#and by shared interests i mean subjugating your enemies through fear

[forevercloudnine]

pre-new 52 scarebat ship meme

 (I actually have no idea what to call this period of comics. The dc wiki calls this the “New Earth” universe... it’s like, everything after Jason Todd was retconned out of being a circus acrobat up to Flashpoint. Anyway like a month ago I asked @heroes-etc​ to send me questions for this version of scarebat from this ship meme but then forgot that I did it because I got distracted by other ships. Sorry Jonathan...)

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Bruce does DO physical affection — I mean, how many comic panels do we even have of him making out with Catwoman on rooftops — but he’s not especially forthcoming with it. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that his love interests are more likely to instigate contact than he is, especially when that love interest is a villain like Selina or Talia (can you even IMAGINE him trying to take them off guard in a fight by grabbing their face for a kiss? Because I cannot).

He does occasionally instigate affection with his children/proteges, though usually it’s in instances where they obviously need comfort. Bruce isn’t always great at handling complicated emotional situations, but grief and trauma is something he understands very intimately, and he never hesitates to physically reassure people who are in that kind of pain.

In situations where someone isn’t in the active process of being traumatized, he’s less forward with physical affection. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll reject it if it’s instigated — depending on who you are, of course. I’m guessing he wouldn’t put up with hugs from random members of the Justice League. Superman is his best friend and he would probably try to wiggle out of 90% of Kal hugs if doing so was physically possible. Most of his loved ones don’t really spring physical affection on him unless they need it or it’s an especially emotional moment, however. It’s not really Bruce’s primary love language. 

Jonathan seems even less physically affectionate than Bruce, though obviously doesn’t have a lot of opportunity to demonstrate how he feels either way. Master of Fear offers the only example of him expressing explicitly romantic affection that I know of (unless you count his terrorizing Becky Albright in New Year’s Evil as physical affection, which... might be how he’s thinking of it...?), and it’s entirely instigated by Sherry Squire. He does ask her to the Halloween party, but she’s the one who takes him down to the furnace room for some “one-on-one” time and tells him to kiss her. 

He also notably does not actually get a chance to kiss her, mainly because the whole thing was a prank meant to humiliate him. This might be why he doesn’t try to instigate anything similar with his next crush, Dr. Linda Friitawa (again, unless you count Becky Albright, but I can’t find New Year’s Evil to read anywhere so my only knowledge of his interaction with her comes from Tumblr. I’m like 80% sure he was supposed to be interested in her romantically, but asking someone to do supervillainy with you isn’t the most direct way to express attraction, so I’m taking that as more obliqueness from Jonathan).

He never expresses any direct romantic interest in Linda, but at the very least he clearly cares about her more than he cares for most people, since he, like. Defends her in conversation and apologizes to her for things that aren’t even his fault. Which means a lot, coming from a sociopath with no regard for human life. They do hold hands at one point, but Linda reaches out to him first, and he waits to see if she’s going to back away from his reciprocated touch before he reaches for her other hand. 

He never instigates anything further with her, possibly out of fear of rejection. Unfortunately, it turns out that this was a good call, because Linda was only pretending to be nice to him while Penguin was paying her to experiment on Jonathan without his knowledge. When Batman figures out what they’re doing, she immediately fucks off and starts dating Black Mask.

Even more unfortunately, his 45 seconds of hand holding with Backstabby McMad Scientist is probably the only mutual physical affection Jonathan has ever experienced in his entire life, so honestly I have no idea if he would be more into it as a concept if it was offered to him more often. He’s clearly willing to return physical contact when it’s initiated by someone else, so maybe it is something he would seek out in an actual relationship? He DOES get handsy with Bruce when he has Batman tied up sometimes. 

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Trip out on fear toxin, both of them, hands down. There are few things more embarrassing than, as Jonathan aptly describes it, being “reduced to whimpering quivers” in front of your enemy. Especially an enemy who’s presumably jotting down notes on your worst fears, since Batman/Scarecrow fights tend to just be competitions in who’s more frightening.

11. What do they hide from one another?

I mean, obligatory mention of the fact that Bruce hides things from absolutely everyone (with the possible exception of Alfred, because Bruce trusts him as completely as he is capable of trusting anyone, and also because it’s really hard to hide things from a parent whose involved in every aspect of your life and already knew you before you developed your pathological need to obfuscate your feelings and intentions).

As Wonder Woman pretty aptly describes during the Tower of Babel arc, even Bruce’s closest allies are never going to hear the full story from him. So it’s deeply unlikely he’d ever be 100% truthful with a supervillain, even if they got close AND Jonathan reformed. 

But it’s notable that Jonathan’s fear toxin has actually given him a more honest look into Bruce’s psyche than he would ever purposefully give to people who aren’t close family members. And by “close family members” I again pretty much just mean Alfred. Unfortunately for Bruce, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs. Fortunately for Jonathan, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs! Not that I’m recommending that anyone drug a romantic partner into being honest with them. But Jonathan is a trained psychiatrist, so I assume his psychological know-how combined with insights gleaned from the dozens of “sessions” he’s had with Batman in the past would leave him more prepared than most to decipher the mystery that is Bruce Wayne. (@heroes-etc: riddler is SEETHING.)

Jonathan meanwhile is more than capable of putting together a clandestine scheme, but in respect to himself he’s actually pretty straightforward. Though his driving motivation in this continuity gets more and more complicated over time, from the early 90’s “I just like fear” to the early 2000’s “my Granny tortured me with birds when I was a child and now I’m obsessed with inspiring the same fear and submission she forced on me onto others,” what doesn’t change is his willingness to monologue about it to anyone who’s listening.

Also, anything that Jonathan is unable or unwilling to go into detail on, Bruce is more than capable of puzzling out himself. In Scarecrow: Year One he successfully tracks down Jonathan’s old home to recover and read through Granny Keeney’s diary, and after Scarecrow’s Master of Fear origin was published, it’s clear that Bruce has done his research on Jonathan’s childhood. There’s even a (presumably unintentionally) hilarious scene where Bruce pauses mid-rescue of a man that Jonathan has kidnapped and traumatized with fear toxin to lecture him on having bullied Jon in high school.

