sudden appearance startled the neighbour’s dogs into a frenzy. A figure, Chess, unharmed and merely confused instead of terrified, stood up from Riley’s bench, calling into the darkness. Mattie’s breath caught in her throat. The second figure, knife glinting in the dim streetlight, slipped out of the back door. Their red hair shone in the reflection of the knife with a sick kind of beauty.

Mattie could have stopped them there, taken the knife from the assailant’s grasp, prevented the tragedy of the evening. But she didn’t. She just watched.

Three minutes later, after arriving back in her present time and pressing yet another button on the wall of her closet, she watched the same scene unfold in the bathroom with a much younger victim. Twenty minutes after that, the third attack. This one was different though, an accident.

Still a little desperate and overly conscious of the police officer standing guard outside of her bedroom, she reappeared in her wardrobe, putting on a jumper before turning back time a little further. She appeared in a gymnastics centre as a girl around Mattie’s age did wolf turns on a beam. A coach entered the scene from the sidelines as the girl stopped spinning, her distinctive plait falling still against her back. Something in Mattie ached at the sight of Chess so lively and innocent, willing to give up her life for her dream of succeeding in her sport. As the two wandered into a side room, picking up water with a smile, Mattie edged forwards, collecting soft gym mats as she went. Within minutes, the area surrounding the beam had been double layered with cushioning, and Mattie could only pray that her plan would work. She’d seen enough YouTube videos to know what happened next.

Chess emerged again with her coach, hopping back up onto the beam with practiced ease. Again, Mattie was forced to just watch as she went down into her wolf turn, then rose up, did a split leap across at least half of the beam, and jumped into a twist to land on the floor. It was a messy landing, the gymnast’s ankle caving in on itself, knee twisting unnaturally in the air, before coming down hard onto her side. But, unlike in the previous videos, there wasn’t a resounding crack, only a weak cry of pain as Chess stumbled back to her feet.

Mattie grinned despite herself as snippets of conversation drifted her way.

“-not broken, don’t worry-”

“The Olympics seem out of the picture…”

“Get her a drink to numb the pain! Yes, limeade’s perfect-!”

Mattie arrived in her room again with a whole plethora of new information just inserted into her mind like it had been there all along. There was no longer and never had been a police officer outside her door. Her shirt was clean, her head undamaged. Chess didn’t go to the Olympics, but still did gymnastics in her spare time as her knee made a full and quick recovery. Farrah wasn’t dropped. Riley, in some weird twist of fate, went to the same therapist as Mattie. Life was… good for the Giles Corey Tigers.

Across town, the sleepover was still going ahead as normal. From what weird memories she just gained, Mattie knew that the team was at a rocky patch, their personalities still clashing in any iteration of the evening. But, with some relief, she knew that it would never in this timeline be bad enough for murder to even be considered as an answer. Her phone buzzed. The lies came easily as she covered up her mysterious disappearance from the sleepover she should currently be at.

Reese (school): Where are you???

Mattieeeee: I went home :( not feeling good

Reese (school): :((( that sucks

Mattieeeee: Ikr. I think it was the ice cream.

Reese (school): I told the others

Reese (school): They all say get well soon apart from Kate and Cairo who actually agreed on something for once haha

Mattieeeee: What did they say skjghdjh

Reese (school): “Tolerate the lactose, Wheeler.”

-

In her short-but-actually-quite-long-given-all-the-time-travel life, Mattie had witnessed a number of key historic events (and had caused about 85% by some small accident, but that’s a story for another time). The one which ended up unveiling her secret to someone in her actual life occurred overnight one February. Or maybe July. Depends. Time is weird.

She stepped into a small room, luckily through the doorway and not awkwardly through the window, as done many times before. A man sat hunched over a desk by the window, dressed in brown and using a pen-but-not-really-a-pen to craft a page of writing. From Mattie’s extensive historical knowledge, it could have been anywhere from 1000 BC to the 16th century.

“Hello, excuse me,” she began, “But I’m a little lost.”

The man startled, his not-really-pen skidding across the page and leaving a trail of thick ink in its wake as he blinked at her in the doorway. “Who are you?” He seemed perplexed as to how a young girl was standing there, in the opening to his room, in clothing not of any time now or before.

Something that Mattie had realised after travelling not only to different times, but also to a vast number of different settings around the world, was that somehow, she was never stumped by a language barrier. Instead she was always able to fluently converse with those she met in what appeared to her as American English. It was really weird; she tried not to think about it too much or it made her head hurt. She’d also learnt that it was best not to explain her full situation to her companions, becoming accustomed to pulling the classic ‘I’m not here, you’re just dreaming’ excuse. So that was exactly the tactic she applied here. “A dream figure. You don’t need to be afraid.”

The man narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the paper and then back up to Mattie’s face. “That’s a good line.” He scribbled her words down onto a scrap piece of papyrus. “Maybe I can use that later.”

Mattie grinned, sensing her chance to fuck up history just a little bit. “What are you writing?”

“How the world came to be,” the man explained. “God.”

“Ah, of course. The Bible, huh?”

“Pardon?” The scribe locked eyes with Mattie for the first time, confusion etched clearly on his face. She shook her head in response, having learnt that it was hopeless trying to explain events of the future to people who could never even begin to imagine the future that she came from. Seemingly satisfied, the man continued. “As the vision you are, I wonder if you’ve been sent to answer my queries.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“I’m struggling for a name. Not for the book itself, but just for this chapter.”

Mattie smiled as wisely as she could. “What do you have so far?”

“‘Generational Crisis’. The chapter describes how our world came to be - the creation of natural elements, the first humans, the beginnings of emotion. ‘Generational’ as it shall be carried on for generations, and ‘crisis’ as it’s a huge event, a crisis for the higher powers.”

Mattie choked. Her mind imagined a world where the entry chapter to the Bible was named as so, and it was a world of chaos and highly differing language choices. “That is very wise, sir. I have one suggestion: how about shortening it? Make it snappier, more catchy. I’m thinking…” She paused, feigning deep thought, “‘Genesis.’”

The man gasped, scrawling her word down at the top of the papyrus. “Genius! Thank you, child. I should write your name in my finished book, to show my gratitude for your kindness.”

“Mattie, sir, Mattie Wheeler. It’s been lovely to meet you and see your studies.” Over the centuries, Mattie had learnt to leave those she met with some kind of reassurance as the humane aspect of her hobby. “Before I go, I may be a dream spirit, but I can assure you that the work you have done right now shall be greatly appreciated for thousands of years to come.”

“You really are a wonder, perhaps a child sent from the power above.”

Unthinking, she snorted, replying, “Oh, boy, you are not ready to hear about Jesus.”

“Jesus? You mean my sister’s husband? I do hear some curious rumours about the man…”

Mattie hid her laugh behind a hand. Of course, this was hundreds of years before Jesus Christ came to be thought of. “I know, right? Jesus? More like JeSUS.” The scribe didn’t reply, mind clearly tired of its confusion and instead turning back to something it knew well. He picked up his writing patterns again. Mattie turned away, back to the doorway. “I will leave you to your writing again. Sleep well.” Leaving a small vial of dissolved sleeping pills on the desk, she stepped out of the door.

-

The only class that Mattie knew she would see Eva in was Religion. They didn’t actually share the class, but Mattie’s Religion teacher was Eva’s form tutor and the older girl often used the classroom as a quieter study area for her free period. Not that Mattie would call a class of thirty sophomores particularly peaceful, but apparently she hadn’t heard the noise of the senior study area, you genuinely don’t understand, last week Jacob Thomas tried to make toast using the sun on a desk and then, bam, the entire of senior year are creating chants about sun bread, it was so weird, Mattie, I transferred to a school of crackheads.

After her travel to the 7th century AD, Mattie sparked a sudden interest in her Religion classes. Eva, being the older sister that she was, watched closely as the sophomore stayed behind after class to search the Bible for something in particular.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Nothing!” Mattie didn’t look up from fervently turning the pages.

“Well, that’s a fucking lie.” Eva perched on the side of a desk, sliding across to snatch the book out of the younger girl’s hands. “Why the hell are you looking at what is essentially the movie credits for the Bible???”

Eva watched as Mattie bit her lip, eyes darting around the empty classroom. She thought for a long moment, visibly debating points in her head, before leaning over the top of the book to run her finger down a list of names. About a third of the way down the page, she stopped. Eva’s eyes followed her finger as it drew a circle around a certain name. Matte Wheyler  

“See. I was looking for that.”

Eva didn’t say anything for a while. Mattie waited with baited breath as Eva’s brain tried to make sense of what they saw. “Mattie Wheeler, what the bagel.” It didn’t bother to even be a question.

“It’s a really long story.” Mattie slumped onto the desk as well. “Hey, did you know that ‘Genesis’ would have originally been called ‘Generational Crisis’ if it wasn’t for me?”

After a glance at both of their timetables, they decided that their next lessons (biology and latin respectively) were worth missing. Instead, they stayed seated on a desk in the Religion classroom, as Mattie explained in detail how her name came to be in the Bible. It was refreshing to finally spill her secret after fifteen years of complete silence, and Mattie wondered vaguely in the back of her mind if one day Eva might be able to share in her time travelling adventures. That might take a little more explaining though, because Eva sure did have a lot of questions.

“So, you don’t change anything?”

“Not anything major. Like, I can’t stop Hitler or anything, that would change too big an event. Little things, however, like names and stuff, it’s fun to mess around with. Ever wondered why the Italian city, Pisa, has its name? I delivered pizza to the guys who were kind of like the government at the time of its naming. Hence, the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

Eva cackled. “Wait, what?! God, dude, that’s nuts. What the fuck.”

“What can I say, all I really want in life is a little bit of chaos and also mozzarella sticks.”

-

Mattieeeee sent a photo.

evanescence: is that??? abraham lincoln????

Mattieeeee: Abraham Lincoln was an otter.

evanescence: how so?

Mattieeeee: Point one: look at him.

Mattieeeee: Point two: no seriously. Look at him.

evanescence: oh my god

evanescence: i cannot believe you have a literal selfie with abraham lincoln that’s fucking wild

Mattieeeee: Perks of the job :D

evanescence: literally hire me i want a selfie with cleopatra

-

farrah o’satanic ritual: yall i got out of the shower like an hour ago and i still haven’t changed

Imposter: What can I say, bath robes are in fashion rn

farrah o’satanic ritual: ive told you before clark stop pretending you know how to dress

Mattieeeee: Farrah did you not die in the shower?

katherine: ????mattie???????

farrah o’satanic ritual: no?? i didn’t

SmileyRiley: dang it

katherine: riLEY-

caicrow: riley i thought we’d moved on from murder

Imposter: Plot twist: Mattie was the murderer all along

katherine: CLARK-

Mattieeeee: oops-

-

It wasn't meant to happen, she swore up and down it was a mistake. A true and honest accident. And it kinda was? I mean Mattie hadn’t intended for the scaffolding on the new tower being constructed in Pisa to wobble, she’d already fucked up Pisa once in her career, but… Well, that's what she got for letting loose Giles and Corey (her occasional time travelling companions, who also happened to be cats) in the middle of a Italian city in 1252. She could have sworn the catnip was safely concealed in one of the pockets inside her jacket (which was filled with all sorts of trinkets from her travels in the space-time continuum), yet somehow the two had still gotten into it. She guessed that's what she got for not hydrating-feel-greating and eating-to-defeating.

An old citizen eyed her suspiciously, taking in her struggle with the two cats. Or maybe she was just more focused on Mattie’s goggles - she doubted anyone in 13th century Pisa had seen such a bold fashion statement before. The tower continued to lean in the background.

Finally, Giles and Corey settled down, each in a pocket of her trench coat. Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, which only got halfway out of her before she was sucking it back in as the old lady from across the street began to approach her.

“Young lady.”

Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Hello, ma’am. Is everything alright?”

The lady looked mildly amused. “I couldn’t help but notice your two cats going mysteriously close to the tower before it started collapsing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. My cats are very well behaved.” Giles gave a resounding yelp at exactly the wrong time. A hiss from Corey echoed from the opposite pocket.

“Well,” the lady grinned, “If that’s the case, why don’t you leave the animals with me? You seem fairly preoccupied with the tower - perhaps you can try and assist its reconstruction?” She held out a hand.

Mattie thought for a moment and then handed across the two cats. “Thank you ever so much, ma’am. I’ll try and be quick.” The woman nodded and Mattie sped across the square to the drastically swaying tower.

When she arrived back at the woman’s table, there was a second lady in animated conversation with her. As Mattie approached, she stood up to take her leave, pressing a kiss to the first lady’s hair as she left. Something was definitely fruity there.

“All fixed!”

“I’m glad.” The woman nudged the cats back to their owner, looking intensely over Mattie’s shoulder to the stabilised tower. “It certainly looks sturdier.”

“I should hope so.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, staring pointedly at an area on the structure, “I think about crabs.”

“Oh?” Mattie tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Yes. And often when I think about crabs, I think that they shouldn’t be in Pisa, and they most definitely should not be crawling over the tower.”

Mattie gasped and followed her gaze, muttering curses under her breath. “I didn’t realise I’d brought a whole crab with me! I thought I’d taken the sea life off the rocks!”

The woman chuckled. “You seem to be a strange character. Child, where on Earth did you find not only rocks large enough to support a tower, but also a live crab in Pisa?”

Accepting her fate, Mattie decided to tell the truth. “They’re from Egypt.” At the woman’s questioning look, she expanded, “I’m a traveller of sorts.”

“Oh. Well, child, you’re a gift of a traveller. Brightened my day. Italy these days is far too serious. Maybe we should put more crabs on the leaning tower, huh?”

Tucking her cats back into their respective pockets, Mattie allowed herself to laugh. “Maybe we should.” With a nod and a smile, she wandered off, eagerly awaiting her portal.

-

“Why were you in Egypt anyway?” Eva asked as Mattie recounted yet another of her time-travel-gone-wrong experiences.

“Library of Alexandria.”

“Oh, yeah, because that explains so much.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “It was 48 BC, Caesar was burning shit, this random Roman dude set fire to the library.” She pulled a book out of her backpack. “I saved this and stashed away a few of the slabs of rock. And apparently a crab.”

Eva took the book in awe. “Jesus Christ… This thing is, like, thousands of years old…”

“I know, right? Weird.” She watched as Eva flicked through the pages, tracing her finger over certain words or illustrations. “But it was such a beautiful library, I couldn’t let it just burn. So, I retaliated. Burnt the house of the soldier who set the original flame.”

“Mattie!”

She shrugged. “Setting someone’s house on fire is a survival skill.”

“Oh my God.”

“I would have done something more dramatic, but I had to get home. I had a cake which would need to come out of the oven.”

Eva laughed, the sound echoing around the empty classroom. They were skiving class again, this time PE, the one class they had which coincidentally fell at the same time for both year groups. “How are you so normal in school, but so badass when you time travel?”

“I dunno. All I can say is that cake and spite are my only motivators.”

“You’re like a superhero. ‘Time Travelling Mattie: The Only One Who Can Lead A Dual Life Successfully’!!!”

Mattie blushed, shrugging. She definitely needed to take Eva with her one day. A superhero duo. “Okay, that name needs some work. How about: ‘Sanchez And Wheeler, The Ultimate Time Travelling Duo’?”

“I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?”

Eva nodded, shaking her hand like they were signing a business contract. “Yeah.”

#!!!!!!!!!!!! #TEA LEAF MY BELOVED LOOKY #GHSJGDJH WE DID IT :DDD #I hope you like I have been working on this literally all day and I am kinda proud kjdghskdjgh I've gotten attached to this au #give me Eva and Mattie friendship over everything else #ewww gross why does my laptop keep making things actually grammatically correct grossssss #we are the tigers #tiff (co-author now we're a business) #kiera (yay for gay) #mattie wheeler #eva sanchez #time travelling mattie au #caps tw #religion mention #religion tw #biblical angels mention #nicco pls read w care ily #blood tw #murder tw #swearing tw

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

.

.

.

.

This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

.

.

.

.

.

After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #broken machines #pietro polendina #jacques schnee #winter schnee #ciel soleil #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #God help this poor baby

[liron-ao3]

Happy reading

Human AU Malec & Destiel Oneshot

Dean lets his eyes run over the spines of the library books in front of him. He knows that he has likely read all the historical novels in their small town library at this point, but it doesn't harm to check for new arrivals.

He spots a cover he hasn't seen before, well placed on a small tablet stand—a new accession. Awesome. He reaches out to get it, but before he can grab it, a large hand with black nail polish beats him to it, and Dean curses inwardly.

The other man follows the hand invading his view and scrutinises Dean with black-rimmed eyes. "Sorry. Were you interested in this one?"

Dean needs a moment to take the man fully in. He is a work of art from the black cowboy boots right up to the blue-tinted tips of his spiked up hair. Dean has to clear his throat. He's never seen anyone like him in their little town. He's probably from the new settlement up the hill. Many New Yorkers moved here, much to the villagers' dismay.

Mr Perfect-Style raises a questioning eyebrow, and Dean realises that he hasn't answered for too long. "Um, yeah. It's from my favourite author, and I haven't read it yet."

The other man smiles. "Same."

Dean likes the other man's voice. And his confident posture. And his taste in books. Dammit! He hasn't looked at a man for years now. Hook-ups with women are safer. But he's settled now, and Dean is pretty confident that the man gives off queer vibes with all the makeup and shiny clothes.

Dean feels courageous today and decides to check his hunch. He leans against the bookshelf and puts on his most winsome smile. "What do I have to do for you to give me way with this book? I'm a fast reader."

Two sentences without stammering. This must be Dean's new record regarding gay flirting. He's nearly proud of himself.

The other man raises the single eyebrow even higher, eyes sparkling with mirth. He gives Dean a once-over, and his lips pull into a wide grin. "I'm not sure if I should hit that," he says, and Dean freaking blushes, the smirk gliding off his face instantly.

Suffering a rebuff is bad enough. But he never hit a wall so quickly before he could even reveal all his charm. Not with women though, so...