Is this really the time, Bruce???

(@heroes-etc: oh 100% he nailed that timing.)

13. When do they realise they should get together?

Well, circling back to Tower of Babel, it’s revealed when Ra’s al Ghul has Talia steal Bruce’s contingency plans for defeating the Justice League that Bruce has “borrowed” Scarecrow’s fear toxin in case he has to take down Aquaman.

This was back when Scarecrow had a number of different toxins that induced different phobias, or made people hallucinate hyper-specific nightmare scenarios (such as “being eaten alive by roaches from the inside,” for some terrible reason). Batman notes in his contingency files that Scarecrow has already done the work for him; presumably Jonathan had already designed a formula to induce hydrophobia, so all Bruce had to do was steal a vial of it from a crime scene.

(The sentence “Why not make him incapacitate himself... perhaps through fear?” alone is like 90% of why I think these men would get along like burlap on fire if they ever actually cooperated on something. Also, unrelated, but the polaroid of Jonathan he has in the Aquaman file is weirdly adorable.)

Bruce’s plan for Arthur is incredibly effective, and notably also Bruce’s only contingency that isn’t either inherently lethal or a ruthlessly sociopathic betrayal of emotional vulnerabilities that had been revealed to him in trust and friendship (RIP Kyle Rayner).

(Notably, Bruce’s plans for Kyle and several other leaguers directly involve using their worst fears against them, even without a fear toxin conveniently tailored for this purpose. Bruce just really likes using fear as a weapon against people.)

After Tower of Babel, Bruce obviously needed to create new contingencies, since the whole point is that they were secret plans that no one could see coming. In canon, Bruce goes on to create the A.I. satellite Brother Eye for this purpose (which backfires even worse than his first set of contingency plans, because of course it does). But I think an interesting alternative could have been Bruce tapping Jonathan for more toxin strands tailored to taking down the Justice League. If Bruce Wayne offered to pay Scarecrow’s way out of Arkham in order to develop formulas that could neutralize the world’s most powerful superheroes, is there any way that Jonathan would turn him down? I mean, obviously he would plan on betraying Wayne at some point, and Bruce would similarly be working against Jonathan’s best interests. But maybe if they set aside their “who’s scarier” dick measuring contest to work together for once, they could come to recognize their shared passion: scaring the shit of people.

Also, the Jonathan in this continuity really likes books. And you know what’s a reliably sustainable source of books that can’t be confiscated by the authorities? Dating Bruce Wayne. The manor alone probably has an insane amount of rare books that have been hoarded by his family over the years. It’s like a weird reversal of the Beauty and the Beast, where the rude rich guy who gives a library to the love interest he may or may not have technically kidnapped is the pretty one.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

If they were dating, I’m guessing Jonathan wouldn’t want to go anywhere in public with Bruce at all. Bruce Wayne is a celebrity bachelor, and celebrity bachelors get a lot of attention, and people who take celebrity bachelors off the market get a lot of NEGATIVE attention. The public reaction to Bruce settling into a committed relationship with anyone would be the kind of weirdly resentful gossipy judgement that the girlfriends of famous princes or actors or musicians always get from tabloids and entertainment television, but in Jonathan’s case it would be a million times worse. Not just because he’s a supervillain, because if there’s any town that would expect its most eligible bachelor to eventually date a supervillain, it’s Gotham. But more specifically because “ugly social outcast” is one of Scarecrow’s most enduring character traits. Not exactly the traditional trophy wife. And though Jonathan’s Scarecrow identity seems to distance him from a lot of the shame he suffered growing up, I’m guessing that the kind of spiteful vitriol that would follow him anywhere he accompanied Bruce would at the least bring back some very unwanted memories.

Bruce probably doesn’t have the same discomfort Jonathan would with being seen together in public. He doesn’t care if people think Bruce Wayne is insane or lacking in judgement as long as they don’t think he’s Batman, and I’m sure he’d find a way to spin “dating a man who prefers to dress exclusively in burlap” into something appropriately characteristic of playboy idiocy. But while he'd definitely respect Jonathan's wishes to stay out of the public sphere, he would probably enjoy any opportunity to bring Scarecrow into Gotham high society, since his presence would definitely shake up a party, and Bruce is generally extremely bored at any social event where he doesn’t have anyone to snark with. And with Jonathan’s scathing wit as entertainment, Bruce might one day fulfill Alfred’s wish and actually make it through an intermission sometime.

I’d say that Bruce would be nervous about taking Jonathan out for “field research,” but I’m sure it would be one of Scarecrow’s requirements for any long term collaboration, so it’s something that he would have to get used to pretty quickly. He would probably endeavor to keep Jonathan away from anything that could retrigger his less healthy behaviors. On the other hand, it’s not like Bruce does that for himself, so it stands to reason that he probably wouldn’t be able to successfully control Jonathan in that regard either. 

It doesn’t help that one of Jonathan’s primary motivations in villainy is his childhood, which is... exactly the same thing that Bruce is fixated on. A significant portion of Scarecrow: Year One is the two of them waxing poetic about how similar they are in this regard. 

Relating to this, even though it might be a terrible idea, I don’t think Bruce would be able to resist encouraging Jonathan to reconnect with his mom. Bruce would never recommend for someone like Cassandra to seek out a relationship with her father, but if someone he cares about has a LIVING parent who WASN’T abusive to them? It seems unlikely that Bruce wouldn’t advocate for reconciliation. Jonathan’s dad obviously never cared about the teenage girl he knocked up or their bastard child, but Karen Keeney is a different story. DC Holiday Special ‘09 makes it clear that Jonathan was taken away from her against her will, and she’s spent a significant portion of her life wracked by guilt imagining what the woman who abused her was doing to her son.  

Ultimately she attempts to commit suicide because she feels personally responsible for every terrible thing her son has ever done, which is tragic because really she’s the only member of the Keeney family completely blameless in the creation of the Scarecrow. In Scarecrow: Year One Jonathan clearly resents her for leaving him and moving on to have another baby that she actually did keep, which I would call a really paranoid case of jumping to conclusions if it didn’t seem extremely likely that Granny Keeney told him his mother didn’t want him and left him to be tortured on purpose.