He straightens himself and nods. "Gonna make a reservation then," he says and turns around, leaving the library without new reading fodder.

***

"Here, Mr Winchester. Happy reading," the librarian says.

Dean smiles at her as he takes the book after she scanned it together with his library card. "I'm lucky that it was returned so quickly. Two days. That's impressive."

"Maybe the other reader didn't enjoy it," she supplies with a shrug. Dean doubts that very much. He nods nonetheless. He's still a little miffed. Usually, he's so smooth when it comes to flirting with the ladies, but men still give him a headache. All those contradicting signals.

He walks out to the bus stop, and when he finds a seat in the last row, he opens the book, unable to wait a minute longer now that he has it in his hands. At the beginning of the first chapter, he finds a scrap of paper. No. It's handmade paper adorned with beautiful handwriting. Dean furrows his brow. And reads the short note.

Sorry if I was too harsh on you on Tuesday. I would like to atone. Do you have plans for the spring fair?

Dean stares at the delicate letters and numbers, then he lets out a snort and pushes the paper into the pocket of his jacket.

***

"A date would do you good," Alec says and pushes a bottle of ice-cold beer into Dean's hand. "Is he good-looking?"

Dean snorts. "Not my usual type."

"Your usual type is women. You haven't been with a single man since you came out."

Dean shrugs. "Men are intimidating as fuck." Alec snorts at that. "You have no right to make fun of me. How many men exactly did you date in the last two years?"

"That's different. I don't need a man," Alec says and slumps on the other side of the sofa.

"And I do?"

Alec scans him from head to toe. "Most definitely." Dean huffs a laugh and doesn't dignify him with an answer. "What do you have to lose? We wanted to go to the fair anyway. Ask him if he has a nice, good-looking buddy who's interested in men, and we're going on a double date."

Dean laughs out loud. "Just a second ago, you said you don't need a man."

"I don't need a partner. But a nice flirt? Why not?" Alec shrugs.

Dean shakes his head. "I won't go out with that guy just to get you laid."

Alec rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. Maybe he knows where the hot, secretly gay people are hiding in this town."

"They are assembled in this room, Alec." Dean takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply be fuck buddies?"

Alec screws up his face in disgust. "You're like my brother. Don't even—urgh."

Dean giggles and plops into the sofa cushions. "Okay. I'll text him."

***

"You owe me. Big time," Castiel grumbles. "I don't care that we've been friends since kindergarten. If my date is a stupid meathead, I'm killing you."

Magnus chuckles. "Now and then, a meathead is exactly what one needs, Castiel. It's not always about finding your one true love. You know that I'm a romantic by heart, but sometimes you just need a good, mmpf," he says as Castiel covers his mouth with his hand.

He pierces Magnus with his eyes. "I know you are a bit of a lothario, but not everyone needs that to be happy." He pulls his hand away and looks at it in disgust before he cleans the lipgloss away with a handkerchief that he pulls out of his trenchcoat.

"Sorry, darling. I should've known better than to say that. But I'm sure he'll be nice." He looks at his watch. "They must be here any second. Oh, there." Magnus waves wildly at two approaching men and shouts Dean's name.

"Which one is supposed to be mine?" Castiel grunts.

"The one with the neck tattoo," Magnus smirks.

"Of course it's him," Castiel says and rolls his eyes.

***

"So, you're afraid of heights," Castiel asks Dean, who eyes Magnus and Alec in the line for the Ferris wheel.

"Yeah. Since childhood. And you?"

"I kind of fell from the sky once. Don't need a repetition of this experience."

Dean chuckles. "I can imagine. So, you and Magnus, you never…?"

Castiel looks at him in disgust. "Oh no. He's way too sexual for my taste." His eyes widen when he realises what he just said. "I mean, I love him, and he is a great guy. Smart, funny. Stylish, I guess." He squirms under Dean's piercing gaze.

"I wouldn't have expected someone like you when he promised his best-looking friend," Dean says, grinning from ear to ear.

Castiel snorts. "That's because Ragnor is on the other side of the pond, and all his other male friends are straight or heteroromantic."

"What?"

"They are asexual but like women romantically."

Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment on it. Who wants to look like a complete idiot in front of a handsome guy like Castiel? Not that Dean would look at him that way. He's on a date with Magnus, after all. Magnus, who smiles at Alec in a way that Dean wasn't graced with until now.

Dean pulls his gaze from the two other men and turns to Castiel. "So, you're a professor? Of what exactly?"

"Church history." Great change of topic, Winchester. "Are you a martial arts instructor like Alec?"

"No," Dean chuckles. "I train in my spare time, but I'm a car mechanic and teach the next generation."

It's the first time that Castiel's frown smooths out this evening and a tender smile plays on his lips. "Teaching is such a great vocation, don't you agree?"

Dean thinks of his trainees and nods. "It's pretty rewarding, yeah." Dean can't take his eyes off Castiel's beautiful lips. Alec will kill him.

***

"Oh, you must go to the London Eye, should you ever be there. It's magnificent."

Alec chuckles. "I will remember that the next time I portal over."

Magnus hits his arm playfully. "I'm just so happy to finally be on a Ferris Wheel again. Castiel is such a—no, that would be mean to say. He has his reasons."

"I like people who don't feel the need to belittle others," Alec says, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"I think everyone has an intrinsic value. No matter their strengths or weaknesses." Alec smiles at him. Magnus quirks an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Alec smirks. "You're just really beautiful." Magnus' lips part in surprise. The sight is very distracting. "Sorry. I guess that was inappropriate. You're Dean's date after all."

Magnus looks down at his date standing suspiciously close to his friend, who usually hates it when people do that. "I don't have the feeling he's truly interested in me. Are you sure he's gay?"

Alec laughs out loud. "He's a disaster bi. Can get every woman he wants, but let a man flirt with him and he switches into panic mode."

"I figured that. I was playing hard to get and he turned the other way."

Alec chuckles. "I can imagine that. But I'm happy that you tried to get to know him anyway. Although I don't think that you two are a good match."

Magnus smirks in amusement. "Is that so?"

Alec nods and moves over to Magnus' bench. "Yeah," he says when the cabin has finally stopped swaying. "I wish you were my date."

"Why? Because we have so much in common?" Magnus snorts.

Alec shrugs. "Opposites attract." He leans in, to Magnus' ear. "And I saw you checking out my ass," he whispers over the noises of the fair.

"You have a very nice ass, Alec. Who would blame me?"

***

"Sonofabitch! I can't believe he's kissing my date!"

Castiel chuckles, and the sound worms itself into Dean's chest and settles in his heart. "They look cute together, though."

"I guess they'll take another round, huh?" Dean laughs.

"Seems that way. Would you like to walk over the fair with me?" Dean smiles at him. He intertwines their fingers and relishes Castiel's answering smile. Alec will likely not use Krav Maga on him.

#malec #destiel #deancas #multifandom fic #dean winchester #castiel #alec lightwood #magnus bane #double date #malec fandom #fanfiction #shadowhunters #malec fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #bisexual dean winchester #bisexual magnus bane #gay alec lightwood #ace castiel

[arcticfox007]

The Only One That Matters

Destiel December 2020 Challenge

Heads up, this ended up being long! Continuation of Days 2-6, the Master List is pinned to my profile :)

Day 7: Peppermint (on AO3)

*Charlie never died in my headspace, so, yeah. She threw her laptop into that Nazi’s face, kicked him in the groin, and got away – because that’s what should have happened.*

*** 

               With only 4 days left until Christmas, Dean had decided that going Christmas shopping was another holiday tradition that Cas had yet to experience. Sam had his doubts about this one, he was fairly certain that Dean hadn’t actually been near a mall or shopping plaza this close to the holidays, and possibly didn’t know what he was getting into. In an attempt to avoid disaster, Sam found himself calling Charlie for back-up. If anyone would help him with Operation Angel-Impala (which was the name Charlie quickly gave Sam’s not-really-a-plan), it was the Winchester’s adopted sister.

               “Yeah, shopping at a mall right now will probably not encourage warm fuzzy feelings. I’d be shocked if they even made it home without Dean punching someone in the face. I’m really surprised he even suggested it.”

               “Charlie, he’s thrown himself into giving Cas the whole Christmas experience. While sickeningly adorable, it’s not like Dean and I even know what that is. I’m pretty sure I was still an infant the last time we had a real tree.” Charlie let out a long-suffering sigh.

               “Okay, okay. Give me a minute.” Sam tried to be patient as he heard soft tapping noises, likely from Charlie’s keyboard. “Here’s something. It’s maybe ninety minutes or so away from you guys, but it’s not far from where I am. There’s this historic riverside city that has something called Midnight Madness where all the stores are open late into the night. They have a bunch of sales and decorations, but from the event listing it looks like mostly locals show up, and it’s semi-remote. Ooo, didn’t you say they’d been baking together?”

               “Yeah. I’d say that I’ve never seen so much pie in my life, but I live with Dean.” Charlie snickered.

               “Well, they have a chocolate making event that people can sign up for. Here. This thing runs every night up until Christmas Eve.” Sam’s phone pinged and he saw Charlie had sent him the link to the Midnight Madness event. He clicked on the chocolate making link and grinned.

               “This is perfect Charlie! Now I just need to convince them this is better than the mall.”

               “Oh, I have got you covered.” Sam didn’t have the chance to even ask before Dean walked in waving his phone in the air.

               “Hey, Charlie just texted me asking if we wanted to go to some Christmas shopping thing with her tonight. I thought this would be a good chance for Cas to get in some more holiday experience.” Sam just laughed and told Dean that they should get ready if he wanted to go and his brother rushed off to tell Cas.

               “You’re my favorite sibling Charlie.”

               “Well, you got to pick me. You were just stuck with Dean,” Charlie teased. “Anyway, I’m getting us all tickets to the chocolate making thing. Dean can’t say no if it’s a Christmas gift from me and I kind of want to see this new Christmasy Dean for myself. There’s a restaurant and bar called The Phoenix Emporium; we can meet there.” Sam wrote down the bar’s name and address looking forward to having someone to plot against Cas and Dean with (for their own good, of course).

               “Thanks again Charlie, we’ll see you later tonight.”

***

               Cas had already gotten gifts in preparation for Christmas, so he wasn’t sure why going out Christmas shopping mattered. Even so, he didn’t argue when Dean said they were going out. Dean had been in such a good mood recently that Cas was more than happy to do whatever was asked of him.

Castiel did wonder why Dean was in such a good mood. He’d like to know what it took to get Dean into this type of mindset, for future reference. Maybe it was just celebrating Christmas, but Cas had known Dean for a long time and he’d never seen a holiday make him so happy. Perhaps… well, maybe there was something to what Sam had told him yesterday. Sam had said Dean was better when Cas was around which wasn’t something the angel had ever thought about before. Cas knew that Dean had made him better, and he preferred it when he was with Dean. It had taken him years to work out that he was actually in love with Dean, but he’d been satisfied to just watch over him until Metranon stole his grace and Castiel had become human.

When Cas had woken up after being stabbed by a reaper to find Dean’s concerned and pain-stricken face in front of him – felt Dean’s warm calloused hands cradling his face, well, he hadn’t been able to control his emotions as easily. It didn’t help that Dean had left him on his own only to show up again still acting like he cared. Regaining his grace had did nothing to get his desire for more with Dean under control, despite knowing how unlikely it was that Dean felt the same way. So, why was he even allowing himself to consider the possibility? Cas sighed deeply.

“Cas? Everything okay?” Cas looked up to see Dean’s hypnotizing green eyes glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Cas had conceded ‘shotgun’ to Sam because his legs were so much longer. Sam had his headphones on listening to a podcast and Cas must have stayed quiet for too long after Dean had been talking to him.

“Yes Dean. I apologize, you were saying something about your mother?” Dean’s  eyes were back on the road as he responded.

“Uh, yeah. I was just saying that she said she’d stop by the bunker in about a week. I’d hoped she would come for Christmas but she can’t make it.” Cas reached his hand out to gently touch Dean’s shoulder for just a moment, wishing he had a reason to keep his hand there longer.

“I’m sorry she couldn’t be there for Christmas,” Cas said softly. Surprisingly, Dean reached back to stop Castiel’s fingers from moving away. Cas froze, not daring to move a muscle.

“Thanks Cas. I – I just wanted to say that I’m happy you came back home when she left.” Dean briefly squeezed Cas’ fingers before returning his hand to the steering wheel. Castiel slowly pulled his hand back into his lap breathing out a quiet ‘you’re welcome’ in response to Dean’s words. The way Dean had been acting recently, this was why Castiel had started to hope. The car fell silent as he stared at the hand on which the angel could still feel a ghost of Dean’s touch.

***

               Dean couldn’t really say no to participating in the chocolate making event when Charlie gave them tickets to attend as a Christmas present. He didn’t even grumble much about it; he didn’t want to make her unhappy and for whatever reason Charlie and Sam were unusually excited about making chocolate. Dean could hear them animatedly debating the merits of milk versus dark chocolate as they walked ahead of him and Cas.

So, Dean had sucked it up and let her lead the way through the Christmas lit streets of the historic town. He had to admit that the town was a great location for Christmas events. The old stone buildings were dripping with colorful lights and there were lit candles in most of the windows. He was happy to see how Cas was looking around with a small smile on his face as he watched a family take their children to different stores looking at the windows and checking something off of a list. Dean looked around and noticed there were a lot of people carrying around the same list. They must have some sort of scavenger hunt going on. He caught Charlie’s sleeve to get her attention.

               “Charlie,” Dean whispered. “Do you know what’s up the scavenger hunt?” Charlie gave Dean a confused look.

               “Really? You want to know about… alright, hold on.” Bemused, Charlie pulled out a booklet and flipped through. “Here.”

               Dean took the paper from her as they continued walking. It was listed as an all-ages window and store hunt with different prizes every night and Dean laughed as he saw what they were supposed to be looking for.

               “Cas!” Castiel caught up to Dean a few moments later. “We should do this.” Dean pointed to the event page. Cas gave Dean an all to rare laugh when he saw what Dean was showing him.

               “Angel scavenger hunt. You’ve already found plenty of angels, Dean.” Dean playfully bumped Cas’ shoulder.

               “Yeah, well, you’re the only one that matters.” Crap, did Dean just say that out loud? “Uh, I mean, c’mon, don’t you want to participate in Christmas traditions? You did ask me for help with that, right?” Cas was staring at him, as if trying to solve a puzzle but Dean just nervously pushed the event booklet into the angel’s hands. “Er, if you don’t want to look for ‘angels’ you can see if there’s something else you’d like to do.” Cas gave Dean a quiet smile and put the booklet in his pocket.

               “We should go to Charlie’s chocolate class first, then we can look for other traditions to try.” Dean readily agreed and they hurried to catch up with the others.

***

               Sam was impressed with Charlie’s devious but brilliant maneuvering. The chocolate making event was almost entirely couples, and there was only room for two people at most stations. She had managed to get Cas and Dean set up at one table and then set herself and Sam up at a table about two rows back. Charlie had informed Sam that they needed a good vantage point to better access what they were up against for Operation Angel-Impala. Sam could tell that she was entertained by the entire situation, but also honestly invested in Dean’s happiness.

               “Y’know Sam, I’m not sure we have to do all that much here. Dean asked me to find out what the scavenger hunt thing going on was, and then I heard him asking Cas if he wanted to do it.” Sam’s jaw dropped.

               “Huh, maybe you’re right. I mean, I figured a lot of Dean’s recent effort was because he felt guilty about something Cas told Mom, but volunteering for a cutesy Christmas event seems bit above and beyond if that were the case.” Charlie nodded eagerly.

               “And look how they’re all in each other’s space. Anyone else here would assume they are already dating.”

               “Yeah, but they’re always like that. Staring at one another for long stretches of time, finding excuses to touch each other… recently Dean is being a lot nicer to Cas though.” Charlie smiled brightly.

               “Sam, maybe you should let Dean know you’d be happy for him. If he was with Cas I mean.” Sam looked puzzled.

               “Charlie, Dean doesn’t want to talk to me about his feelings. He doesn’t even want to admit he has feeling outside of a love for pie and Baby.”

               “Uh-huh. Not to state the obvious but Cas has a dude’s vessel. Have you ever seen Dean hook up with another guy?” Sam’s eyebrows raised and then dropped to a deep furrow.

               “Um, no? I don’t care about that though. I mean, maybe that’s part of Dean’s hang-up, but I just want him to have someone in his life that makes him better, happier, more willing to live. Cas does that.”  Charlie let out an exasperated sigh.

               “Sam Winchester, you need to tell him that! If you’ve never known Dean to have even considered hooking up with a guy, it will help him to know you support him. I’m sure part of him understands you wouldn’t be bothered, but it helps to hear it.” Sam nodded solemnly still looking at his brother who was busy flipping through the chocolate making menu and laughing at something Cas had said.

               “Alright Charlie. I can do that. I think I have an idea but we may have to explore some of the art tents later.”

               “Deal. Now, to the chocolate, Sam!”

***

               Cas didn’t actually care what they were making. Dean had seemed shocked when Cas said he wasn’t familiar with peppermint, so they began working through the instructions on how to make something called peppermint bark. All Cas cared about was how easily Dean was laughing. How often Dean put himself into Cas’ space when it used to be Dean who would lecture the angel about personal space. What Cas really couldn’t stop thinking about was how Dean had told him that he’d found the only angel that mattered when looking at Cas. Cas couldn’t be completely sure what Dean meant by saying that, but he did know that the words had swept through him in a rush of warmth and joy.

Glancing behind Dean, Cas noticed his right wing had wrapped itself around Dean without the angel having been really aware of it. Ever since his wings started to heal Cas found himself wrapping them around Dean more and more. Castiel was still hesitant to share with Dean that he was in love with him, but he was starting to learn new ways to show it. He saw the way Dean relaxed when his wing curled around him. Even though he couldn’t quite feel it, he was somehow sensing their presence.