(Side note, it is REALLY weird how young Karen Keeney is depicted in Scarecrow: Year One. At times her son looks older than she is, and it doesn’t help that her second born child is an infant for some reason. Even if Jonathan is only thirty years old here, then unless she had him at younger than fourteen, she should already be in her mid-forties. Why did she only have a second child so late in life? The implication with her abusive husband is that she ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship for survival when her family kicked her out as a teenager for disgracing the family by having Jonathan. It would make way more sense for her child with him to be at least in elementary school. Also the scene would have been way more interesting if Scarecrow’s sister was old enough to talk.)

Thankfully Deadman manages to convince Karen to hold on to life long enough for someone to call 911, and she ends up surviving the suicide attempt. But were Jonathan ever to reform, it seems like reconciliation would be really healthy for both of them, since miraculously Karen still seems to care about Jonathan despite everything he’s put her through, and they’re both clearly still suffering from the after effects of Mary Keeney’s abuse. 

Bruce would be enthusiastic about this prospect for obvious reasons, although he would presumably still be nervous about the possibility of everything going terribly wrong. And even if everything went perfectly right, he would STILL be nervous, because everytime Jonathan goes to see his mother there’s a chance that she will mention the time that she kissed Batman full on the mouth. And that is not information you would ever want your psychologist boyfriend to know, unless you want to be mocked with Freudian buzzwords for the rest of your natural life. 

(...This would also count as a thing that Bruce hides from Jonathan.)

[omgkalyppso]

The camp was cold, and the hour was late, and still Étoile was distracted by thought, their meditation offering no true rest as the moon travelled across the sky.

They were always gullible, and they knew this came from a secluded upbringing. Their mothers having instilled in them the value of taking people at their word, and treating them with dignity and respect, and this made it hard to manifest skepticism ... self-preservation ... duplicity.

Even so, they felt justified in assuming Astarion was being truthful of his past. His rage palpable at centuries of indignity. It was beyond imaging, and brought into question his every behaviour. How much of who he was, was learned? Was true to how he had grown or had always been? Or to how he wanted to be? Surely asking any of these questions would be inappropriate, contrary to Étoile’s intention, to take Astarion at his word. Whether this behaviour were his current mask or his truth, he’d done nothing to be treated without courtesy.

Étoile thought of his hands, cradling them just so as those fangs had sunk into them, and rolled their head back to either side of their shoulders. They wondered about their own autonomy, and if it were the same. Whether their brain worm was eating away at their thoughts, feeding ridiculous theories on vampiric desire to some unknown brain creature a plane away. Whether they were being influenced, drawn and distorted, to be thinking about him so.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

He turned at the sound of his name, teeth flashing in the firelight. His brow was slanted in the innocence that he seemed to sometimes let slip, intentionally or not, between the layers of pomp and decorum.

“I’m sorry,” Étoile said quickly. “I do not mean to interrupt your rest.”

Astarion brought a fist to the base of his chin, and then the back of two knuckles to the front of his lips, amused. He moved his hand aside to speak, swiping the front of his thumb across his chin as he looked away for a moment, indulging in fantasies of peace and freedom. “If only you were the worst of my problems.”

With a raise and lowering of their eyebrows, Étoile signaled their agreement, letting their gaze be drawn back to the fire so that they were not hounded by Astarion’s cheekbones, or smirk, or brutal, cutting garnet eyes.

“Well?” Astarion prompted, swiping two fingers across his forehead as if to dismiss a flyaway curl, perhaps a single strand that Étoile could not see, and they realized they were looking at him again, already abandoning the safety of distraction.

If Étoile was as bold, or confident, or provocative as their mind seemed to think they were, they might suggest, ‘If I’ve lost my tongue, perhaps you might help me find it?’ But they were not. Not nearly by far.

“I find myself thinking of our problems,” Étoile conceded.

There were many things about Étoile which were extremely elven — their patience, the way they took forever to reach their point in a conversation, their keen measure of attention — but their insistence upon treating their little band as a group, a team, was not one of them.

‘Our problems,’ Astarion was tempted to snort, the prospect that what they were going through was anything but personal, isolating and devastating, should have been a joke. Yet Étoile easily sold him on it, the idea that they were earnest, that they would fight a horde, a hunter, or a vampire lord for him out of a sense of camaraderie in shared-disaster. Was this sense misplaced? Astarion couldn’t guess, whether willingly or no, he could imagine himself easily cutting these ties Étoile sought to bind. All allies had limits in their usefulness, even friends, even family, even lovers.

He imagined Étoile’s need of connection came from their human mother, or perhaps a deep inherent loneliness that those with bleeding hearts often found themselves afflicted with. Few in Faerun felt sympathy the way Étoile seemed to, annoying at times, stopping to save or offer benefit to every poor soul they passed. Astarion might have assumed that these acts of charity could have been influenced by a desire for divine forgiveness or intervention in regards to the looming fate of doom brought on by the mindflayer worms, but knew better now, after time and conversation revealed Étoile for who they were.

Wrapping his hands around his knees, Astarion leaned back to empty air. “Any conclusions worth mentioning? I rather doubt I’m the best to offer comfort, if you’re simply finding yourself distraught with thoughts of oblivion.”

“You don’t need to offer words,” Étoile assured him, and this time Astarion did laugh, too tickled by his companion’s instinct to soothe him for being unable to assuage them, and with his lips still pulled back in a smile of disbelief, Étoile clarified their meaning. “May I sit with you?”

“Come then,” Astarion called, the humor still in his voice, as if it were a thing to be dismissed, and not a danger to the both of them, to be sharing a space with a relative stranger. He exaggerated, laying his hands over his heart, “Bring your head to my bosom that we might will away your fears.”

He watched Étoile rise to their feet, their mollified expression sending some sense of unjust contentment to the pit of his stomach. They were a hulking wall of muscle and honor, a gentle soul of fear and hope, and they were moving to sit behind him so they too could lean back against him, not knowing would touch him; lest the worms were more exacting than Astarion dared to worry.