Cas smiled as Dean wiped chocolate on Cas’ nose. Then he smugly retaliated by sticking a chocolate covered finger into Dean’s ear.

***

               “Eugh! No fair Cas!” As gross as the feeling of melted chocolate in his ear was, Dean couldn’t help laughing. Their peppermint bark was in a freezer to help it set faster, although they had been told by one of the volunteers running the event that two bars takes a lot less time than a whole pan. When he looked up at Cas’ self-satisfied grin and chocolate smeared nose Dean dissolved into laughter all over again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good.

               “I can’t help that I have had billions of years to develop my tactical expertise. I’m very good at picking the most advantageous targets for attack.” Cas raised a single eyebrow, the haughty look only ruined by the smile Cas was fighting to hold back. Well, that and the chocolate still on his nose.

               “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s get this cleaned up before they bring back our candy bars.” Dean took one of the wipes the volunteers had place around the room and before he could think about it too much, he raised the cloth towards Cas’ face. Dean gently wiped the smudge from Cas’ nose as the angel stared at Dean with a soft look in his blue eyes that Dean couldn’t quite identify.

“There ya go, Cas. Nose smudge eliminated.” Dean winked at Castiel. He wasn’t even that surprised when the angel returned the favor, softly wiping the chocolate from Dean’s ear. Cas kept staring at Dean the whole time. Dean gave the angel another quick smile and finished cleaning up their station, wondering for just a moment what was going on between him and his best friend. Dean decided that he was just going to go along with it for now, he’d try to actually figure it out later. Or possibly never. Either way, he wasn’t going to screw up the awesome night they were having so far.

“What is Charlie doing?” Dean glanced behind him at Sam and Charlie’s table. By the time he looked Charlie seemed to have quickly put away her phone. Dean shrugged.

“I dunno, maybe she’s looking at the other stuff to do here since her booklet is in your pocket.” Cas looked unconvinced but turned back towards Dean anyway.

“Do you really want to participate in this Angel Scavenger Hunt?” Cas asked Dean skeptically.

“Yeah, if you think it might be fun. We are good at hunting things after all. Also, I’d like to go into a few of the stores anyway. I want to get Charlie something for Christmas since she put this all together for us.” Cas thought for a moment and then looked back at Dean.

“Alright. If nothing else I agree we should find a gift for Charlie.” Dean grinned and bumped his shoulder on Cas.

“You asked me to help you with Christmas traditions, Cas. I just want to do a good job.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replied seriously. Then Cas turned to see one of the volunteers bringing back their peppermint bark experiment. Dean reached out to take the wrapped bars while Cas thanked the volunteer for helping with the event.

“We should try some before Charlie tries to steal it.” Dean broke off a piece and handed it to Castiel.

“Sam won’t steal it?”

“Nah, he hates white chocolate. Something about pretending to be chocolate and it being a lie. I dunno, he’s dramatic.” Cas tipped his head to the side examining the colorful candy. After another moment he took a small bite. Dean knew he couldn’t really taste much human food, but he also knew peppermint had a strong flavor. Cas chewed slowly. And then took another small bite.

“I can taste some of it, I think. It reminds me of toothpaste.” Cas half smiled as he ate more.

“I’m glad we found something else you can kind of enjoy. We can also get coffee while we’re walking around.” Dean just kept feeling like he had to smile tonight.

“You should try as well, Dean.” Dean took another chunk from one of the bars and was pleasantly surprised by the burst of flavor on his tongue.

“Hey, we did a good job on this stuff!” Cas looked at Dean fondly just before they were interrupted by an energetic redhead grabbing a piece of the bar still in Dean’s grasp.

“Peppermint bark, excellent. Wow, this is good guys, you have hidden talents!”

“Hey, hands off! Where’s yours and Sam’s? We can trade.” Dean was tall enough that he easily held the candy out of Charlie’s reach.

“Sorry Dean, that’s long gone!” Charlie snickered as Sam joined them.

“She’s telling the truth Dean; I barely had any myself.” Charlie snorted in response to Sam’s accusation.

“Don’t listen to him, he had half a bar. So, what do you guys want to do now?”

“Charlie,” began Castiel sincerely, “I want to say thank you for the Christmas gift.” Charlie practically beamed at Cas.

“You are very welcome, Castiel. I’m happy you guys had fun!” Sam and Dean also thanked Charlie.

“Oh, hey. We should get a picture. Go stand in front of that Christmas tree over there. Dean, hold up your bar with Cas.” Charlie took longer than Dean though was needed to make sure he and Cas were posing the way she wanted, but he wasn’t going to complain seeing how the whole night had been her idea. Some passerby even took a picture of all four of them together.

“Hey guys, you mind if we split up for a while?” Sam asked. “I sort of want to check out the crafts tents and Charlie said she’d go with me. I know it’s not really your thing, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure. Cas and I were going to go check out the stores up on the main street. You guys want to meet back at that bar where we started, in maybe two hours? We can get dinner.” Everyone agreed easily and Dean led Cas over to the volunteer station to get the Angel checklist. Dean was really looking forward to finding more ways to make sure Cas knew he belonged.

***

@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @my-favourite-hellatus, @nguyenxtrang

#destiel december 2020 #destiel december #destiel fic #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam ships it #charlie supernatural #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn #spn fic #christmas fic #so much fluff

[codevassie]

a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | On Ao3

CV:  You know when you're smelling candles and you smell so many candles that you can't tell which ones smell good or bad anymore? Let's just say I don't know what this chapter is. There's a lot of words. And a lot of important things happen in it. And I've gone a bit insane trying to make it. Hope you enjoy <3

CW: Kidnapping, Guilt, Historical Discussions of Prejudice, Mentions of Death, Unreality, Weapons

@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When Remus was little, nothing but a scoundrel on the streets, orphan, alone but his brother and a hyper-defiant attitude, he never used to dream.

Each morning, Roman would wake and recount a world better than their present–where a wealthy family came to town and adopted them; where they grew up and ran a bakery together, with all the bread and cookies they'd ever desire; where Remus didn't have to hide his magic; where Roman didn't get ganged up on in alleys.

Where they had… more than this.

Dreams kept Roman going, and, in a way, it kept Remus going too, hearing his brother tell all these magnificent stories–all while Roman wasn't even awake to imagine them. A lot of them didn't even make sense, but those were Remus' favorites. He loved hearing the impossible ones–ones where you walk out the door of your house and you fall into the river, or dive out the window and fly into the sky.

Remus never got any of his own, or if he did, he never remembered–until he lived in the caves, at least.

His first week waking in his new “home” was plagued by nightmares. Virgil told him it had to do with the magic running freely through the caves. Out there in the towns, among the regular people, magic was obsolete, dried out like a desert. In the caves it was everywhere. Where before Remus’ head was dry, it could weave worlds upon worlds with a bit of magic.

Dee thought something similar. He said Remus had been repressing his magic in order to hide it. However, now that he was in the caves, it was still difficult to access. The magic was blocked up like a dam, and that caused his psyche to go into turmoil.

The witch, on the other hand, thought they might be visions. That hadn't gone over well.

They never were visions–not that they could make out. Not once did Remus dream of anything that had once or would be true. So in the present day, as Remus went to sleep on the fifth night Roman had been gone, he didn't worry too much when he realized he'd walked into a nightmare.

That, really, should have been what tipped him off. Remus never had lucid dreams, and while he couldn't control a thing in this one, his mind knew well enough this wasn't his reality.

Remus walked along a corridor in the castle, one that he didn't recognize very well. In his hands he held a long sleeve of parchment, marked all over in different types of ink and at least five different hand-writings. Gripping the edges of the paper, he noticed his fingers were bedecked in rings with heavy jewels and, on the thumb, a large crest. His hands were wide and aged, and paler than usual. His shoulders were heavier, but his mind felt lighter. Remus wasn't Remus in this dream.

Strange. He still knew he was Remus, but that’s not what his voice or body understood.

The man–whoever Remus was–sighed and rolled up the parchment restlessly. He bopped the paper to the side of his leg, looking about the hallway and to a room a couple paces off. The closer he drew, the easier his shoulders relaxed. No sound came from the room, and that nurtured something content in the man’s chest.

Until, that is, he rounded the corner and through the doorway.

It was a nursery, from what Remus could tell. An ornate crib stood at the center of one wall, a carousel of horses hanging like wind chimes above. The room was dark, lit only by the blue light of the night, shining in easily from the wide open windows. The rug was soft and plush, fit for a baby to crawl safely, and there was a shelf of toys and books in the corner.

Something felt wrong. Remus didn’t know what it was, but going by his sudden gasp, the man did.

He rushed into the room, going to the cradle first. It lay empty. His heart dropped, abandoned down a well like a draw bucket without a string. There was a noise behind him, and he spun.

There, closer to the bookshelf, was a bundle of hair and fabric. When she looked up, the king bolted over, heart again in his chest, but pounding, hammering a painful dent into his ribcage.

“Yolanda? My love,” he said, kneeling by her side and taking her into his arms. “What is the matter? Where is Janus?”

Yolanda? Remus wondered, tilting his head in thought. The head in his dream remained unmoved. Janus?

The names seemed familiar, but Remus couldn’t remember- He was so tired of not remembering.

“She took-” the woman panted, barely able to get her words out before a coughing fit seized her. The man helped her to sit up, eased her into a position to aide her air passage. The man said nothing, kept an appearance of calm and reassurance, but he was scared to death. Remus could feel it.

The woman was crying. She was sobbing as she tried to get her voice to work, grasping at her throat. “Easy,” the man said softly. “Easy, Landa.” But she couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the man had to ask. “Please. Where is our boy?”

The woman, Yolanda, breathed once, body shaking fiercely. “He’s gone,” she whispered, the sound of a broken woman. Remus didn’t know what was happening, but his own heart stopped. Something unthinkable had happened here.

“Guards! Guards!” the man turned his head to yell out the door, raising minutely away in the moment.

But the woman was already shaking her head. “It won’t help. She took him hours ago. I couldn’t- I couldn’t move-”

The man placed a hand to her shoulder again. There were no sounds of rattling armor. The castle was silent.

This should have never happened. Where was everyone?

“Where? We must know which way to send the men. I will go with them – I have to go with them,” the man rambled. The woman clutched his arm, beckoned him to look at her. She wept, but her eyes were fierce, commanding.

“You must find him,” she said.

Remus felt the man’s eyebrows furrow. “I will.”

“She will pay for this,” she said, voice shaking in barely restrained anger. “She took my baby.”

“Where did she go?” the ringed man asked.

The woman’s eyes vacantly moved across the room to the blowing curtains at the balcony window. The man followed her gaze, frowning.

“She scaled the tower,” he said, voice terrified. His son… this kidnapper had put him in so much danger already.

“No,” the woman said. “She appeared. And then… disappeared.”

The man looked back, expression puzzled. Before he could ask, however, her gaze met his, eyes dark and disheveled hair barely concealing her fiery look.

“She had magic.”

Suddenly, the room went dark. Remus felt his body jolt, and he blinked, head whipping around, back and forth, back and forth. Black spots danced before his eyes as they grew accustomed to the pitch black room around him.

He was no longer in the man’s body. He had woken up. But he was no longer in his room either.

Remus was in the nursery from his dream. It was dustier. The curtains were drawn, and looked to have been that way for a long time. But it was unmistakable. Virtually nothing had changed in the room. And now that he was awake, he understood where he was.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, shutting his eyes.

There was still so much he didn’t understand.

-/-

If they’d thought the library was difficult, then Logan’s house was a whole other challenge. The place was a library in itself.

Roman had been thumbing through volume after volume all night, trying to pinpoint something that might point to Virgil or this ‘Dee’ guy. They were looking for anything at this point, and that made the search even more difficult. If only they’d had something a bit more specific, something to go off of.

He was planted at the coffee table, hunched over and trying not to think about the crick that was forming along his spine. He flipped a page, squinting to understand what it was saying through the fog in his brain and the dim candlelight.

Earlier, Patton had cast a light to illuminate the room a bit better, but after hours of tireless research, it had gone out. Patton had gone home a while ago, hinting pretty strongly that he expected Roman to follow. Roman hadn’t, and that meant he had no Patton to recast it.

Roman vaguely heard someone walk into the room. In his periphery he saw a figure lower itself to the floor across the table. “My prince,” it said in an even voice. Roman blinked up at the man, clearing his vision of letters and misshapen words he could no longer understand.

“Oh, hey Logan,” he said, giving a tired smile. He’d never seen the man out of a tie. He was in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, eyes soft and still behind his glasses. It was funny seeing him so calm after the stress he’d been under earlier.

“Have you found anything?” Logan asked kindly. Odd, Roman rarely heard emotion in the man’s voice. Logan didn’t seem like the type to slow down his thought process enough to implement it.

But Roman just shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to figure out what he meant,” he said. They’d come to Logan’s house assuming he’d know the exact book Virgil had meant. Turned out Logan was just as clueless as they were.

Actually, more so. Logan hadn’t even known Virgil was gone.

Logan knocked his glasses askew in an attempt to rub his eyes, giving a small sigh. Roman noticed there was still tension in his shoulders–the same tension that had grown there after they’d explained everything.

“Hey,” Roman spoke up, too tired to put himself under any kind of filter. Earlier he’d left all of this up to Patton, afraid to screw it up. Comforting was more in Patton’s capabilities anyway. Now Roman just couldn’t keep himself back. “I know you’re worried about Virgil, but you should get some rest.”

Logan adjusted his glasses, putting them back in place as he scrutinized Roman. In a moment Roman was wriggling in place, regretting his decision to be open, but then Logan let out a breath that somewhat resembled a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Funny,” he said. “I came out here to tell you the same thing.”

Roman stared for a second then cracked a smile. “That is funny,” he said, too tired to say anything clever.

“Roman,” Logan said, voice a bit more somber. Roman looked back to him and took note of his frown. His hand hovered over the book in front of him protectively. “We all want to help him, but we can’t if we exhaust ourselves.”

“I’m not exhausting myself,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I work nights all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not healthy,” Logan said. “Your body needs rest to function properly.”

Roman looked back down at the book. “I’ll rest when we’ve gotten Virgil back,” Roman muttered, trying not to come off too irked. Logan was just trying to help.

“I know this is likely not something you want to hear,” Logan put a hand over the page Roman was trying to make out, “But we may not get Virgil back for some time. Things like this take time.”

“Then I’ll work night and day to make it happen,” Roman said, head snapping up with a scowl. His blood was boiling for some reason–the same as it had been when he’d talked to Patton in the library.

“Neglecting yourself will not bring Virgil back any faster,” Logan said, his own voice tighter now too. Unlike Patton, he would match Roman in intensity rather than try to soothe it. “In fact,” Logan carried on, “It would rather slow it down.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman said, heart speeding up at the thought. He couldn’t rest. Not when Virgil needed help. The more he tried, the faster it would help–it had to.

“Then tell me, are you actually absorbing anything you’ve been reading for the past hour?” Logan asked.

Roman pulled the book back from him, holding it close to his chest. “Yeah, of course!” he said, voice defensive.

“What is it you’re reading then?” Logan asked. Roman stopped, thinking for a moment. “I’ve read all these books, Roman. I know what that one is about too. So tell me; what is it about?”

“Give me a moment!” Roman argued, trying to grasp something, anything that he remembered. Was this the one on the northern regions or the fiction story about wolves? Roman had lost track.

“Roman,” Logan said, drawing his attention back. Logan sighed, something too close to pity crossing his features for Roman’s comfort. He shifted, clutching the volume tighter and looked on almost in fear as Logan opened his mouth. “Did you notice the inscription at the front of that one?”

Roman furrowed his brow, pulling the book away from his chest. No, no he hadn’t noticed an inscription. Setting it back down on the table, he flipped to the front, keeping a hand on his page to not lose his place. On the title page, he found it.

Logan,

I don’t know if you remember, but this was the first book you lent me. That copy was a library book, so I thought you might like your own. I know you own the library and all, but I hope you like it.

Virgil

Roman was frozen, eyes going again and again over the words. The letters were in small, cramped script, but he could tell it was carefully written. He hovered over Virgil’s name with the pad of his index finger, holding his breath. A part of him felt it would flake apart just at his touch.

“Virgil gave you this,” he said at last, glancing up to Logan’s face. There was sorrow there if you could look between the lines. He had sobered up from his exhaustion, placing a mask of emotionlessness on, but Roman could see it like a reflection. “Do you think this is it? Is this the book?”

To Roman’s disappointment, Logan shook his head. “I doubt it. He could have simply gone to the one in the library. It would be a lot easier than borrowing this one from me.”

“What if there’s something hidden in this one specifically?” Roman asked, desperate at this point. He felt so close, yet Logan didn’t look convinced at all. Could nothing be easy? Couldn’t Roman just do this one thing right?

“If there is, then I doubt you’d find it as tired as you are. It would have been very cleverly hidden considering I’ve reread that particular volume many times throughout the years.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is it that good?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said. Something soft flashed across his face as he gazed at the volume Roman held so possessively. “It’s mostly for sentimentality’s sake, I suppose.”

Roman looked again at the book, at the inscription. “Oh,” he said, understanding.

“Virgil is like family, you see,” Logan said. “I’ve known him for years, so when I accept that I need rest in order to help him, it is not me giving up on him. I am not standing by while he is back there. I am simply doing what is in my power to get him back. As long as I am healthy, I will be at my full power to figure out a solution to get him back. Do you understand?”

Logan said this like it was a challenge, like he was daring Roman to argue with him on this, and Roman realized that he had given Logan the wrong idea completely.

“Of course!” he said, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I needed to do this. Of course you’re helping Virgil. Of course you deserve rest.”

Logan folded his hands on the table, leaned forward to look Roman dead in the eyes. “Then why not you, Roman?”

Roman’s heart rate picked up. He leaned back, eyes darting around as he suddenly wanted nothing more than to avoid eye contact. “I just need to keep going. It’s different.”