“Thank you,” Étoile said, their voice a rumble in their chest that flitted through Astarion’s dead heart.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed. “If you feel so indebted as to thank me, what would you do if I sought recompense?”

Étoile tilted their head, long hair tickling Astarion’s bare neck. “A bite?”

Astarion found himself smiling, so readily Étoile had taken to being a prospective source of strength and vigor.

“You really must be less diplomatic if you wish to suffer more frequently of blood loss,” he teased, and Étoile scoffed, an embarrassed and easy laugh that rattled the both of them with the force of it. “We faced a veritable army of enemies today,” Astarion went on, relaxed. “No, I’ve had my fill of blood for the evening … but as for my curiosity? That yet hungers.”

“Oh?” The genuine surprise Étoile had managed in a single syllable was almost insulting, and Astarion wondered whether he’d been too aloof the last time they spoke of personal histories. There had been times in Étoile’s stories of life before the worm where he hadn’t known how to react, and simply hadn’t, or had mocked from the safety of distance and indifference, but he had found himself endeared and fascinated, even before their adventures, Étoile was interesting … alluring. What they lacked in charm, they seemed to substitute with their earnest heart, and the drive to secure the strength they needed to achieve their goals. This must have tempted others, before.

“What would you ask of me?” Étoile prompted, a blush upon their cheeks, worried about how the length of their tales had gotten away from them the last time they and Astarion had spoken.

“Tell me,” Astarion suggested, haltingly, “my dear, of the last lover you left behind?”

A sigh escaped Étoile, a noise of sorrow and regret. Astarion licked his lips, wondering whether, to this, Étoile might object, the prospect of having found a favor beyond their desire to balance every perceived responsibility just as satisfying as receiving an answer.

Goading them, he rolled his shoulders against the expanse of their back. “Surely there must have been someone? More than one? A string of broken hearts behind you?”

“A woman,” Étoile answered quickly, and Astarion blinked in surprise, staring, empty, into the distant forest, ears perked to attention. “A human woman.” They swallowed, nervous and mournful, but when they spoke again their tone was bitter, “It was less disappointing than my first tryst, but still she… Her interest didn’t extend beyond closed doors.”

Astarion’s expression twisted in scorn, having expected something more akin to the joy of youth or a gentle heartbreak. “More's the pity.”

“It was her first time with…”

As Étoile considered their phrasing, Astarion opted to offer a suggestion to ease their tension on the subject. “An elf?”

Étoile chuckled. “That too.”

Astarion pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, smiling about their circumstance. He hearkened them back to the present. “And I say again: Would that you were the worst of my problems.”

When Astarion felt Étoile begin to turn, it was faster than instinct to spin around onto his heel, facing them before they were anywhere close to looking over their shoulder.

Long, tortuous seconds provided the opportunity to pull away, but Astarion found himself still, except the way he heaved with each breath, except for how his heart beat like a man alive … as if it remembered infatuation beyond servitude, desire beyond subjugation.

Étoile smiled at him, and Astarion felt that he could sink into the earth in shame. ‘Bury me now, for I have seen all that creation has to offer, and the Hells are a mercy when compared to the loss of this moment. You will hate me come morning, and so will I.’

“I could be…” Étoile began to suggest, and Astarion huffed in amusement.

“Be a problem?” Astarion chuckled, resting one hand on his thigh to keep balance, and reaching out with his right to rest against Étoile’s collarbone. “Try as you might…” he mocked.

Their first kiss was slower than expected, Étoile twitching throughout the whole of it, as they considered jolting away, afraid they’d overstepped, afraid they’d misinterpret—

“Try harder,” Astarion whispered, allowing his plea to be covered in the grandeur of desire.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with the threat of promise, and whether by supernatural thrall or the splendor of seduction, Étoile only knew they were obliged to try again, and again, and again.

[maedarakat]

Drabble: Risks

It was weird, how nobody was paying attention to what was going on.

Dagur had always admired his brother, how he always put the lives of his group and their dragons above the result of their missions. It was a trait he had exploited in the past many times.

Except now it was becoming apparent that Hiccup was very good at protecting everyone in his group from outside enemies ... but not necessarily inward ones.

And damn, could those inward ones be downright cruel. Dagur knew from experience that sometimes the awful brain-voices pointing out all his flaws, insufficiencies, and failures would just not shut up. Not even for a second.

Something was seriously up with one of Hiccup’s riders, and Hiccup either knew about it and was doing nothing, or he didn’t know about it at all. Dagur preferred to believe it was the latter.

They had all been flying south - the riders, himself, and Heather - summoned by stories of a subjugated colony of timberjacks. Once again some chucklefuck dragon hunters were keeping eggs and hatchlings from parents to ensure their obedience.

On the way they’d destroyed at least twelve dragon hunter ships (Snothat had kept score of how many they’d all done but Hiccup had forbidden him to keep individual scores because: “It’s not a competition!”)

Silly Hiccup. Of course it was.

So naturally, Snothat had kept individual scores anyway, just ... secretly.

It was all fun and games - literally - until one of the fleets they encountered sent a bola net at Barf and Belch, dragging both twins and dragon violently down to the deck. Dagur and Heather dove immediately, their dragons trying to grab the net and slow their rapid descent so they wouldn’t be crushed.

It was still with a sickening boat-shaking thud that they landed. The Zippleback lay still, tangled and dazed with pain, and Ruff slumped out of her saddle onto the deck, groaning and clutching her arm to her chest. Heather roared, jumping off Windshear with axe brandished, threatening the approaching hunters.

Dagur jumped off Sleuther quickly, ready to help Girlnut’s other half, but Tuff wasn’t anywhere near their dragon or his sister.

For a heart stopping second Dagur feared he had somehow missed Tuff falling into the water during their crash landing, but a fearsome roar of anger quickly grabbed his attention.

Tuff was on his feet in front of Barf and Belch - at the most vulnerable point of the group. Blood was running down one side of his face, grey eyes wild, breathing heavy, mace at the ready. He was obviously worse injured than Ruffnut, and that was based only on what Dagur could see , yet there he was - laying about him with the mace like his pain did not matter.