“Why is it different?” Logan asked. “Why do you need to keep going? Why do you need to push yourself and hurt yourself to try to help Virgil?”

Roman frowned, eyes going back to Logan. “I’m not hurting myself.”

“You are,” Logan said. Roman’s hands turned into fists, but not from anger. From confusion. From something a little too close to vulnerability.

His voice went lower. Roman’s eyes bored into the table. “It’s just different.”

“Different how?”

His hand drifted above the inscription, but he didn’t touch it. Roman couldn’t bring himself to. He was unworthy.

“I’m the reason,” he said. He was greeted with silence, but he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look Logan in the eye. Roman and Patton had already told Logan the full story. He knew it was Roman’s fault this had all happened, but Logan hadn’t actually said anything to the prince about it yet. Patton had forgiven him, but Patton had always been too nice for his own good. Logan surely wouldn’t be so forgiving. “Why should I get to rest when every second he’s there, anything that witch is doing to him, it’s all my fault?”

“You… feel responsible,” Logan said, as if it was only now that it had occurred to him.

“Of course I feel responsible. I made that deal,” he said.

“The deal that she pretty much forced you to make,” Logan said. “That deal?”

“I still made the deal , Logan,” Roman said, imploring the man to understand. Logan was smart. He should get this. “I knew someone would suffer for it. I knew someone I would come to care for would suffer for it.”

Logan squinted at him, one moment confused and another looking older beyond his years. He seemed both weary and wary as he examined Roman, and the prince shifted in place at the attention.

“What?” he finally asked.

“How do you shoulder the weight of a country while so prone to guilt on things out of your control?”

“I’m sorry ?” Roman asked, aghast.

Logan shook his head, resting it on his hands where he’d propped them up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I just mean, you must have had to make tough decisions before. Nothing is cut and dry in politics.”

“I-” Roman’s eyes shifted around again, refusing to make contact as he came up with an answer. “I mean, yeah . Doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for those either.”

“You’re responsible for the well-being of your nation, but all decisions have unforeseeable outcomes. Surely you cannot carry guilt for each and every one.”

Roman frowned, unsure if he should be taking offense. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you saying I don’t care about my people?”

But Logan shook his head. “That is simply not in question here. You can care for your people while maintaining a healthy understanding for things that are in and out of your control.”

“But those decisions were in my control,” Roman said.

“And how are you to predict every repercussion?” Logan asked. “The best strategist in the world couldn’t predict every outcome. While decisions are in your control, repercussions often are not."

"So what? Am I just supposed to throw the hat in? Eh, didn't realize my actions would have consequences so I might as well just ignore it."

"No, Roman." Roman stopped when Logan's voice came out firm, curt. "Of course you try to fix it, but you do not punish yourself either. You let yourself eat. You let yourself sleep. You forgive yourself for a bad or wrong decision, or you recognize that a witch manipulated you into making it . That decision wasn't even your own, Roman! Yes, in the end you made it, but you had a figurative sword to your throat!"

For a moment all Roman could do was stare. He had never seen Logan talk so passionately before. He'd never seen so many emotions on the man. He was kind of in awe.

Then Logan took in a deep breath. He straightened himself, but the tension in his voice did not fade. "The only one here to blame is that witch. She took Virgil. She hurt him enough that when he ran away he wouldn't leave Patton's house for two months out of fear she'd find him and cast layers of wards for years following. She took your brother, and from what you've told me, hurt him beyond imagine. She took that other boy who has been with her this whole time, and I do not want to think of the pain she must have inflicted on him. You are not at fault for any of this. She is."

"I- I-" Roman stuttered, not quite sure what he wanted to say. What he could say.

He still felt terrible. He still felt a crushing guilt inside, ready to tear in with its claws and teeth any time he was ready to think too hard on it. But everything Logan said made sense. There was nothing Roman could say to refute it.

So all he could say was, "...okay."

Logan looked him deep in the eyes, and Roman felt seen like he'd never been seen before. Not by people who had seen him in the streets, everything he was and everything he owned laid before them. Not in front of the millions in their kingdom on his coronation day, feeling inadequate but ready–ready to take on this duty, ready to serve his people.

Logan looked at him now, and Roman knew he could see every thought. He knew Roman still hurt. He knew Roman couldn't quite shake it all off, and Logan knew that Roman believed him too.

It was the witch's fault. Roman believed that. But there was a tiny part of his mind that wouldn't stop insisting it was his fault too.

But Roman also couldn't find flaw in this logic. Logan could see that too.

Logan nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Bed then?"

Roman blinked, startled by the sudden shift in attitude and priority. He looked back to the book, to the inscription.

"It will still be here tomorrow," Logan reminded him. "And you'll be literate enough to read it too."

Roman threw him a scowl. "I'm literate!"

"Not at this time of night," Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had gone back to that emotionless facade, but now that Roman had seen more emotion from Logan than ever before, he could pick up on more now. Logan was joking, a mirth hidden in his eyes.

Roman cracked a smile. "Fine. I concede."

"Good. The guest bedroom is this way," Logan waved to the hallway that branched off from the living room. Roman blinked.

"I can go back to Patton's," he offered.

Logan just rolled his eyes. "It's late, Roman. Take the bed."

"Okay," he said and got up. They walked together, and he stopped at the door Logan gestured to. He stood at it for a moment, watching as Logan continued on down the hall. As the man reached for the handle for the next door down, Roman called, "Um, thank you."

Logan looked up, then nodded. "Goodnight, my prince."

When Logan closed the door behind him, Roman was left alone in the hall, realizing Logan, who had never called him by his name at the park construction site, had used it their entire conversation.

"Huh," he said before turning to his own room.

He was faced again with the realization that these years of isolation had cost him some potentially great friends.

Roman hoped he could amend that.

-/-

Remus looked around when he awoke in his dream. It felt a lot more familiar than the last one. In this one he felt like himself. But not himself himself. A different self.

This self wasn't from too long ago, but it was still definitely a different Remus. He felt a whole lot more awake. Funny, as he was actually asleep right now.

"Wait wait wait," a familiar voice reached him from around the corner. "You said brother?"

Remus knew him. How come he knew him? Dang, not another memory. It was so close. So so close.

"Okay so-"

He felt his feet walk as if of their own accord. He turned the corner, and there they were. The purple one–what was his name?–and his brother. Remus always knew his brother. Roman.

"It is you," he said, but the words weren't his. They were the other Remus'. He said it, and dreaming Remus didn't know what it meant.

He remembered this vaguely, but it was all so fuzzy.

"Wait, do you know each other?"

" Remus ? What- How-"

Remus knew this one. It wasn't too long ago he'd seen this- lived this- what was it? What was happening?

"It's too late," other Remus mumbled, the words so familiar in his mouth. "It was a trap."

“A trap? What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?”

Remus heard the words, he heard the voices, but he couldn't focus on where they were coming from. Who was this? Remus knew this man.

“Get away?”  

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…”  

It wasn't Remus who had spoken, but he perked up at the name. He knew Dee. He remembered Dee.

“It’s too late,” he said instead, ignoring the wonderful name. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

Remus jolted awake. His head hit the floor and he was left staring at the ceiling.

He didn't recognize this ceiling.

Slowly, he sat up. He looked around, taking in shelves, books, a cart pushed into a corner.

What was he doing in a library?

-/-

When Roman blinked awake, the light leaking through the curtains was strong. He sat bolt upright, blinking away his disorientation and pulling the curtains back. Sure enough, the sun was high in the sky, almost midday already. With a strong intake of breath, Roman leapt out of bed and stumbled his way to the guest room door.

He limped out towards the living room, fighting to keep the emerging guilt at bay. He and Logan had just talked about that last night–could he not keep it together for two minutes? Roman shook his head, stopping in the hallway to recuperate before revealing his rumpled form.

There were low voices coming from the living room, a small laugh and the shuffle of papers. When he finally turned the corner, he caught sight of both Patton and Logan, already scouring over books pulled from Logan’s shelves.

Patton was the first to catch sight of him, and he smiled. “Roman! Good morning!”

“More like afternoon,” Roman said, approaching. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“We thought you could use the sleep,” Patton shrugged, picking up another volume and flipping through it. “Besides, I went to bed a whole lot earlier than you two. I figured I’d get a headstart.”

Roman turned to Logan, trying to keep the frown off his face. “How long have you been up then?”

Logan straightened, adjusting his glasses. “I work on a very strict circadian rhythm. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep more in any case.”

At this Roman did frown. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell when someone was keeping things from him. But he could let it go. Whatever time Logan got up–it wasn’t a big deal. Just more time he’d been spending looking for Virgil. A responsibility that should have rested with Roman.

Roman pushed that thought back. That wasn’t right; he had to remember that. He wasn’t responsible for this. Roman wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head.

He wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t.

But he was going to make this right.

“Okay,” he nodded, sitting down at the coffee table again, fingers digging into the carpet. “Well, I’m fully rested now. Let’s do this.”

“Want some breakfast, kiddo?” Patton asked, already standing up. “Logan and I already had coffee, but nothing else really. I think I might make eggs for everyone.”

Suddenly, Roman was torn. He looked at the books, could see the one from last night at the corner of the table, the one with the inscription, then he looked back. He bit his lip. “Can I help with breakfast, Pat?”

Patton laughed, and it wasn’t his normal polite chuckle. It was something amused. He found something Roman did funny.

“I can see how you’re eyeing up those books. No sweat; I’ve got this. You might want to change into something that’s not a day-old though,” Patton said. Roman looked down at himself. He’d been borrowing clothes from Patton for the past few days, but he wasn't at Patton’s anymore.

“Follow me, Roman,” Logan stood, placing the volume he’d been perusing to the side. “We can find something that will work from my things.”

The morning continued in this domestic sort of haze. At Patton’s house it had been cozy–warm and welcoming–yet there was something so different in Logan’s. Before Roman had always been busy, on his feet, trying to do what needed to be done always.

And that was how it had been at the palace too, hadn’t it? And before–in his old village, on the move to find Remus. Roman had never slowed down. He was always on the go, always looking for ways to do better.

Roman had… never had something like this.

Slow. Comfortable.

The house was warm. The living room was well-lived in–the shelves riddled in books, candles, pictures; the coffee table had a coffee ring seared into its wooden surface; there was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.

When Patton–lovely, lovely Patton–brought him coffee, it was in a mug labeled “#1 Architect.” The drink tasted slightly bitter–nothing like the palace’s coffee–but somehow, it was the best he’d ever had. So much so that Roman took a moment to simply revel in it, sit back on the couch and forget about the books, about everything else, and close his eyes to the taste.

He could hear singing in the kitchen. Patton had a lovely voice, and it was lower than he would have thought. There was another that joined it, however. He could barely hear it–wouldn’t have if he hadn’t taken this moment, just listened–but it was Logan’s. Through Patton’s slightly louder notes and the clings of utensils and bowls, Logan sang as well.

And throughout the day, that warmth never left. They flipped through books, but the tension from yesterday and all the days past had left. Patton said it was like a study group, but Roman didn’t really know anything about those. He’d started school when he’d arrived at the palace, and his tutoring was always one-on-one.

What he learned though, was that ‘study group’ was sitting around together, talking through different books, asking questions, joking to keep the air light and motivation up. It was passing around food, telling each other to take a break, leaning over to laugh at a funny picture or read over each others’ shoulders.

It wasn’t like that every day. Some days were somber, confronted with the low likelihood of finding what they needed, of finding anything. Some days Patton and Logan had to go to work, leaving Roman alone to his thoughts and pages. Some days Roman couldn’t move past his guilt, couldn’t think of anything but reading the night away because surely he had to be close. It had to be the next page, the next book.

They had to be close to the truth.

But who knew if the truth would help Virgil at all?

This was barely a lead, barely anything. It was a stray note Virgil had left on his desk that had loads of other incomprehensible items and a vague title, alluding something to his brother. They could find the book and not even know it was it. They could have past it already, dismissing it as nothing relevant. Or Virgil could have found a book he thought Dee might like, and it truly wasn’t anything at all to their search.

They could be going in circles. And they’d been searching for weeks.

Roman had scoured the pages of the book Virgil had given Logan to no avail. At night when they had all decided to retire until morning, he would bring the book to bed with him and read the story. He would try to see Virgil in it, try to pick out why Virgil had taken a liking to it in particular. Maybe it was sentimentality for him too, just like Logan.

He couldn’t tell. But Roman had to know.

One particular day, Roman picked up a book he had been dreading. It was a simple history text, dating back to the kingdom’s creation two centuries ago. It looked much like the ones the castle kept on hand–like the ones Roman had been forced to absorb in a week in his rapid tutoring. Reading two centuries worth of history in dense text had possibly been the worst part of his preparations to become prince–especially as he had still been learning to read at the time.

The thought made him dizzy. He frowned, looking up from the volume and realized his head was rushing, his vision spotting in places. He held to the couch and blinked. For a moment, he felt really sick–head light and stomach heavy and halfway between the floor and the toilet as his next destination.

Then it was gone.

Roman blinked again. No spots.

He frowned down at the book. “Maybe I have been overworking…” he mumbled.

He shook himself and sighed. No use resting now.

With a sigh Roman pulled it open, looking first to the table of contents. Perhaps he could start somewhere entertaining.

Two and a half hours later and Roman was ready to stab himself in each eye with a rusty fork. Logan and Patton walked in from work, looking weary, and he took the wonderful opportunity to take a break.

“You’re home!” he cheered. “Welcome back! And how was work?”

“Shelby is still trying to schedule a meeting with you through the castle,” Logan said, hanging up his bag.

Roman slowed as they approached him, sagging a bit where he sat. “Oh.”

“You really should check in with the palace soon, Ro,” Patton said casually. They’d had this conversation enough times where it wasn’t a big deal. Still, every time it made Roman feel like he was swallowing rocks.

“I will,” he promised, not for the first time. After we get Virgil back , his mind insisted, but he thought again of his brother, his people.

You’re letting down everyone.

“What are you reading?” Logan asked, walking closer to take a peek. Roman looked back at the book, feeling a tiny bit relieved to change the subject.

“This boring history book,” Roman lamented, sagging back into the sofa. “Do we even know Virgil borrowed this one? I can’t imagine anyone actually choosing to read it.”

Logan looked over the volume then nodded his head. “He definitely read that one. Actually, that was a more recent read. He was fascinated by its candor on the history of magic within the kingdom.”

“Magic?” Roman asked, brow furrowing. He hadn’t come across anything about magic.

“Yes. Where are you? Oh, you seem to have a couple more decades until it gets into that. You may want to skip ahead–this war is rather trifling,” Logan said, pointing to the page. Roman agreed. The war was really kind of stupid.

Roman leaned forward again, grabbing the book. He flipped forward, past the war–a three month endeavor–into reconstruction of the eastern lands and amendment of trade policies. He almost sighed again. Out of the fire and into another fire.

“Here.” Logan took the book and flipped forward himself, skipping a rather large chunk in the middle. Roman looked on, baffled and altogether so so grateful for this man. When Logan got where he wanted, he handed it back.

“This is where you will want to start. Magic wasn’t thought of as out of the ordinary until about fifty years ago. It became ostracized as a result of a dispute with Ilmita, whose population has a significantly higher proportion of sorcerers. Sorcerer eventually became synonymous with Ilmitian. Our people became more and more prejudiced against Ilmitians during the dispute, and being a sorcerer became rather taboo in our kingdom.”

“Taboo?” Roman asked, now intrigued. This was a part of their history he’d never learned about. He remembered the dispute with Ilmita, but none of that lesson had covered it relating to magic. “Magic is outlawed. I wouldn’t say that’s just taboo.”

Logan sat down next to him, flipping again through the pages of the book. “At first it was just taboo. Sorcerers were treated horribly in the kingdom. They couldn’t get jobs or housing. They were physically driven out of certain towns. Many chose to hide who they were even when it was legal.” When he came to rest on one page, he jabbed a finger at it as if to illustrate a point. Roman couldn’t make out what was so important about the page though. It was just another wall of text.

“Tensions heightened throughout the years, but it was here,” Logan pointed at the book again, a year, “Nineteen years ago when they banned all magic from the kingdom. After what happened to the prince, the unease in the kingdom finally came to a breaking point. The king and queen instated the new law: magic was illegal by penalty of death. Many fled to Ilmita. Many hid their powers. Many were sent to prison and executed.”

Roman sat still, eyes wide on the book before them. How had he never known any of this before? How could they have kept this from him? That was so awful. Those were their citizens–uprooted from their homes, forced to live as someone they weren’t, without a vital part of themselves. So many of his citizens, put to death for this.

“What happened to the prince?” Roman finally asked.

Everyone knew about the prince. He had only been a baby when he’d died. It was a tragedy that no one spoke of in the palace.

But Roman didn’t know anything about it. That baby was technically his adopted brother, and Roman knew nothing of him.

Logan flipped another page, and on this one they were faced with a portrait. It was the same one from the office Remus had taken him to that one time. Roman had barely gotten a good look at it.

“It is said that a sorcerer broke into the castle one night, went straight to the prince’s room,” Logan said. Something lodged in Roman’s throat suddenly. As curious as he was, he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. But then Logan said something Roman hadn’t been expecting at all. “The sorcerer fled with the prince, stole him. All the queen knew about the kidnapper is that they had magic.”

“Wait,” Roman stopped, looking away from the portrait to Logan. “What? You’re saying the baby was still alive?”

Logan furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course. The young prince was kidnapped.”

“I thought he’d died,” Roman blurted out. “You’re telling me he could be alive out there somewhere?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “Did they not tell you this? I assumed as the new prince…”

“No,” Roman said, shaking his head. He looked down at the picture. “They didn’t tell me any of this.”

As Logan’s finger moved away from the book, Roman caught sight of a caption below the portrait. He pulled the book closer to him, moving to read it.

“King Xavier, Queen Yolanda, and Prince Janus,” he read off. Roman knew those names. He said them practically daily–he had never called the king or queen “mother and father” or “mom and dad” or anything close to casual. They were the king and queen, and perhaps they were his parents, perhaps they had taken him in, treated him well, smiled warmly on him and spent holidays with him, but Roman had never taken to calling them anything else.

What stood out was the prince’s name, so rarely seen, even rarer spoken within the palace walls. The little baby, stolen in the night. His birthmark would make him obvious to anyone who saw him, even grown up.

Roman shook the thought from his head. His long lost… “brother” could wait.

“He was interested in the history of magic in this book,” Roman said. “Could this have to do with what Virgil was looking for?”

“I don’t know, Roman,” Logan said, sighing, His shoulders slumped minutely, but Roman could spot a change in his demeanor far better throughout the weeks they’d been working on this. “It could be. The facts of the matter are we don’t have enough information to go off of.”

Roman looked back to the portrait, dejected. He supposed Logan was right.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were close to something here though. Like they were barely missing it.

Prince Janus’ eyes were green, barely peeking up above the blanket he was swaddled in. He must have been old enough for his eye color to come in. How old was he when he’d been taken? What had the sorcerer done to him? What did they want with him?

Barely missing something…

Just then, however, Roman was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a knock. Both he and Logan looked up. Patton emerged from the kitchen to stare as well, them all frozen in place.

Roman was careful to keep his voice low as he asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”

In his periphery he saw Logan shake his head. He heard him swallow thickly before he responded, voice unsettled.

“No.”

-/-

When Remus awoke in yet another dream, he wasn’t in a foriegn body, nor was he in a different self. This time Remus felt unbound, invisible to the mortal eye, broken from his reality.

Remus was used to feeling apart from reality. He never quite got what was going on around him, and there was always something he was trying to remember, always something just out of reach. He never felt like he belonged. Not in the streets he’d grown up in. Not in the caves where they’d said he’d had a home. Not in this new place where the window was his only friend and his brother covered his beautiful green colors when they said hello.

In this dream Remus was no one else, but he also wasn’t himself. He was above it all. An all-seeing eye. He stretched out an arm and it passed through the table to his right. He swung his leg and it didn’t stir the air.

He couldn’t do anything – even now that he had control of his body in one of these dreams. It seemed a bit unfair.

But he’d always just been an observer here.

“You can put it over there,” a voice resounded throughout the room. At first, there was no one there. Remus scanned the small space once, twice, but on his third go something suddenly shifted. It was like another reality had flipped into this one – like the pages of a book. A figure now stood in the middle of the room, bent over one of the tables and straightening a stack of papers.

Remus knew him. He squinted, hard, trying to piece him into the right memory. The man turned to place the stack on one of the many shelves that surrounded the room, all piled high in papers and vouchers and binders. Along the opposite wall were tables with pens and paper and random assortments of books. There was an empty cart in the corner. It was cramped, but organized – like some sort of office space.

“Here?” another voice asked, hidden away towards the back of the room. The original man looked back, a small smile gracing his features as he did so.

The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, Ro.” He went back to his organization, and after a moment, the man who was hidden emerged. Remus perked up when he saw him, realizing he’d known that voice – realizing where he knew this other man too. He was there last time with him and Roman, in that library.

He still couldn’t put a name to him, but Remus knew him.

Roman walked to stand at the other side of the table, taking the other man in with a lopsided smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down, placing his head in his hands and continued looking, stars in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice dripping with fondness.

The other man looked, a blush immediately coloring his face when he saw Roman. His eyes jolted back down to the papers, and he coughed behind a hand. “Hey,” he replied, and Remus could hear it in his voice that he was trying to sound casual.

Roman blinked, probably picking up on the man’s tone too. He looked down, a deep red covering his face as well, and pulled over a pen to fidget with. Slowly, suddenly replicating the other’s voice, he tried for casual too. “How are you?”

The man bit his lip and quicked a glance back to Roman. As his eyes fell again on the papers, he pushed them aside and picked up a pile of vouchers, thumbing through and every now and again, flipping one in the stack. “Alright,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “You?”

“Doing good, doing good,” Roman said conversationally, nodding.

The man lifted his head, for a second looking as though he wanted to say something. His eyes raked over Roman, brow furrowing minutely, but in the next second it was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. “That’s good.”

Roman looked up, and, feeling his gaze, the other man did too. For a moment they just looked at one another, eyes saying more than Remus could follow. They both smiled, barely the tilt of lips, but warm, something more.

Remus felt like he was barging in on something that wasn’t for him.

And with that thought, the scene turned to black. As it faded away, Remus felt the familiar jolt that signaled he had woken up somewhere new.

With a sigh he sat up to face the strange office room. He clenched his fist and thought of his room.

When he felt the plush feel of a comforter beneath him, Remus fell back against the bed, not even giving the teleportation a second thought before he drifted back to sleep.

-/-

Roman’s thoughts were on the sword in the guest bedroom. Could he get there in time? Should he leave these two in the main room by themselves?

“I can’t tell who it is,” Patton whispered, barely moving aside the curtain at the window. Roman stood suddenly.

“Pat, get back,” he hissed. Patton dropped the curtain and backed away.

“Everyone, calm down,” Logan said, voice level, but still low. “It’s probably nothing. I will answer the door, but Roman,” Logan turned to him, “You have to stay out of sight. No one knows you’re here.”

“It could be dangerous,” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s arm when he moved away. “Who the heck would be visiting at this time of night?”

“It’s not that late,” Logan said. “It’s only ten. I’m sure whoever it is has a good reason for showing up a bit later.” He pulled his arm from Roman’s grip and moved again around the couch. Roman moved to try to stop him, but Logan was light on his feet, at the door in no time.

“Lo-” Roman hissed, trying in vain to stop him, but Logan was already reaching for the knob. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, finally doing as Logan asked and ducking behind the couch.

Please be a civilian. Please be a civilian. Please-

A noise escaped Patton. Roman’s feet felt filled with springs, ready to jump at a hair’s breadth. He could see Patton around the corner of the couch, but he didn’t look alarmed.

Just… confused.

“Roman, you can come out,” Logan said. Now Roman was confused too.

Slowly, he stood up, his eyes immediately on the door. Logan stepped back.

And there was no one there.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts anxiety #roman sanders #ts creativity #ts #writing updates #ahhcc #tw guilt #tw kidnapping #tw unreality #tw weapons #here's the tumblr post for y'all who prefer reading here! #it's a long one so strap in

[scftuan]

Chapter 2

Genre: historical, romance, fantasy

Characters: pirate!hongjoong x reader

Rating: tbd

————————

Hongjoong had an...interesting sense of direction (to say the least). Never in your life had you so quickly (that you were practically flying) walked through one twist and turn after the other. Breathless, you were just about to question his inner compass and demand an explanation of where he was leading you when suddenly you came to a halting stop.

“We have arrived Milady.” Hongjoong said, turning to give you a sly smile and a quick wink that had you flushing (though at least you could blame that on the heat and your shortness of breath). Before you stood the gate to the manor house which you called home, all you had to do was ring the outside bell and one of the man servants would give you entrance.

“T-Thank you for helping me.” You said in your best and most polite lady voice.

“It was an honor. If you ever need me again...well, I’m sure you know how to find me.” Hongjoong replied, and in a blink he was gone...as if he had never been there at all.

You frowned, rubbing your eyes and gazing around to see if you could catch sight of the strange young man, but he had all together vanished. “Odd, I never did get to ask him how he even knew where this place was.” You murmured to yourself, but shook your head. You were a known face in the town, perhaps the young man had done work for your father before, it was hard to say.

Before you could think any more of it, you heard the voice of one of the servants calling you, distracting you from your innermost thoughts as you were thankfully welcomed home.

—————-

“So...what was she like?”

Hongjoong grinned, absentmindedly twisting his ring between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. “Utterly lost, she really has no clue who she is or what she has access to.”

Yeosang frowned, carefully watching his captain, knowing that the cogs were turning in his head even as they spoke. “If she doesn’t know, then how do you expect to?”

“Hmmm,’ Hongjoong mused, sitting up a little in his chair and leaning his elbows on the desk in front of him. Surrounded by maps, ink, and dangerously sharp objects, he looked both an intellectual and a man not to trifle with. “I suppose I’ll just have to...jog her memory.” Yeosang ducked instinctively, and right to do so as a dagger suddenly went whizzing above his head, hitting its mark on the portrait of a fair maiden.

“I wonder if Y/n is ready to meet her mother.”

———————-

Your punishment for both arriving home late and without a chaperone was a three day stent in your home, only allowed visitors at a certain time of day and only of the female variety. It really was most tiresome, having to waste the day away waiting for something or someone to liven it up a bit. Of course your ‘friend’ did drop by, apologizing profusely for leaving you alone to fend for yourself in the dangerous public and bemoaning the fact that you were not restricted to the manor (you forced yourself not to make petty comments about how this all came back to her in the end for leaving you alone in the first place). Besides her visit, there really was no one else. It wasn’t that you didn’t have any friends, you just did not have close companions who you could rely on for company and the one person you desperately wanted to see...well, he was technically not even allowed.

You sat by the windowsill, silently thanking the design of the window which allowed for you to sit comfortably while peering out. Idly your fingers played with the deep blue pendent that twinkled at the base of your necklace. You’d written your certain...someone a letter, and each day of your confinement you wished for an answer. Would he reply? Perhaps he would sneakily try to visit you, but you doubted he would. Though he had an underlying mischievousness, he also knew when to play by the rules.

A tap at your window startled you from your thoughts, and you were surprised that you controlled your scream when your eyes caught on who was just outside the glass.

“Yunho!” You softly exclaimed, quickly unlatching and drawing open the window, followed by your friend awkwardly and unceremoniously tumbling into your room. “Sorry about that,’ he said sheepishly, his soft brown hair tossled and his cheeks tinted pink, ‘I would’ve come in through the front door but I was 93% certain they wouldn’t allow me entry.”

You tried to look stern, but a small smile graced your lips as you slid down to the floor to meet him. “Didn’t you know I’m not allowed any male visitors? My father about had a stroke when I arrived home the other day, or did you just ignore my letter and assumed the best way to talk to me was to come straightaway?”

Yunho smiled, and you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at the act. “I missed you, and the thought that I wasn’t allowed to see you made it even worse. Why should I be restricted from seeing my friend?”

Playfully you gave him a shove, stifling a laugh as he tipped over, landing on his back on the soft rug. Yunho had the build of a strong man. Tall and long-legged, with muscles lining his arms and body, he was unfortunately as clumsy as a newborn foal when it came to his limbs. You’d known him since you were a childhood, and you’d always laughed at his clumsy awkwardness, but the older you got the more endearing you realized it made him. “Are you alright?” You teased, though a small part of you felt bad for causing him to fall over. “Only my pride is wounded my dear lady.” He replied, feigning a pout that quickly turned into a grin as he sat back up again. You’d been leaning over him slightly, and the speed at which he had lifted himself up caught you by surprise, causing your faces to be precariously close. Wide-eyed you looked at him, seemingly frozen in that particular moment. With the close proximity, you could see the golden flecks in his warm, chocolate eyes, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose, and the pinkish tint of his lips. You pondered whether you could count those freckles and whether his lips would change colors if you kissed them.

You were startled out of your revelry by the sound of feet climbing up the stairs, moving towards your room, your head turning towards the door. “Quick! Into my closet!” You instructed, hopping up and pulling Yunho along with you, practically dragging and then shoving him into your closet as you quickly closed the door.

“Milady?” You heard a voice call—one of the maidservants—“are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You called out, kicking the closet door slightly when you heard Yunho stifling his laughter.

“Oh, I thought I heard something...just wanted to check!”

“Yes, thank you!” You replied, holding your breath as you waited for the steps to fade away and the maidservant to be gone.

With a sigh of relief you stepped away from the closet door, which was almost immediately followed by Yunho tumbling out, as if he had been leaning against it the whole time.

“I could’ve been in even more trouble thanks to you.” You scolded, putting your hands on your hips as you frowned at him. Yunho knew you weren’t actually upset however, but he promptly went through the motions as if you were. “I do apologize Milady,’ he said in a gallant tone, his hand grabbing on to yours and drawing you near, ‘it shan’t happen again.”

Noting once again the close proximity (as Yunho had pulled you into his grasp, so close you were practically touching), you cleared your throat, peaking up at him through your eyelashes. “Yunho...its a bit tight.” You said softly, eyes darting to the clasp he still had on your hand. Embarrassed, Yunho quickly released you, and you immediately registered the loss of warmth from where he had been touching you.

“Perhaps you should go,’ you said, not daring to look at him, as if he might sense the uneven beat of your heart, ‘it was risky for you to come in the first place.” You hated having to say it, as you longed to have him keep you company, to chat endlessly and spend as much time with him as possible. But Yunho acquiesced, nodding as he took a step towards the window. “I’m sorry for disturbing you y/n, I know you were not allowed male visitors even me, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You smiled, looking back towards him, “Yunho you must never apologize to me, I just don’t want you to receive a punishment even remotely similar to mine or worse.”

Yunho hesitated, rocking on his heels, his mouth opening slightly and closing again as if there was something he wished to say. “Y/n?” He finally asked, taking the smallest of steps towards you and reaching for your hand (which you let him take).

“Yes?” You replied, finding yourself pulled back towards him, you eyes searching his face for a hint at his thoughts.

“My father has been called away on business to England, and he plans to take me with him. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, but I wanted...I wanted to ask you something before I left, it’s actually the reason I came to see you today.”

You nodded, nervously waiting for him to continue. “Go on Yunho, I’m listening.”

“When I return...would you mind?...I mean, if it’s not too much trouble?...god I really am terrible with words.” He chuckled, smiling softly and nervously at you. You smiled back and it seemed to give him the courage to continue. “Y/n, might I call on you? As...as more than a friend?”

In that moment you felt your heart could have stopped. Perhaps, even after all these years, Yunho shares your feelings of affection? “Yunho, of course you might.” You replied shyly, gasping softly as he suddenly pulled you into his embrace.

“Then I begin to count the days when we’ll next meet.” He murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “Goodbye y/n.”

“Goodbye.” You whispered back, regretfully losing his touch and wistfully watching as he slipped out the window again.

But perhaps confinement had not been so uneventful after all.

—————-

“It seems your lady has a male caller.” Yeosang mused, whittling away with his knife at a wooden figurine, all the while keeping an eye on Hongjoong as he paced back and forth.

Hongjoong was muttering under his breath, occasionally rubbing at his temples as he lost himself in thought. “I might have to push our event up a bit, though I doubt the seriousness of a supposed ‘male caller,’ I can’t risk our plan being delayed.”

Yeosang shrugged, continuing to work away at his figurine, “Say the word and she’s yours, I know Mingi and San have been aching to go ashore, this would be the perfect opportunity.”

A soft growl escaped Hongjoong’s lips, his fingers twitching at the dagger at his belt, “As skilled as they are, no one shall touch her but me. When I finally have her it shall be because I brought her. But keep them on standby, we shall need to make a quick getaway once it’s all said and done.”

Hongjoong paused, looking back at the portrait which hung from the wall, his eyes catching on the necklace which dangled from the woman’s neck...a sapphire pendant on a silver chain. “Have things prepared by tonight, I’m sure Milady is just dying to meet her dear daughter.”

—————-

You tossed and turned in your bed, never seeming to get comfortable enough as dark images and thoughts plagued your dreams. Your mind painted images of Yunho lost at sea, of your father in poverty, of the manor house burning...and at the end of each was a shock of strawberry red hair.

You gasped, sitting upright in bed, clutching at the covers as your eyes darted around. Your ears had caught on something, eyes flicking towards the window to watch the shadows dance in the moonlight. Releasing a shaky sigh, you pressed a hand to your heart, trying to called the erratic thumping. “You’re not a child anymore y/n, stop imagining things.” You chided yourself, laying back in the bed and shutting your eyes again. For a moment, you thought sleep and dreams had finally claimed you, but then you felt something cold. In fright you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, hoping the image would dissipate. The cold touch dragged across your cheek, a stark contrast to the gentle, warm breath you felt fan your face. Carefully you opened your eyes, only to find yourself looking at a familiar young man with strawberry red hair.

“Sorry to wake you love, but I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

You opened your mouth to scream, but were promptly cut off by a cloth being pressed to your face. Desperately you held your breath, squirming against the strong hold the young man had on you. Unfortunately you could not hold out forever, and the moment the scent from the cloth entered your system, your senses dulled, your eyes drifting shut as the world descended into darkness.

—————

A/N: so um...sorry for such a delayed second chapter. I swear my writing and inspiration is just all over the place nowadays. I can’t promise frequent updates, but I will get through this. As always, feel free to leave a response on your thoughts, feedback is appreciated!

#ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez fic #ateez au #ateez imagine #ateez blurb #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong fic #kim hongjoong blurb #kim hongjoong imagine #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong fic #hongjoong blurb #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong x reader #historical au #pirate au #pirate!ateez #pirate!hongjoong

[random-thought-depository]

So, in my last post I wrote this:

“Like … right now I’m planning out a story I intend to write in January; it’s supposed to be a kind of deconstruction of the Fremen mirage, and very much one of the thoughts going into it is “yo, a Proud Warrior Race would be a horrible society to live in or have as neighbors, we shouldn’t romanticize them!” and yet … I feel that the “bad guy” culture in it is much better, from a literary viewpoint, for me having given some thought to the material base of their society and how that would shape their culture. I could have just written them as flat edgelordy-grimdark barbarians, but thinking about their culture in materialist terms gave me a more complex and nuanced picture that I think will make for a more interesting and nuanced story and a fictional society that feels more interesting and human and alive.”

So, I want to infodump a little about this fictional culture I’ve thought up! I’m splitting this up into two posts because otherwise it’d be long in a way my Tumblr’s format is not kind to; in the first post I’m going to talk about the material base that defines this fictional society I’ve thought up, and in the second post I’m going to talk about more historically contingent features of their culture.