More specifically, like his life did not matter.

Oh boy ... yep, Dagur had definitely been there before.

There was nothing to do but let out a fearsome roar of his own and fight his way to Tuffnut’s side, grabbing the blond twin just as he crumpled from a savage blow to his ribs by a morning-star - really, like he needed another injury. Holding Tuff tight against his side, he attempted to shove the boy behind him, taking point himself in front of the fallen Zippleback.

Windshear sliced through the nets easily, nudging the stunned two headed dragon back to their feet and Heather grabbed Ruff, hauling both of them up into the saddle.

As Toothless and Stormfly offered cover fire, both girls and dragons managed to fly up to safety. Sleuther flung aside dragon hunters, fighting to get between them and the encroaching hunters.

The second his dragon got close enough, Dagur wasted no time, pulling himself and the semi-conscious Thorston twin up after him. By the grace of Odin, all of them made their escape and were now well out of range before another net cannon could be aimed and loaded.

Hiccup ordered them immediately into a defensive formation, which Sleuther picked up on without needing guided - aware that Dagur’s immediate concern was with the injured boy in his arms.

Tuff seemed aware of his surroundings, though shaking hard and his breathing was raspy. Gods, Dagur hoped he didn’t have a pierced lung or something. He considered himself fairly decent at the healing arts, but not that good.

“Boynut, can you hear me?” Dagur asked, opening Tuff’s vest and undoing his belt to relieve pressure on his ribs. He rolled up the green tunic and felt along his side. Two broken ribs with some lovely bruising puncture wounds from the morning-star, a dislocated shoulder, plus a deep gash on his forehead.

Tuffnut hitched, trying to push away Dagur’s touch. “Loki, you must be a healer because your hands are freezing cold!”

Dagur frowned thoughtfully at the redirection, but the others let out a collective sigh of relief.

“How’s Ruffnut?” he heard Hiccup ask Heather.

“She’s fine. Just a broken arm and a mild concussion - I’ll keep her awake,” Heather called back. Fishlegs and Snotlout immediately pulled out of formation to go fuss over her while Hiccup and Astrid flew closer to Barf and Belch, checking over the dragon’s injuries as well.

Nobody came over to see if Boynut was alright. Probably because he’d just cracked a joke like he was unaware of pain even as a concept.

Did he do that often? Dagur felt like he probably did that often.

Tuff had relaxed as soon as he’d heard his sister‘s injuries weren’t life-threatening and was trying not to make an agonized expression, but at every turbulent bump Sleuther’s wings absorbed, his facade of carefully controlled blankness cracked and he grimaced sharply.

“I know it hurts,” Dagur soothed him tenderly, pressing a clean wad of cloth over Tuff’s gash, trying to stop the bleeding. Tuff jerked, looking up at him in shock and automatically covering with a grin.

“Nah, I’m fine. Loki looks out for his own. Hey, do you Berserkers know how set broken arms in a way that doesn’t hurt? I mean, Ruff cried like a baby the last time Gothi did it, so hopefully you have more of a gentle touch.”

Redirection, yet again. What even ...

“Heather does, and she’ll be the one caring for your sister. What I’m worried about is your shoulder. And ribs. And whether you’re gonna need stitches for that enormous cut on your head.”

Dagur poured a little water onto a piece of linen and started cleaning the blood off Tuff’s face. He squirmed, complaining, but let him. “You don’t have to. Belch licks my face about four times a day, after meals and before bedtime. He’ll get all that off by lunch.”

“Pretty sure both your dragons and your sister would kill me if I let you go untreated until lunch. Hold still. At least it’s not my thumb and spit.”

“Um. Ew ...”

“Yeah, exactly. I’d rather not subject you to that.” Dagur rinsed the blood off and packed some honey and flax salve into the shallow groove, which had finally begun to clot. “So ... about that fight. You normally just jump right in full Berserker style when the chips are down?”

If he avoided putting a negative connotation to it, maybe Tuff would open up?

It worked; Tuff fairly glowed at the comparison. “Yeah, I was doing good until that one guy - ugh. He came up on my blind side. At least it gave you guys time to get Ruff and our dragons out though, right?”

Dagur’s chest hurt at Tuff’s clear ache for approval in those words. Oh man, Boynut was really not okay. Not by a long shot.

“Boynut, why do you think -“

A voice interrupted him mid-sentence. “Tuffnut, what were you thinking?!”

Hiccup was flying next to them now, frowning.

“That was incredibly dangerous, you shouldn’t have flown so close to the starboard - they always have cannons on that side! Didn’t you pay any attention during the lesson about hunter ship defenses?” There was a little concern in his tone, but it was dwarfed by exasperation.

Dagur felt his heart sink. This was not helpful, and Hiccup didn’t even notice what was going on with his friend. How could he not notice? A lecture about general safety - not even his, but everyone else’s - was the last thing Tuff needed right now.

Tuff looked at Hiccup with a calm expression, betraying nothing.

“Nope, I was actually far more interested in what Smidvarg was doing with that grasshopper. Turns out he was not, in fact, trying to make a friend.”

Redirecting again . Hiccup predictably started lecturing him on why listening to him during training was important, and Tuff’s laid back answers were designed to make him frustrated enough to drop the whole thing and fly off.

It didn’t seem to be working this time, and now Fishlegs was flying over, frowning, and clearly ready to back Hiccup up.

It was all kind of amazing to watch in terms of density alone, but Dagur had more than enough at that point.

He glowered down at the glinting surface of the sparkling sea and saw an out.

“Oh hey, look - flying fish! Sleuther’s favorite snack that he absolutely cannot control himself around,” Dagur stated, purposefully loud enough for his dragon to hear. His Triplestryke opened wide eyes, made a noise of intrigue, and dived down away from Hiccup and the group to investigate.

“Sorry, be right back!” he called cheerfully, leaving the others behind as they descended below the current. There was grumbling from up above - Fishlegs and Hiccup were now sharing their grievances about the issue. Granted, Tuff was a good actor, but still ...

Dagur continued his ministrations, wiping away the excess blood from Tuff’s injured side where spikes had slammed into his skin.

Boynut had relaxed in his arms, clearly relieved, though looking at him searchingly. “Thanks?” he offered cautiously. He sounded like he was trying to figure out if Dagur had done that for him.

He glanced at Tuff and, not knowing whether he should resume the talk they’d been trying to have just yet, gave him a confirming wink. The boy’s face reddened immediately and he turned his head away, directing his attention to the flying fish before Sleuther snapped up the entire school.

Dagur almost felt bad for letting his dragon snack on them so voraciously. They were pretty, silver and incandescent, almost matching Tuff’s eyes when the sun hit their scales.

The Berserker shook his head to clear it and pressed salve into the cuts, spreading it liberally across his bruises.

“You should save that stuff. Someone else might get injured later,” Tuff said quietly. “Snotlout usually.”

Gods, this guy ... maybe he had to be straightforward about this after all, before someone else came to oh-so-usefully scold him.

“You’re injured now, and I’ve got more than enough. Boynut ... “ Here it was, time to be blunt. “Why don’t you think you’re worth anything?”

The question came like an unexpected blow and Tuff flinched in his arms, eyes immediately closing. Dagur braced himself. The boy might redirect with anything right now, even anger. Gods knew, if anyone had dared to ask a younger version of Dagur this question, they probably wouldn’t have survived.

He’d had to ask it though - he’d had to let Tuff see that his pain was visible to someone .

Tuff didn’t lash out, but he was shaking. He tried to curl away and hide behind his hair so Dagur couldn’t see the tears spilling over.

It didn’t matter. He knew they were there.

Surprisingly, after a long tortured moment, Tuff answered the question, voice low.

“Because I’m not worth anything. I mean ... can you think of anything I’m good for? I’m just the spare. The whole family thinks I’m the spare. Look at our dragon. One body, with an extra head. Not that I really think Belch is a spare, he’s totally awesome, but  ... you know what I mean, right?”

Dagur listened, and bit his lip, thinking for a moment about what to say.

“I always kinda thought of you as the heart and soul of the group, Tuff. I mean, when I first joined you guys, everyone was so suspicious of me - granted, with very good reason. But you were just like ‘oh, Dagur’s a good guy now? Awesome! I’ll give the guy a chance!’ And then you both sat with me. You talked to me as easily as if I was an old friend, showed me some cool dragon moves with your chicken, gave me a fresh egg. Never once did you judge me, or try to get back at me - not even when my own sister thought I was sent as Viggo’s spy.

“You made me feel human. Forgiven. Like I really could be part of the group if I kept up improving my behavior. And you show that same compassion to others too - even wild and dangerous dragons. The kindness you have inside of you is inspiring.”

Tuffnut was staring up at him, eyes wide and shocked. Dagur fidgeted, looking ahead of him, wondering if he’d said too much.

“Most people ... would have said I tell funny jokes.,” Tuff said hoarsely. “That I’m good for cheering people up. Or at least distracting them from all their problems by being irritating.”

“Well, you are funny.  There’s certainly that. Though i don’t think it’s more  important than the compassion and insight and empathy you show. Honestly, that’s something everyone in the Archipelago - in the world - struggles with. We need you around to be our best example.”

When he looked back at Tuff, the blond was staring at him, eyes wide and full of  tears.

Oh no, he’d said something wrong, hadn’t he? Tuff reached up shakily to wipe at his eyes.

“But ... but ... I still mess everything up, don’t I? I don’t do what I’m supposed to do. Always holding my sister back, always d-driving everyone crazy, blowing stuff up -“

“So what? Nobody in this entire group is perfect. Certainly not me. I used to grab guys by the seat of their pants and toss them overboard for mildly irritating me. I personally caused the death of my sister’s entire village, ensured my dad would die alone on Vanaheim,  and lost at least half of our tribe’s Armada chasing you guys around the globe because of a grudge. Oh and I’ve killed a lot of dragons. Still and always will hate all of those things about myself. I would never do them again, but I did once do all that, and I can never undo it. Do I deserve to die?”

“Of course you don’t,” Tuff answered automatically, still wiping his face. “Everyone makes mistakes, even awful ones - what matters is you took responsibility and - and you’re trying , every day, to still make up for it. It’s not easy to be good, especially if you think you’re a monster.”

... uh, wow. Dagur was not expecting that. He shook his head to clear it. “Okay. So why can’t you apply that same logic to yourself?”

Tuff looked at him helplessly. “I ... I don’t know. It’s ... I feel like I’m just not good enough all the time. Nobody ever seems happy with me, I’m not happy with me, s-so I must be doing something wrong. Right?”

Dagur thought for a moment, readjusting Tuff so he could lay more comfortably against his chest.

“You wanna know a secret, Boynut?”

He turned those pretty grey eyes up at him and carefully nodded. It was rare to see the normally distracted and wise-cracking twin appear so focused, but then Tuff and Ruff always seemed to give Dagur their full attention whenever he visited the Edge.

“I haven’t told this to anyone before - not even Hiccup - but after I escaped Viggo’s attempt to kill me, I wound up lost at sea. All alone, in a tiny little boat, with very little food and water. Days came and went. I went hungry, thirsty, sunburnt, sick.  Every day I had the same question - why was I still alive? I was a villain. A monster. Surely Odin Allfather didn’t mean for me to actually make it in the end, because I hadn’t done anything right - since day one, I was always the problem kid.

“So this had to be it, I thought. Odin was surely going to kill me with the next storm or send a shark or Scauldron to pick me off ... but that never happened. I wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the sea remained calm, I was able to catch fish, and there was rainwater to drink.

“I started to think about it, until realizing - finally - that Odin doesn’t just kill people for making horrible mistakes. Or even if they think they’re worthless.  At my core - all I ever wanted was my father’s approval. My sister to be safe. I had to learn how to change a few things to get there, but I got there.

“And now I have my sister beside me, along with some pretty great friends.” Dagur smiled winningly at Tuff, making it clear he counted Boynut in that category.