Note: for a lot of what’s in this post, I tried to make something hard SF-ish, but much of what I’ve written was the result of kind of “working backwards” from the sort of culture I was imagining to a material base that might create such a culture. So this is more playing with an idea than an attempt at anything particularly realistic.

Material base:

The basic political and economic unit of this society is the semi-self-sufficient space habitat community. These communities are about the size of a small town, I’m thinking thousands to tens of thousands of people (though I haven’t quite fixed it firmly, and anyway there’s wide variation; more successful communities are bigger). This town-size community lives in a semi-mobile space habitat, which I’m thinking is more-or-less a hollow cylinder spun for centrifugal gravity attached to a central spindle which is spacecraft construction facilities, engines, etc.. This space habitat contains enough hydroponic gardens, industrial machinery, etc. that the habitat can sustain itself completely independently for at least a few years. The space habitat has a rocket engine and a hyperspace engine, so it’s mobile, and these people are at least semi-nomadic, often moving their habitats when faced with opportunity or danger. The space habitat carries smaller spacecraft that can be detached and sent out to mine asteroids and KBO-type bodies, scoop helium 3 up from gas giant atmospheres, etc. and return these resources to the main habitat. Along with a closed life support system and efficient recycling, this makes such a community almost self-sufficient (though the almost qualifier is important, as I’ll discuss later).

People who are remembering Brett Devereaux’s last essay here may have noted a certain parallel with steppe nomads, with the main habitat being kind of analogous to the mobile but vulnerable main nomad camp where the non-combatants, livestock, and valuables are kept while the smaller resource-gatherer etc. craft are kinda analogous to the highly mobile horse-mounted war parties.

The reason these communities are so small is that their economies are not resource-limited but machinery-limited, labor-limited, and skilled specialized labor limited. Most raw materials these people may need are super-abundant to them, the bottleneck is transforming those raw materials into air, food, machinery, furniture, useful energy, etc. and maintaining efficient almost-closed loops of recycling. Sustaining a space community requires lots of complex machinery and lots of specialized skilled labor, and maintaining and replacing the machinery often requires more complex machinery (tools to make the tools) and more specialized skilled labor. Keeping humans alive in space is hard, so the return on investment from this is low. Therefore, these communities generally try to make efficient use of labor and maintain more-or-less the smallest viable population.

This implies reproduction within communities like this will probably be carefully controlled. A community like this must stay within a delicate balance; they must have enough people to do all the necessary labor with a comfortable safety margin to avoid situations like the only person with some important skill dying unexpectedly before they could train their replacement, but they must not have so many people that they strain the life support capacity of their habitat. That suggests reproduction usually tightly and deliberately controlled to stay at more-or-less replacement rate and no more.

It also implies a community like this will probably be quite communitarian and disciplined. Consumption will have to be tightly controlled. The means of production will probably be directly controlled by the political leadership. Its economy would probably look communist-ish to us, or maybe like a Bronze Age palace economy, with most necessities and luxuries being distributed basically as rations. Commercial transactions will be marginal to the internal economies of these communities; they’ll probably exist, but only in the form of informal mostly small-scale barter (think something similar to the cigarette economy that may exist in a prison), and they will not be anyone’s primary occupation or source of subsistence or power. Internal economic inequality within a community like this will be mostly a matter of status, not wealth; if somebody eats better it’s because they receive more and better food as an entitlement associated with their political office and/or social status, not because they own a big pile of gold that they use to buy food or something. Probably a community like this will be fairly economically egalitarian even if it is socio-politically unequal; if there’s a king he might have a somewhat bigger apartment, somewhat more and better food, a nice wardrobe of good-quality clothes with lots of bling, etc., but the difference in access to resources between him and one of his servants would be trivial compared to the difference in access to resources between me and a billionaire.

OK, but these people are supposed to be “bad guys” and a “Proud Warrior Race,” so where does that come in? Well, now let’s look at the economy of a community like this and ask: what might they need to get from other communities, and by extension what might they want to violently steal from outsiders?

Certainly not raw resources! If they want water, nitrogen, deuterium, iron, copper, platinum, etc. they can just send out a mining ship to an asteroid or KBO-like body to get some and bring it to them. If they want helium 3 they can just send out a scoop-ship to go down into the atmosphere of the nearest gas giant, gather some up, and bring it to them. And so on. Raw resources are mostly super-abundant to a culture like this and it would make no sense to risk injury or death stealing them from armed outsiders (there are a few exceptions to this that prove the rule, more on that later). So, if not raw resources, what?

Remember that their economy is machinery-limited. They need lots of complex machinery to survive, and then they need more complex machinery to repair and replace that complex machinery (tools to make the tools), and then sometimes they need tools to make the tools to make the tools, and so on. If each community had to be completely self-sufficient this might spiral out unmanageably. But it becomes much more manageable if they are just mostly self-sufficient and tap into larger commercial/industrial networks, e.g. a mostly planet-dwelling society with some orbital infrastructure and asteroid mining that has millions of people. Then if there’s the occasional hard to make spare part they can’t make themselves, it’s not a big deal, they can just send a trading expedition to get some of those parts from outsiders every ten years or so. Or if there’s some hard to make anti-viral drug they can’t make themselves, again, no big deal, they can just send a trading expedition to get some of it from outsiders every few years. A trading expedition ... or a raiding expedition.

Probably they would usually prefer to trade, humans usually prefer sharing or trading to violent theft because it’s less risky, violent theft means the possibility of injury or death (plus in this case complex machinery would be likely to get smashed up in a violent heist). A mutually beneficial trading relationship between a culture like this and a planet-dweller culture would be quite natural; to these people a planet-dweller society is rich in labor but poor in mineral resources such as platinum, while to planet-dwellers this space-dweller culture is rich in mineral resources but poor in labor and certain kinds of machinery and high value added finished goods. But here we have a potential basis for a culture that follows a Viking-style strategy of “if they outgun us, trade, if we outgun them, raid,” with the consequence of this culture’s relationship to other societies being a mix of trade and war.

Some raw resources may be worth stealing here; exceptions that prove the rule that for a space-dwelling culture like this raw resources aren’t worth stealing but value-added finished goods may be. For example, it’s theoretically possible to sift small quantities of naturally occurring antimatter from gas giant magnetic fields, and that stuff might be valuable for catalyzing fusion reactions. That might be worth stealing, because in a sense it’s a raw resource that’s kind of like a finished good; the difficulty is concentrating the very diffuse stuff; an antimatter capture facility with its Penning traps almost full might be worth raiding in the same way a big hoard of gathered acorns might be worth raiding for hunter-gatherers (this resource is abundant but diffuse, somebody else has taken the trouble to gather a lot of it into one spot, you can effectively appropriate their hard work by stealing the hoard). Similarly I could see this culture opportunistically intercepting freighters carrying helium 3, mined semi-refined asteroid material, etc., not so much stealing the resources as functionally stealing the labor of gathering and refining the resources.

There’s another thing a community like this might want to take from outsiders: people.

The economy of a community like this is also skilled specialized labor limited. In fact, that’s probably the more fundamental bottleneck: they can’t build and operate all the machinery they need to be truly self-sufficient because they don’t have the skilled specialist labor, and this is an equilibrium trap because trying to create more skilled specialist labor has a low return on investment for them; keeping a human alive in space is resource-intensive, and a new human probably won’t begin to give them a return on the investment for at least 15 years or so, likely longer (skilled specialized labor, so think e.g. doctors and engineers and literal rocket scientists; training them will take time). One way a community like this can adjust the equation to be more in its favor is to acquire skilled specialized laborers who have already been raised and trained by a different community; then they can skip all the investment in the child and go straight to benefiting from the labor of the fully trained adult.

There’s another reason a community like this might want to take people: genetic diversity. We’re talking about a small community, maybe a few tens of thousands of people, that is somewhat isolated. Inbreeding and lack of genetic diversity can kill small and isolated communities. As I said earlier, reproduction in a community like this will probably be extensively controlled, and I think one aspect of that might be controlling marriages to eliminate or minimize the risks associated with inbreeding. But it would be helpful if a community like this could assimilate some outsiders every generation, to increase its genetic diversity. So the community may want to assimilate even outsiders who don’t have any particularly in-demand specialist skills, to boost its genetic diversity.

Note: while this is a setting where aliens exist, it’s one that’s demographically dominated by humans, so most of the foreigners these people interact with will be other humans. This is significant here.

These two motivations synergize with each other. Most obviously, assimilating a skilled specialist outsider increases the community’s skilled specialist labor pool and also the community’s genetic diversity. But also, because of dynamics adjacent to Baumol’s cost disease, even relatively “unskilled” labor would be valuable in a community like this. Somebody who cleans toilets frees up somebody else to be e.g. a doctor or a nuclear engineer, in a much more reliable and direct way than is the case in a high-population capitalist society like ours. So even assimilating a relatively “unskilled” outsider could both increase the community’s genetic diversity and give it a real economic boost (as with a skilled specialist, compared to creating a new worker through natural reproduction and education, it’s a significant savings to the community if the new worker has been raised to adulthood by a different community).

I’m putting “unskilled” in quotes here cause I think when people say “unskilled” when talking about labor often what they are really talking about is “skills that are taught outside formal school institutions” or “skills that are transmitted but not taught.” I think “unskilled” in this sense is often a political term used to devalue people’s labor and justify people being paid little, worked hard, exposed to unpleasant working conditions, etc., so I don’t like using it ... but I can’t think of a better word to quickly communicate the concept I want to communicate here; I must work with the language my culture has given me. But I’ll put it in quotes here, to indicate I’m not using the concept uncritically.

Aside: you might think that a labor-limited community would make lots of use of robots and other automation, but I’m not sure that’d be true of these people. You’d think a futuristic super-Roomba would be a labor savings compared to a person with a simpler hand-pushed vacuum cleaner, but what about all the labor and machinery needed to make the Roomba? A Roomba represents a strategy of investing secondary sector labor to save tertiary sector labor, and that makes sense if you’ve got a big population and can build big factories so you can benefit from economies of scale, but it might not work as well for almost-self-sufficient small communities. A Roomba factory may be worth it if it saves the labor of a million human cleaners, but what about if it saves the labor of 100 human cleaners? A human is a very useful general-purpose gadget that can replace many specialized gadgets. So I think, counterintuitively, in a community like this you might actually see a lot of theoretically relatively easily automated manual labor being done by humans. This would synergize with a strategy of assimilating some relatively “unskilled” outsiders to increase genetic diversity; these people must be fed, given air to breathe, etc. like everyone else, so it would make sense to try to take advantage of their “as a human, they are a very useful general-purpose gadget that can replace many specialized gadgets” feature. Remember, this is a community that would want to make efficient use of labor and that would want to maintain approximately replacement rate reproduction.

As I said, humans generally prefer sharing or trading to violent theft, because violent theft is risky, and I think that would probably apply here too. Space communities like this would likely have traditions of peacefully “trading” people with each other. One relatively nice way this might happen is e.g. every ten years communities exchange groups of young volunteer emigrants. A less nice way is something like a political leader selling another community’s political leader a doctor and receiving as payment two relatively “unskilled” but young, pretty, and fertile women to be brides for his sons. But again, where trade is a possibility, violent theft is also a possibility. So along with stealing machinery and value-added finished goods, a primary goal of raiding may be capturing people; especially skilled specialists such as doctors, nuclear engineers, etc., but anyone who looks like they might make a good slave might be opportunistically abducted.

If this is starting to sound like nightmare fuel, you’re not wrong, but there is one significant mitigating factor. Remember that the most high-value and sought-after captives would be skilled specialists such as doctors, nuclear engineers, etc.. This is the kind of work where trying to extract labor from people by simple brutality doesn’t work well. You can’t just whip a computer programmer to make them code faster, and you really don’t want to anger the person who fixes the machine that makes the air you breathe, one of the people who tend the nuclear reactor that creates energy for your community, or the person who might do surgery on you. So the experience of being captured and enslaved by these people will often be less chain gang or Gor novel stuff and more “You are given a small but comfortable apartment, decent food, and moderate work assignments. It is made clear to you that bad things will happen to you if you make trouble or don’t work. If you obey your captors and do the work they tell you to do, they will be nice to you and treat you well. Their ultimate plan is to get you to become accustomed to your new life, make friends, get a boyfriend or girlfriend and make a child or three with them, and in this way become sufficiently invested in your new community that you wouldn’t want to go home even if you could.”

Of course, let’s not be too charitable to people who are basically enslavers; that’s how relatively high-value captives are treated, less valued captives are at much more risk of physical and sexual abuse, reproductive coercion, and unsafe and unpleasant working and living conditions.

If you’ve read James C. Scott’s The Art of Not Being Governed and Against The Grain, this may remind you a little of Mr. Scott’s thesis that for much of the history of civilization states were labor-limited, not land-limited. Mr. Scott’s work was a big inspiration to me when I was imagining this culture. Someday I might make a post talking about how I think “the purpose of war isn’t to acquire resources, it’s to acquire people, infrastructure, and machinery” is one of the more plausible paradigms for war in space, but this is long enough so I’ll leave that for another day.

Earlier I drew an analogy between the resource gatherer ships of these people and the war parties of steppe nomads. The context I’ve described here makes the analogy much better. Communities like this won’t just carry resource gatherer ships, but also raiding ships, built for raiding and heavily armed. This also implies violence will be a substantial factor in the life of a community like this; either they will have a significant class of professional warriors, or raiding and preparing for raiding will be a significant part of the average person’s life. I’m going with the first option, which is how you get a Proud Warrior Race instead of weekend-warrior types; as is usual in cases like this, the “Proud Warrior Race” is actually a specific privileged class within this society, and when you read that they are proud you should think of it in that context. I’ll talk about that a lot more in my next post, in which I’ll talk about these people as a culture instead of just as an economy.

#my writing #worldbuilding #James C. Scott #my big ideas #cw: slavery #cw: rape #cw: reproductive coercion #space #hard SF #warning: long #Artemis of the airless vastness

[europeantravel1]

10 Best Day Trips from Amsterdam

Best Day Trips from Amsterdam 

Amsterdam is arguably one of the best cities to visit in the world and it is a great place to visit museums, art, coffee shops and culture — but there is much more to the Netherlands than Amsterdam. Within an hour from Amsterdam, you can visit the tulip fields, windmills, and even climb up sand dunes and lie on the beach and work on your tan! The Netherlands is a relatively small country, so you can get to Utrecht in 30 minutes or even Belgium in 1.5 hours since the country is relatively small. Even traveling from the northernmost city in the Netherlands (Groningen) to the southernmost point (Maastricht) takes roughly two hours. The Netherlands has an excellent system of public transportation that allows travelers to travel anywhere in the country. The trains generally run on time and are modern and comfortable. The Dutch railway company NS has a website on which you can get train schedules. Holland is the world capital of cycling! There are over 32,000 kilometers of bike paths stretching out in all directions, letting you cycle from one city to another with ease if you wish. For nearby cities like Haarlem and Leiden, it is possible to bike from Amsterdam Centraal in an hour to these cities. With this list of the top day trips from Amsterdam, you can get away from Amsterdam and explore the rest of the Netherlands.  

Amsterdam Day Trips

In this list of day trips from Amsterdam, only places within a two-hour train ride from Amsterdam were included. It is possible to access all of these sights in one day by public transportation.  

Recommended Amsterdam Day Trips

1. Haarlem

The short train ride to Haarlem makes it an ideal day trip from Amsterdam. Haarlem is often described as a smaller, more compact version of historical Amsterdam. Haarlem is less hectic than Amsterdam and offers a more authentic experience. It is essentially a suburb of Amsterdam so it is easy to get to. In fact if the hotel prices in Amsterdam are to high for you staying in Haarlem is a good alternative. Haarlem is seen as a quieter, gentler Amsterdam – which is in fact only 15 minutes away by train. Haarlem's Christmas market is quite possibly the top Christmas market in the Netherlands. The event is centered around the city’s Grote Markt (main square). On a regular Saturday, however, the square will have local stalls offering cheese, clothing, souvenirs, and more. There is a church located right near the square and a variety of bars and cafes. Throughout your stay, be sure to enjoy a boat ride along the canals, observe the authentic windmill located directly in the city, and finish the day at Jopenkerk, a church-turned-brewery. And, trust me the beer here is way better than the beer at the T'ij brewery in Amsterdam even though that one is located in a cool windmill.   2. Tulip Fields in Lisse and Keukenhorf, Netherlands

Most tourists come to the Netherlands in the springtime to view the world-famous tulip fields. Lisse is the best place to see them. Just 40 minutes by train from Amsterdam, Lisse is an easy day trip from Amsterdam. The striking colors of the flowering tulip bulbs are a typical sight in Holland during the spring. The bright red, pink and yellow colors are overwhelmingly beautiful and are a must see, or should we say, a must experience! Keukenhof is situated in Lisse, and is one of the world's largest flower gardens. The park is home to over 800 beautiful tulip and flower arrangements. There are several attractions around the gardens, including a petting zoo, art installations, restaurants, and boat trips. Tourists do tend to overcrowd this area. Therefore, it is highly recommended that you purchase fast-track tickets that include transfers. You don’t have to go to Keukenhof to see the tulips; there are plenty of tulip fields scattered all over the Lisse province that are open to the public. We suggest renting bicycles and cycling around the fields to admire them. You can also take a tulip bicycle tour with a guide to see them.   3. Zaanse Schans

The Netherlands isn’t complete without mentioning the iconic Dutch windmill and wooden clogs. The Dutch are known for their windmills, and the closest one to Amsterdam is Zaanse Schans, a town dating back to the 19th century. Looking around you at the Zaanse Schans, you will see nothing but history. Take a tour of the wooden windmills and try on traditional Dutch clogs and savour some Dutch cheese. Zaanse Schans is one of the very best places to visit in the Netherlands. The Zaanse Schans takes its name from an earthen sconce, a fortification from the Eighty Years’ War (the uprising against Spanish rule). From 1961 to 1974 old buildings from all over the Zaanstreek were relocated here from all over the Netherlands. Getting to Zaanse Schans from Amsterdam by bus can be accomplished in 30 minutes from Central Station.   4. Delft

In the Netherlands there is no shortage of adorable towns, however, Delft stands out as my favorite. Delft is best known for its pottery, especially Delftware pottery! There is even a factory here that produces Delftware. Delft is not only known for the pottery, but also for its beautiful churches, charming boutiques, and cozy cafes. Delft is a popular tourist destination in the Netherlands, famous for its historical connections with the reigning House of Orange-Nassau, for its blue pottery, for being home to the painter Jan Vermeer, Vermeer is buried in the Old Church. Make sure you climb the clock tower for the best view in Delft. Delft is the perfect place to visit if you'd like to see beautiful Dutch architecture without the crowds that Amsterdam attracts.   5. The Hague (Den Haag) & Scheveningen Beach

The Hague is located approximately one hour train ride away from Amsterdam and is the perfect day trip destination. The city is beautifully designed and the city has a sense of calm about it, even though it is surrounded by a large amount of activity. It is a city on the western coast of the Netherlands on the North Sea. It is famous as the place where war criminals are tried but it is much more than that. Koningsdag, or King's Day, is held annually on 27 April. It is traditionally celebrated with fairs and flea markets throughout the city. On this day, the color orange predominates at a festival (which sells orange cotton candy) and has scores of informal street markets. The Hague is also home to one of the finest beaches in the Netherlands called Scheveningen Beach. This beach is one of the most popular attractions to The Hague and is particularly popular with tourists and locals alike. The white sand beach stretches for miles and includes a Ferris wheel on its pier. 6. Alkmaar Cheese Market

If you are eager to experience the world-famous cheese of the Netherlands, then you should visit Alkmaar. Alkmaar, not Gouda is the cheese capital of the Netherlands, and there are many cheese-related attractions for visitors to enjoy! Every Friday from March through September, there is a cheese market, which is particularly interesting to say the least. Alkmaar has many medieval buildings that are still intact, most notably the tall tower of the Grote of Sint-Laurenskerk, where many people from Alkmaar hold their wedding ceremony. This Dutch city is 30 minutes from Amsterdam by train and has more than just cheese. Visit the Dutch Cheese Museum or the National Beer Museum, while Belgium and Germany are more well known for beer, the beer scene in the Netherlands is very healthy.     7. Rotterdam Among the most popular cities near Amsterdam, Rotterdam is one. The reason for its popularity is that it is modern and different than any other state in the country. During World War II, the whole city was destroyed by bombs and rebuilt in a totally different style. Rotterdam is home to many fine examples of modern architecture, much of it inspired by the city's waterside setting, as well as a response to the devastation of WWII.