Tuff jolted in his arms again, not expecting that - so entranced with Dagur’s story. He stammered for a moment, blushing.

“You consider me a friend? Not just an acquaintance you have to put up with because they hang around the others?”

Dagur regarded him softly and wrapped his arms around Tuff. It was a firm hug, though careful of his injuries. “Yes. You’re one of my friends. And I don’t have very many, so that makes you very important to me, okay?”

Tuff’s eyes were again welling up. “You ... actually like me?”

That question hurt more than it had a right to. “Yes, I like you very much. I want you to stay right here on Midgard for as long as possible. I’d be devastated if anything happened to you.”

Boynut was staring at him like he’d never seen Dagur before in his life, face still flushed and tear tracks cutting through the grime and blood of battle. For half a second, Dagur wondered if he’d said too much, but then Tuff curled into his embrace, putting his arms around the Berserker’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder.

He was trembling hard, hitching, and Dagur hugged him tightly, rubbing Tuff’s back.     He wanted very suddenly to yell at the others - Tuff was their friend too and he didn’t even know and he seriously thought he was worth less than shark chum and what the hell were they doing about it? Had any of them noticed?

“S-Sorry - I - I - nobody’s ever - I n-never thought -“ Tuff trailed off, hiccoughing.

“That you were good enough as is?” Dagur hazarded a guess. The despondent wail that followed was his answer and Dagur hugged him back tighter, murmuring soothingly.

It took a short while before Tuff calmed down, but he still clung to Dagur like a frightened kitten, pulling back to wipe at his face with a free hand.

Dagur didn’t discourage him, still cradling him close with an arm around the curve of his body. They were still flying below the air current the rest of the group was on, skimming across the surface of the water.

Absently he reached up, toying with a braid of Tuff’s hair. “It’s still a long way to where we’re going. Why don’t you get some rest, huh? It’s okay if you sleep - pretty sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Tuff looked up at him in shock, face going pink. He smiled at him, leaning his head tiredly on Dagur’s shoulder. “That sounds good. You’re very warm.”

Dagur thought he was going to say more, but after a long minute, Tuff’s head grew a little heavier and he began to gently snore. He was exhausted and injured, and it was hours still before they would reach land. Dagur decided to let him be, expression soft as he watched Boynut sleep.

[yukiwrites]

Many of Their Kind

Thank you for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This is such an interesting topic, I got a bit carried away, heehee!

Summary: Seteth and Flayn were summoned to Askr after hearing all about it from Byleth. The older brother, overprotective as ever, would only allow his little sister to remain there once he was absolutely sure it would be safe, though Flayn couldn’t be happier to be able to meet new people, especially those with whom she and Seteth shared an unexpected bond with, the manaketes.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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New Heroes from other worlds arrived practically daily on Askr, especially after the Summoner's Breidablik was magically enhanced during the recent skirmishes.

They amounted to the point that Kiran himself was unable to welcome and indulge them all until they were used to their day-to-day at the Order of Heroes, so the other people in charge also took it upon themselves to help the Heroes accommodate themselves as quickly as possible.

Anna, Sharena and Alfonse shared those duties mostly equally; the Crown Prince had his own royal duties to attend to, so he was more often than not too busy to help. Though since that was expected, Sharena and Anna didn't seem to mind the added task on their shoulders.

That particular morning, it was Anna's turn to walk the new heroes through the castle, though the newly arrived pair seemed to have other ideas in mind. 

Seteth and Flayn was how they had presented themselves, though Anna could swear she had seen their picture in the book depicting Fódlan's history under other aliases entirely.

The young woman looked around eagerly, ooh-ing and aaah-ing at every detail. "Look, Brother!" She nudged the tall man, pointing at this or that vase or decoration. "Even the architecture itself differs on its fundamentals! Everything here is so interesting!"

"Indeed." The green-haired man replied curtly, though warmly enough not to dismiss the girl's enthusiasm. "However, try not to attract much attention, Flayn, for we are still unaware of our role here as... 'Heroes'." He said the last word with contempt, though Anna could discern a large amount of worry in his tone, rather than disdain.

"Annnd here we have the, well, let's call it 'Administration Wing', for now. I don't think we ever gave it a name apart from 'Western Wing' now that I think about it." Anna concluded the hurried tour, simply going through the motions of doing so as her brain searched for the piece of information regarding those two that she was forgetting. "You seem to have more than a few questions, so I'll welcome you to my office so we can talk more leisurely."

"That would be ideal, Commander. I thank you." Seteth bobbed his head to the sides in compliance, nudging Flayn along the corridor towards Anna's study.

Once there, the man barely waited for Anna to take her seat behind the desk to ask. "I have heard from Professor Byleth that this world is very peculiar in its deepest roots."

"Yes?" Anna tilted her head in question.

"To speak bluntly, I have heard that a few of whom we've considered enemies in Fódlan are here as allies, instead. Namely, the," he glanced at Flayn with a painful expression, "Death Knight."

The young woman looked down in visible distress, digging her nails on her skirt. "You see, Commander, that man has attacked me on occasion and ever since then I- I have been terrified of him."

"It is as my sister says. How can I trust the integrity of an Order, otherworldly as it may be, that employs villains within their ranks? How do you maintain order within your own organization by having mutual enemies fighting on the same side of the battlefield?"

Anna took one index to her lips, looking up in thought. "That is a valid concern, good people," she said matter-of-factly, somehow seeming to remember something and jumping out of her seat to browser the bookshelf to her left. "However, unfounded. Every Hero summoned by Kiran's -- ah, he's our Summoner, I believe you met him immediately after crossing the portal to our world -- weapon is bound by the Pact of Non-aggression." She picked two or three volumes from the shelves, placing them on her desk as she sat back on her chair.

Flayn and Seteth exchanged curious glances, choosing to remain in silence to allow Anna to continue.