This unique city can be reached by a fast train in just 45 minutes. This allows plenty of time for exploration. The most popular sites here include the famous cube houses, the Markthall (market hall) and the Erasmus Bridge. Nevertheless, a leisurely stroll through the streets and a discovery of the city is much more enjoyable.   8. Utrecht

Utrecht is one of the oldest cities in the Netherlands and has a fascinating history. This city is located only 30 minutes by train from Amsterdam and is among the most popular Amsterdam day trips. While most people think of Amsterdam when they think of the Netherlands. Utrecht is the lively, beating heart of Holland, an ancient university town built around the Dom Tower. Utrecht is known for its city center with wharf cellars along the canals housing cafes and terraces by the water. Utrecht is celebrated for its canals, which run through the center of the city. In addition to the unique design, the lower section of the canals is complemented by outdoor eating areas for restaurants during the warmer months. Besides the unique canals and restaurants, Utrecht is an amazing city to stroll around and explore. Upon exploring the city, you'll find that Utrecht is full of special places. For example, you can drink the best coffee in the city in the vibrant Voorstraat, find all your groceries in the multicultural Lombok and taste and feel the city's archaeological history at Castellum   9. Leiden

Leiden is an old and historical city in the Netherlands that can be reached by train in 30 minutes from Amsterdam. It is best known for its historical significance as a university town and for its stunning old architecture dating back to the year 1575. It reminds me a lot of Leuven in Belgium or Heidelberg in Germany. It is the best place to explore museums, canals without tourists, restaurants, and coffee shops. Although Rembrandt spent much of his life in Amsterdam, he was born and raised in Leiden. In fact, he attended classes at the city’s university for some time before deciding to pursue a career as an artist. There are several tributes to Rembrandt around the city including a plaque on Weddesteeg that marks his birthplace. The Floating Christmas Market in Leiden is another favorite of Amsterdammers. This quaint market boasts more than 90 stalls that sell a variety of festive foods, warm drinks, and handcrafted items. You'll also find a floating ice rink, as well as a small stage where performances are performed round the clock. This yearly event has won multiple awards, including the “Best Christmas Market in Europe” in 2016.   10. Antwerp, Belgium

Taking a day trip from Amsterdam does not necessarily mean remaining in the Netherlands. By crossing the border into Belgium, you will arrive in Antwerp in no time at all. It may seem impossible to travel from The Netherlands to Belgium in one day, but thanks to the high-speed Thalys train it is quite doable. Antwerp is an ancient center of medieval architecture and history, completely distinct from the Netherlands. Taking this day trip will provide you with a chance to explore another country, learn about a different history, and see a beautiful city nearby. The old city center is steeped in history. You will find it in ancient building-fronts on narrow streets or in the imposing Grand-Place. The Plantin-Moretus Museum is the only museum in the world to be classified as a Unesco World Heritage site. Belgian beers are world-famous, and Antwerp is an excellent place to improve your acquaintance with them. The De Koninck Antwerp City Brewery offers an ideal introduction to the world of beer. Het Pakhuis and Antwerpse Brouw Compagnie are other breweries where you can taste authentically brewed Belgian beer. One of the top-rated beer bars in the world, the Kulminator is located in Antwerp and there are a host of other good pubs.   Related Story: Amsterdam Red Light Area Bars   Read the full article

#amsterdam #gouda #delft #daytrips #netherlands #holland

[darrencrissarmy]

Darren Criss

You have been working with Ryan Murphy for a really long time now. How has the collaboration grown in these years? Have you guys gotten into a shorthand?

I think just by nature of him inviting me to be a producer on here was definitely a step of me growing up a little bit. I can’t take a whole lot of credit for this show, we had a dinner where I didn’t intentionally pitch what would become this show, we were just talking about 1940s Hollywood, which I neither invented or created.

Hollywood in the '40s is a genre that — and I say genre, not just a period because it is so full of mythology and lore that we all love so much. It’s kind of up there with sci-fi and fantasy. It has its own kind of world. So we were just riffing on that.

By the time he sold the show after we were kind of just brainstorming, he sold it within a day or two. And then afterwards, he just asked me if I wanted to be an executive producer. And I said, 'are you sure? That is very kind of you, but I understand that this will be your thing and I don’t want to be too big for my britches.'

And of course he was like, 'you are an idiot, of course take it.' I say that because I was very appreciative, I think of the goodwill that he gave to me because he knew that it was something that were kind of piecing together.

But I definitely didn’t write the script or anything. He was very gracious to include me on the sort of very preliminary creative steps and was very open to my input and he was very receptive to that stuff. So there’s a shorthand in so far as I have learned to, he is the busiest man in Hollywood, so I try and keep it short and sweet and concise and I try not to be too big for my britches.  It’s the Ryan thing and when in doubt, let him take the lead and I am just happy to be invited.

Your character is also half-Filipino, just like yourself. Talk about how much you can relate to your character.

You have been around in my life in a much more Filipino capacity than others.  It’s a huge part of my background. But it wasn’t until the past few years where the idea of being white passing or the idea of a part of your identity being unrecognized was ever really a concept to me.

I think it was made clear because there are so many people, either from the Filipino community or other historically marginalized groups, that kind of gave me the term of, 'oh you are white passing.'  And I never thought of that because my whole life, I just was me.

I knew I was Filipino, my dad was white, it was what it was. And so I never thought of that as an internal conflict or an issue until honestly working on “Versace.” It was a conflict for Andrew because it was something that he tried to hide because he was ashamed and he didn’t want to be different, whereas the villain in this scenario is less the self and more, the main antagonist of this show is the '1940s and the suppression and repression that comes from the time itself. 

I am happy to say I don’t relate because I have never really felt slighted in any way because of my background. I am very lucky in that way. I have always felt very supported and welcomed and that’s just a lot of luck and I am very grateful in my life for the people who have given me that.

But somebody like Raymond, he sees this as a reason to kind of start this social justice crusade. You know what, he’s just like Ryan Murphy in the sense that there are things about him that he has had to fight through and accept as a young closeted man from a small town in Indiana, growing up to own the things that he was insecure about and using them to his advantage and in so doing, breaking down the walls for other people that were also in the shadows.

So I think there’s a lot of Ryan Murphy in Raymond, who looks at film and television as a way to push culture forward and to be an advocate for the underdog.

It was great for you to get into old time Hollywood. But facing the problems we are living in today, how do you envision the future of the movie industry? How can we reopen the space in the cinema while protecting and keeping people safe?

Oh gosh, I am definitely the last authority on this matter. I am just as interested in that question as I think all people are in the entertainment business. I don’t know what the answer is but I do know that after we make it out of this, I think we are going to reevaluate a lot of systems that have been in place for several decades, if not a full millennia.

So I love the big joke that once we started going into quarantine, I saw something going around about now we all know which meetings really could have just been an email. So there are a lot of things where we go okay, we really don’t have to do it this way.  And times of chaos make you reevaluate systems. I mean personally, I am a fan of the cinema, I will always be a fan, I think it’s because I am a theater person.

What is the first thing I am going to do when I am out of this? I am going to go to the bars, I am going to go to my piano bar, I am going to get really close to people, and I am probably going to make out with everybody at my bar, frankly.

I mean I just want to be with people, I enjoy the catharsis of communicating, of experiencing things with strangers in a fun — that is what entertainment does, it brings us together.

And even though we are brought together in our homes, there’s something so magical and eternal about sitting in a room and in real time feeling people and hearing people laughing or crying and realizing, oh they are feeling what I am feeling. That’s one of the sort of nuclei of the human experience is getting to do it together.

So I hope that cinemas can reopen soon, however given the priorities of human necessity, I should hope that it isn’t the absolute first thing that needs to happen, I say that to my own chagrin, I work in entertainment and I work in the theaters.

Obviously I would love this to happen but only when it is safe for the world at large.  But I think no matter what, human beings will always find a way, even though we always say, 'oh, we are on our phones, everyone is so disconnected, look at all the kids, they are on their phones,' human beings inevitably always find a way to get together in person.  It is inevitable and I wholeheartedly believe that.

What does the word Hollywood evoke for you? What is the first image, the first sound, the first memory that comes to your mind if I say Hollywood?

It is such a huge concept because I didn’t think, it wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles that I even realized that it was a place.

I think for so many people, it’s a concept. To go to Hollywood is so much bigger than the sign and the place and the industry, it’s a mantra of sorts to people. So Hollywood to me was the entertainment industry.

I think there are people who aren’t even in the entertainment industry that refer to Hollywood as going big, going for broke, the big dream, the classic great white somewhere.

It’s always meant a whole lot. I mean it’s hard for me to disassociate it from the Hollywood sign and my own career. But gosh it’s an interesting question, it’s just all the things, it’s dreams and it’s the dream factory. For me, all of us having dreams as kids and wanting to work in the entertainment industry, you hear the world Hollywood and it’s exciting, it’s this eternal exciting Mount Olympus that you hope you get to visit. And I have been lucky enough to be granted access and I am still waiting for them to kick me out.

#darren criss #hollywood netflix #ryan murphy #fil-am #fil-am representation

[krisseycrystal]

rated: t

fandom: Gravity Falls

prompt: “Locked in a Freezer” + Stan & Dipper (& Ford)

requested by: @trashgoblinonyourporch

SO MY AMAZING FRIEND PAX SENT ME AN EXCELLENT CHALLENGE because i have never written a Gravity Falls fic before, w/ my choice of Stan, Dipper, or Ford locked in a freezer and I like to challenge hurt myself even further so i picked Stan & Dipper and had Ford cameo at the end

it’s a Time

hope you enjoy! if you want more angst, feel free to request something! i still have four prompts available on this bad boi alsdkjflkjsf

- o - o - o -

Gelid [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

“HEY!”

Maybe the first thing Stan should have felt when the thick door swung shut at their backs was panic. Maybe stupidity--he knew that ugly bastard with the toothpick between his teeth was lyin’ when he denied that there were ghosts in his quote-unquote “historic” bar; he knew it--but instead, all Stan can feel is a ravaging, crater-deep guilt. 

“Grunkle Stan?”

It was his idea to invite the twins along on this summer trip to the East Coast. It was him who first said, hey, whaddya know, we’re passin’ through their part’a town, Ford. Whaddya say? Let’s pick up the kiddos, have ‘em stuff their duffels in the back and let ‘em tag along on our haunted haunts tour ‘long the New England coast. They’re probably all goofs, anyway. What’s the harm?

This bar.

With its fucking deep-ass freezer.

That’s the harm.

After frantically pulling on the long handlebar once, twice, then heaving as hard as he could and throwing his shoulder into the door, Stan finally steps back and wraps his arms around himself. His faux-gold rings with their cubic zirconia catches on the cloth of his sleeves as he vigorously rubs his forearms. “Kid, do you wear anything else other than those dumb shorts and tee-shirt?”

Dipper’s already mimicking him, smart kid, but his teeth are chattering. Not a good sign. “It’s not like I have access to my bag right now to change! If I’d known some ghost was gonna lock us in a freezer, then I’d have worn something a little warmer!”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Got that fancy new cell of yours, don’tcha? Just call your sister!”

Dipper’s eyes light up. Had he forgotten he had it? Go figure. Shermi’s daughter had been so hesitant to give the twins cells, but after they turned thirteen, well…he’s sure Dipper and Mabel worked their own case pretty hard. It certainly paid off. It’s going to pay off.

It has to.

It only takes a few seconds tapping on the screen with shaking fingers to make Dipper’s face fall. “No service.”

“What? Let me see that.”

Dipper doesn’t fight when Stan swipes the dinky device out of his hand. But he does watch, unimpressed, tiny hands rubbing his arms, as Stan pretends to recognize what the hell it is he’s looking at on the screen. Fuckin’ tiny-ass white blobs. What do those things mean? Is that a percentage? Is 35 good or bad?

He tosses it back, grumbling. They need to get out. Fast. What’s the first thing to get frostbitten? How long does that take?

“Look, kid,” Stan huffs, his breath a white cloud glittering in the dark. “I’m putting you on cell duty. Your job is to think of a way to tell the others we’re down here so they can come rescue our asses.”

Are Dipper’s cheeks pinkening because of the cold, or because Stan cursed in front of him? Hard to tell. “Right.” 

Dipper bows his head over his phone, the bill of his blue pine-tree hat obscuring his face. His thumbs tap madly away; how the hell does he do that so fast? Then he turns, tremblingly striding the length of the walk-in freezer back and forth. At each corner, Dipper stops, raising his cell high above his head with a tight grimace. He stretches onto his tip-toes, waves the device right and left, and with a look of consternation, begins the process over again in a different corner. 

Stan watches his hands for a second more before it clicks.

“Dipper, take off your socks.”

“My what?” 

“Your socks.” Stan hurriedly bends over to do the same, peeling off his holey socks from his shoes before shoving his feet back inside. “Put them on your hands. Your dumb fingers are gonna get frostbit before anythin’ else and that ain’t gonna take more than two minutes.”

“B-but, Grunkle Stan, you just told me to I gotta use--”

“--do you want to lose your digits or not, kid?”

Is it a mercy or a worry that Dipper doesn’t fight him on this?

With his mouth set in a thin line, Dipper hands off his phone to Stan and squats to untie his shoes. Every passing second, the kid’s teeth chatter harder and harder; his fingers shake so much, he fumbles with the strings, pinching them and dropping them over and over again. He tugs and tugs to undo the shoelace, but it doesn’t budge. “G-Grunkle Stan, I can’t--I--”

There’s a terrible, terrible break in the kid’s already squeaky-ass voice.

Like an echo, a ricochet, something else breaks and cracks in the center of Stan’s chest.

He shoots forward, falling to his knee before he thinks better of it. His weary bones scream in protest, but not as badly as his skin does. It only takes seconds for the wet chill of the freezer floor to seep through his pants. He shoves Dipper’s phone in his pocket and doesn’t see the way the screen lights up as he does.

“It’s okay. I’ve got ya, kid,” he mutters and yanks the Converse laces loose himself. 

When Dipper’s hands are covered with twin stinky, middle-school white ankle-socks, Stan breathes a sigh of relief. Standing, he finds, is much worse on his creaky body immediately after kneeling.

“Remind me not to Cinderella you again, kid,” Stan groans, placing a sock-mittened hand in the center of his back.

Dipper chuckles, but it’s weak. The kid’s eyes shine a little too brightly in the dark, unshed tears making his eyelashes sparkle with frost. “Y-yeah. That was…awkward.” He clears his throat and holds out his socked hand expectantly, still shivering uncontrollably.

“Hm? What? Oh.” Stan fishes the kid’s phone back out.

Dipper’s face lights up at the same time as his screen does. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan we did it! We got a message through!”

“What?”

Dipper hurries over, pressing close to his side, and shoving his phone in his face as if he’s supposed to be able to read the tiny black font printed inside those grey boxes. 24%. There’s a funny, probably candid, photo of Mabel beside each one. Her cheek is pressed up against a wooden table with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her face the utter look of someone who has eaten far too much cake and has icing all around her mouth to prove it. Does she even know Dipper took that picture? Who cares; it’s priceless.

“What am I supposed to be lookin’ at?”

“What Mabel said! She and Ford are on their way! They’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.

“Kid, you tell her to tell my brother to step on it. We could be popsicles in fifteen minutes!”

“Y-yeah, but--”

“--and then as soon as you're done, come over here.” Stan didn’t want to have to do this, but it looks like he has little choice. He turns around, hunting for loose, broken-down cardboard boxes or crates and finds a stash of them pinned between a steel shelf and the wall. Hell yeah. “If we’re gonna last ‘till then, then we gotta hunker. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.”

“H-hunker?”

Stan throws several sheets of unfolded cardboard on the floor and covers the floor as much as he can.

“Hunker,” he confirms. 

- o - o - o -

The first five minutes aren’t horrible. Dipper is reluctant to huddle close and wants to stand and move around instead of sit down on a makeshift mat of cardboard. The kid admirably performs a few back-and-forth laps of high-knees and jumping-jacks before exhaustion kicks in and his body shivers too hard to do a single rep more.

Stan doesn’t even need to say anything. He holds out an arm and Dipper comes stumbling over back to him, shaking so hard, skin wane and pale, he might be as blue as his hat.

The second five minutes are spent clutching at each other, shivering tightly in a teeth-chattering huddle. In the end, Stan burrito-wraps his jacket around Dipper and pulls him over to curl against the pudge of his front. His socked hands run up and down, up and down the kid’s back as quickly as they can.

At the end of the third five minutes, Dipper begins to cry and Stan knows it’s because some part of him--his nose, probably--has frostbite setting in because it’s settling in on his nose and ears at the same time.

“Shit.”

“I-it--” It’s damn near pathetic the way the kid can barely talk. “--i-it h-h-hurts, G-Grunkle S--”

“--y-yeah. I know; I know…” 

Dipper’s breath is thin and quick under the tightness of his tears. He gasps for air, breath puffing up over and over again against his face. It’s pathetic. The way his thin shoulders are pulled up to his frozen ears; the way he can feel the tremors wrecking the kid in the middle of his hold. This entire damn thing is pathetic.

…and so is he, he thinks.

“I-I’m sorry,” Dipper stutters, voice so small. “I-I shouldn’t have--w-we s-shouldn’t have c-come here--I w-was stupid to th-think that--”

“Nope. None of that,” Stan clutches the kid tighter. “Shut up. Now.”

Dipper’s socked hands dig into the thin fabric of his button-up. Whether or not Stan actually meant to bring him to silence, that faltering apology is the last thing Dipper tries to say.

Twenty minutes pass.

- o - o - o -

Ford’s voice, when Stan finally hears it or thinks he hears it, is distant, like a dream. It washes over Stan with all the cotton-balled effect of damaged stereo speakers. Or maybe that’s just his hearing aids going out.

There are mittened hands on his shoulders, separate from the ones trying to pry away the huddle locked against his chest. As soon as the loss of a kid finally registers in his dumb, befuddled head, he writhes and fights. He rears up a socked fist to throw it--but it’s easily caught in a broad, six-fingered hand.

“Stanley. Stanley. It’s me. It’s okay.”

It takes monumental effort to crack open his eyelids and peer up. Something chilled and grainy falls down his cheeks. “Poindexter?”

“Stanley,” and the relief is so great and thick that any bitter anger Stan had in his chest at their belated rescue fizzles. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The ghost was…trying, to say the least. Mabel and I had to exorcise it before we could even get down to the basement. It…the entire process took much longer than it should have. And that never should have…I’m…” 

Dipper is pulled away from him and this time, he doesn’t resist. He can see the cool blue-black of police uniforms and the yellow jacket of paramedics.

“We tried to call you, but I suppose Dipper’s phone must have died. It went straight to voicemail.”

“Can it with the s-stupid apologies, will ya?” Stan sighs and his body shakes hard before stilling. “T-tired of it. Shit h-happened. W-we got locked in a f-f-f-fucking freezer. Just…get us the fuck out of here before I th-think about h-how I might sink s-some cruise ships.” 

Ford’s smile is rueful and exasperated. He looks over his shoulder at the paramedics that approach with a thick blanket in hand.

“I’ll make sure to keep you away from oceans, for a while, then.”

“W-water and ic-c-c-e in general. Th-thanks.”

“Noted.” Then the humor slips away and something else, something soft, gentles Ford’s face. It’s disgusting. Just like the blanket the paramedics wrap around Stan’s shoulders. “You’re going to be all right, Stan.”

“Yeah…” Stan’s eyes slip left, looking at the freezer’s now-open doorway.

“Dipper, too.”

Stan sniffs. When the paramedics pull Ford back to reach out and take his arms, he nods at his brother in wordless thanks. 

#bad things happen bingo #bth bingo #gravity falls #grunkle stan #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #fanfic #gf #bthb #locked in a freezer #krissey writes a thing #also none of this is prbly realistic so uh #what's that saying #suspension of disbelief?? ye #something like that i hope #angst

[introvertguide]

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969); AFI #73

The next film for review is one of my very favorite Western style films, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969). This is an incredible film that is directed by George Roy Hill and stars the charismatic colossi Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and Katharine Ross. The film won four Academy Awards including Best Editing, Best Cinematography, Best Score, and Best Song. The AFI ranked the male duo #20 on the 100 Greatest Heroes list and the movie was ranked the 7th greatest western despite arguably not really being a Western but a semi-biography that is set in the Old West. As American as this film is, it actually did the best at the BAFTAs where it won 8 awards from 9 nominations and swept the major awards including Best Film, Best Direction, Best Actor (Robert Redford), and Best Actress (Katharine Ross). Before singing any more of the accolades for the movie, let me break down the plot. Of course that means...

SPOILER ALERT!!! THIS MOVIE IS GREAT AND DESERVES TO BE WATCHED AND NOT SPOILED!!! STOP READING AND WATCH THE FILM IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY!!! IT IS GREAT TO WATCH FIRST AND THEN COMPARE TO HISTORY AFTER SO GIVE IT A TRY!!!

The film is set In 1899 Wyoming, and begins with a quick sepia toned introduction to the characters. The major players are the quick talking Butch Cassidy (Paul Newman) and the quiet and short tempered Sundance Kid (Robert Redford). The color corrects and the two are riding together back to see their gang and it turns out that one of the other men wants to take over. Butch wins in a fight for the gang leader position by cheating along with the help of Sundance keeping the others at bay. Butch retains his job but he does like Harvey’s idea to rob the Union Pacific train. This robbery takes place with a comical interaction between Butch and an accountant/safeguard named Woodcock. The robbery goes well and the two celebrate at a whore house while watching the local sheriff try to enlist men for a posse. 

This is the end of act 1 and it is punctuated by a musical number. This happens throughout the film. Butch rides a bike around to try to impress the lover of Sundance, Etta Place (Katharine Ross), after stealing her away in the morning before the Kid wakes up. It is quite unusual and stands out from the rest of the film as Butch is not the love interest of the woman and the bike does not show up again. The music number is “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head” by Burt Bacharach with an almost Benny Hill style circus outro. It really exemplifies the experimental nature of the film as the scene would likely have been cut today.

The train robbery went so well that the gang tries it again, but this time everything seems to be going wrong. Woodcock is coincidentally guarding the safe again and one of the passengers starts mouthing off. Butch is able to get into the safe car, but the safe is much thicker forcing him to use a bunch of dynamite to break it. He uses too much and blows up everything sending paper money blowing around in the breeze. To make matters worse, another train pulls up releasing a posse hired by the owner of Union Pacific. This posse kills two of the gang and chase Butch and Sundance into the mountains and the two can’t seem to lose them. They finally are able to jump off a cliff into a river and escape back to Etta. The two are worried that the posse is still coming so they take Etta and go to South America. Cue the end of act 2 so we have a fun musical travel montage. 

This is a travel montage shown through sepia tone still photos of the three going to New York and seeing the town before catching a boat south. Again, the music is far out of place for the genre and only works because of the overall experimental feel of the film. It is a very short interlude in slide show format and carnival music, but it does the trick and brings the group to Bolivia. 

On arrival, Sundance is not impressed at the conditions. They try to rob banks and are at first held back because of an inability to speak Spanish. Etta teaches them and the two men rob banks becoming known as Los Bandidos Yanquis (American Bandits). Here is another music interlude of all the successful robberies set to pleasant choir music that sounds like something out of an industrial instructional film, which tells the audience the mood is again about to change. After a while, Sundance becomes paranoid because he sees a man that looks like the leader of the posse that drove them out of America and the two decide to go straight and get jobs guarding the payroll instead of robbing it. Unfortunately, the are held up on their first job and Butch is forced to kill which he reveals he has never had to do before. Butch wants to have one more big score and Etta heads back north, sensing trouble with a return to crime, while Butch and Sundance complete a “jungle robbery” of the payroll.

The robbery is a success and the two take the money and the mule to carry it. This is a mistake because a local kid recognizes the brand on the mule and tells the police who also inform the Bolivian military. This is bad news for Butch and Sundance as they are pinned down in a small church by what seems to be a hundred Bolivian men. Butch makes a run for the ammo but both are shot in the attempt and it seems there is no way out. The two continue to banter about going to Australia after leaving Bolivia, but they both know they are done. They load up their guns the best they can and run out into the massive volley of fire and the frame freezes not revealing the final fate of the two. Roll credits.

This seems like a strange way to end a movie, but it mirrors the unknown fate of the real Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The whole movie is pretty historically accurate as far as what is known about the lives of the three main characters, but the musical interludes and the quippy dialogue make the film feel much more fictional. The movie is also split into definitive chapters with music breaks so it really has good pacing. Fine visual story telling. 

There is a strong connection between Paul Newman and Robert Redford, which is apparent throughout the film. Paul is the amiable people-person who likes to talk and be friends with everyone while Robert liked to keep to himself and was all business. It just worked well. Director George Roy Hill used this dynamic again when he had both men star together in The Sting, which was even more successful and garnered 7 Academy Awards. A great connection and an example of a cinematic “bromance” in which two lead male characters act almost like a married couple. 

The film seems to be strongly inspired by the works of Sergio Leone like A Fist Full of Dollars; For A Few Dollars More; The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly; and Once Upon A Time in the West. It takes the western film and gives a more complicated plot, more stylized cinematography, and great soundtrack. The Leone films were shot in Italy and didn’t have all the restrictions that American films had in the 60s, so Hollywood looked to these films for content ideas when the Hayes code was finally replaced by the MPAA rating system in 1969. The major difference was American film makers had access to big name Hollywood actors and the actual American west. Also, Leone hired Ennio Morricone who used period piece instruments to give each character a theme while Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was scored by a hipster and then shot in a way to try and incorporate the music. 

In American film history, the year 1969 was very experimental with the Civil Rights movement and the “free love” hippies affecting the box office draw at the same time. The former group preferred a more realistic filming approach while the latter wanted a more psychedelic fantasy. Many of the films blended both and America ended up with The Wild Bunch, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Midnight Cowboy, and Easy Rider. It was a year of genre mixing and experimentation that makes for some fascinating film watching. Really embodies the turmoil of the country and the new age of Hollywood films. 

So should this film be on the AFI 100? Of course. It was experimental, influential, fun, and fascinating. It was perhaps the first “bromance” in Hollywood and a well established part of Americana. It also showed that context is completely unnecessary for a song to work in a film. Would I recommend it? How could I not? It is one of the few films that I have seen more times than I can count and still have not had to check the time while watching it. It is fun from beginning to end (sometimes weird, sometimes funny, sometimes dramatic action) and gorgeous to look at. It is a little anachronistic and abrupt with the music interludes, but engaging and enjoyable throughout. Definitely a film on the list that is more than just a time capsule or a lesson in film making (although it is that as well).

#paul newman #robert redford #katherine ross #butch cassidy and the sundance kid #westerns #1969 #hollywood #introvert #introverts #bromance #best song #Oscar winner #afi films

[sparksinthenight]

A story idea:

K I don’t have the time to actually write this, considering that I already have five WIPs. So if anyone has time and wants to write this, feel free.

Okay so it’s a historical fact that George Washington’s family was very racist, greedy, egotistical, exploitative, power-hungry, wealthy, powerful, etc. They owned slaves and we’re all-round scum. George himself was also all this. This is a historical fact. Watch RenegadeCut’s video about the Cult if Tradition if you’re want more information.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwUIDNYwZRY

Okay so now the fiction comes in:

So the story starts when George’s mom is pregnant with him. His father has invested in some business ventures that are too risky for his likings - I don’t know enough about history to know why this would be at the time - and he stands to lose some of his obscene fortune. He can’t stand this and eventually his desire for money and also the power and status that come with money win out over his desire not to do anything too weird.

He follows a young poor woman to where she lives. There’s rumours of her being a witch because she lives out in the forest by herself without a man. But she’s also the best embroider there is and people really like her work so they keep her around. But anyways, Augustine (George’s dad) I’d hoping that she is a witch. Not in order to get the town to burn her but in order to blackmail her into doing magic for him. He has like a special copy of the bible given to him by a really sketchy priest with him that can help him detect witchcraft. He has it hidden.

The woman knows that he is following her, though he tries to be very secretive about it, and she confronts him immediately. He says that he is merely wanting to confirm that she isn’t doing some horrible witchy stuff or whatever and that he is merely trying to keep the town safe. She tries to get him to stop following her but he is really insistent. She recognizes that the power imbalance between them means she can’t do anything about him following her so she lets him.

It turns out that she lives in a small cottage that she found in the woods. Though he doesn’t know this yet, she is in fact a witch and also he helps slaves to escape. She sends out a magical message to the slaves hiding in her home that danger is coming and they should probably hide, so they hide in her cellar. Meanwhile Augustine, using the special bible, detects that she’s just used magic though he doesn’t know what magic she used.

So he calls her out in her witchcraft, shows her the proof, and she’s terrified. But he assures her that he will not tell anyone as long as she does what he says. She promises him that she will. And he commands her to see into the future to learn what is in store for his plantation.

She does so, and sees that there we’ll be great suffering for the many people who work on it, for generations upon generations to come. But she can’t really say that because even though she’s technically obeying him he’ll still get her killed if she says that. Instead she tells him that his profits will continue to improve and his bloodline will prosper. Not lies. But she really wants to stick it to him. She tells him that the first child born in his house February of this year will become a great leader and a hero whose honourable deeds would have effects for centuries to come. Augustine knows that his child is due in February and takes this as glorious news. But she knows that the first child born in the house in February will not be George. It will be a little black girl named Liberty (is that too in the nose?). She knows that Augustine never pays attention to the lives of his slaves and does not see them as people, so he won’t even notice that his maid is also pregnant. And of course he won’t pay any attention to a black girl.

So then we go to February. Towards the beginning of the month Liberty’s mother goes into labour and there is no-one around so she can’t get help and she gives birth on the cellar floor. It is a deeply traumatizing experience and terrifying and painful experience for her because she had no access to support or comfort or medical care or anything. Which obviously sucks, she deserves better, but stupid systems create injustice. But despite the traumatic birth, the girl is healthy and beautiful and she loves her immediately. It’s the middle of night by the time the child is born and there is incredible starlight, mirroring what happened when Jesus was was born. She gathers her strength and walks to her hut, to where her husband is, and they decide together to name the child Liberty.

So then we get to see George’s mother giving birth with a fictitious and a midwife and the best painkillers they had at the time, in her hugs and soft bed.

And we see both the children growing up. We see George being snobbish and racist and treating his slaves badly.

And we see Liberty being humble and kind and friendly to her fellow slaves. We see her suffering and doing child labour. But we also see her listening to the problems of her friends and family in the slave quarters, and offering them support and encouragement. We see her telling stories if hope and bravery and confidence go the younger kids, and even the older kids. She becomes a great storyteller, weaving tales of defying unbeatable odds, rising up against oppressors, showing silent, secret defiance, of showing compassion and togetherness and unity. And we see her living her ideals as much as we can. We see her stealing bits of extra food to share with her people when she could. We see her finding funny ways to secretly mock the masters. We see her lying cleverly to protect people from punishment. She is incredibly proud if her people. How they make it through the depths if hell by finding light in each other. How they try so hard to survive. Everything about them.

As George grows, he increased in his spoiled ness and his pride but also becomes charismatic and manipulative.

As Liberty grows, she only grows more protective and brave. She lives her people more than anything, and has inspired, helped, empowered, and even saved so many people. When she is fifteen she gets sold to another plantation. And that’s heartbreaking. She finds herself loving her new family of fellow slaves and supporting and sticking up for them just as much. She even draws attention to herself purposefully when the younger slaves mess up, so that the overseers’ wrath can be directed at her instead and they can be safe. People admire her for her selflessness and spirit. She admires then did their kindness, longing, community, wisdom, hope, the list goes on. They find hope in each other.

Liberty gets involved with the (well there wasn’t an Underground Railroad yet, but the equivalent) and she slaves run away to freedom. She never goes herself, knowing that if she stays on the plantation she can help many slaves become free. And she is hailed as a hero.

Eventually she is found out by the whites and hanged for all this. But before she dies she proclaims that they won’t be able to keep her people in inequality forever and that one day there will be justice. Then she dies. A whole bunch of black people see how she was defiant until the end. George Washington is in the crowd. He feels true fear for the first time in his life. For just a second.

And the truth is that with her humility, her selflessness, her pride and her ability to find power within an abjectly powerless situation, she positively impacted so many more lives than the president with his fame and his power and his glory ever did. She sowed the seeds of love, of hope, of true freedom, rather than the seeds of blind patriotism and capitalism and false freedom.

Sure, the president is the man that the history books remember, but his actions were based on selfishness, ego, and greed. He hijacked a revolution that should’ve been for and led by poor people and slaves. And he built the foundations of an empire that ended up being worse than the British one.  

It was the strength and the togetherness and the hope and the love and the ability to find bits of power in the most hopeless of situations, that all the slaves had, it was what built the foundations of true freedom in America. Every single slave was a necesssty key into opening true freedom. And Liberty played her part beautifully, inspiring hundreds of people to believe in their people, to fight for their people. Those people in torn found their own power and inspired other people, and so on and so forth.

And eventually the world that Liberty believed in triumphed over the world that George believed in.

#story ill never write #story ideas #writing ideas