The Commander opened the first volume, its cover decorated in a pale silver. "You see, it's physically impossible for a Hero to harm another one within Askrian grounds. Well, even outside our borders -- as long as they were summoned by Breidablik, they're bound to this. We employ many, ah, unique characters from opposing sides of the same war, so we have heard no small amount of complaints on this matter. Yet, there has never been a case of a fight breaking out since their own bodies are subjugated by the Pact." She looked through a sentence or another, muttering a few ah-s of understanding. "There is also a potent, ancient magic protecting each and every one of you -- as long as you are under our command, you are under no peril of death."

"I would ask you to explain this further, Commander. How can one avoid death just by being in an unfamiliar world?"

Anna looked from the book to the duo, her mind finally clear on her suspicious. "You and your, ah... sister," she took a dignified pause to assert the two of them that she not only was aware of their most guarded secret but that she was willing to keep it so, "as any other Hero summoned to this world, are, let's say, a 'borrowed' power from your original world. We pluck you out of there to fight for us here, but this does not change at all your role nor your history back whence you came. For that to happen, the magic here protects you on an intimate level -- although you can be injured and forced to retreat the battlefield, no wounds you retain will be fatal. After all, your life -- or death -- only concerns your original world."

Seteth took one hand to his chin in thought as Flayn looked down at her own hands, pensive. "Most interesting," the man muttered, his interest piqued. "I would rather avoid sending my sister to battle altogether; she is a healer first and foremost, you see. Since you've just told us that the wounds aren't fatal..."

"Well, having field healers certainly helps with the progression of battle." Anna interrupted, knowing where Seteth wanted to take the conversation to. "But, of course, it'll ultimately depend on you whether you choose to fight for us or not. Kiran's weapon also has the power to server the, ah, 'heroic' bonds binding you to Askr -- meaning he can send you back home with a snap of his fingers, anytime you want."

Narrowing his eyes, the man took a moment to think, then sighed. "I see."

Feeling increasingly antsy, Flayn looked from Seteth to Anna. "Um, you are not planning to have Lord Kiran send me back on my own, are you, Brother? I will have no such thing, I say!"

"Flayn-"

"We are finally in a place where we can be ourselves, under no peril to our lives! And it is such a wonderful place! Have you not heard the curious songs of the birds or the different color of the sky once we crossed over? I simply must explore it all for myself! I am most too weary of being alone for so long, Brother! I beg you to say such thought of returning me alone has not crossed your mind!"

Seteth looked down in visible distress. "I would, dear Flayn, but it'd be a lie. I just worry for you so-"

"Well, worry no more, for our dear Commander Anna cleared all and any doubts you had regarding this world! Has she not?" Flayn got up with a bounce, her curls dancing over her shoulders. "It is time for us to make ourselves acquainted with the askrian ways of life, for as long as we are needed here." She curtsied elegantly to Anna before turning her back to the Commander, heading to the door. "I thank you for your time, Commander, however we must take our leave."

"Flayn!" Seteth scrambled on his feet, barely bowing to Anna before running after his sister. "Do not walk away like this, young lady! What poor manners!" He scolded as they walked through the door, leaving Anna to her books.

"There's still so much to happen with these two," she absent-mindedly caressed the silver book she had just read. "I hope their time here can help them enrich themselves for what's to come."

"Ah, the very air in here feels different in my lungs!" Flayn twirled around herself as she headed towards the garden, lured by the clear atmosphere. "Do you not feel it so, Brother?"

Panting, Seteth sighed loudly. "Flayn, just because this world might be safer than where we came from, it does not mean you can frolic around on your own! I beg you to always be with me whenever you want to take a walk... I fear for you, even if you are protected by this ancient magic of this place's."

Feeling rather bad for running like that, Flayn looked down, sheepish. "Forgive me, Brother. I know all you care about it my safety, but I assure you that I am more than capable of taking care of myself, especially in this unfamiliar world."

"It's precisely because this is an unfamiliar world that I worry even more-"

"Oh!" A surprised gasp came from beside them, right a bit ahead into the garden. "Are you two new Heroes? It's not always that we welcome more dragons into the fray!"

Flayn widened her eyes so much she felt they were bulging out. "D-dragons? W-whyever would you assume that about us, dear stranger?" She tried her best to act meek, stepping just a bit behind Seteth's shoulder.

The owner of the voice, a silver-haired, pointy-eared woman tilted her head in confusion. "Huh? Did I get it wrong? I can clearly feel it..."

Way more used to keeping his poker face, Seteth simply cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we haven't met yet, Lady...?"

"Ah, how boorish of me! I'm Corrin, nice to meet you!" She curtsied with the grace of a noble, despite wearing a strange-looking armor. "I can turn into a dragon, so that's why I assumed you two were the same. Something about your vibes..."

Flayn stared at Corrin's exposed ears, somehow wanting to do the same with her own. It's been so long since she felt the wind without fearing her hair going up! "I am Flayn, dear Corrin. Nice to meet you."

"Seteth. It's my pleasure."

Corrin smiled gleefully. "Can I ask where are you guys from? Ever since coming here, I've found so many shape-shifters from all over! I always thought I was alone in this, but finding other people that share this burden has made it lighter, somehow."

"Burden?" Flayn asked innocently, exchanging glances with Seteth.

"Oh, look at me babble! Sorry about that." She looked down in distress for half a second before shaking her head to do away with any negative thoughts. "I still have much to learn from those manaketes -- ah, that's how some of the other dragon shape-shifters call themselves in their worlds -- so it's no wonder I got you guys mixed up with actual shape-shifters."

"There are more? More people who can turn to beasts- to dragons? In this world and in many others?" Flayn stepped away from Seteth's protection, taking Corrin's hand in unabashed excitement.

"Why, yes! Do you want to meet them? They were going to teach me lots of stuff today just at that gazebo over there, in the middle of the garden."

"Oh, I would dearly love to meet them! They can impart much knowledge, can they not? I am eager to learn more and more!"

"Yes!" Corrin squeezed Flayn's hand, matching her excitement down to her giddy steps. "They as wise as they are old -- some of them are over 3,000 years old!"

"Three thous-" Seteth choked. Could these creatures be the exact same as the ones back in their own world? How did they manage to retain their draconic forms for so long? How fundamentally different were they from the children of the goddess, if there were any changes at all?

Even Seteth was getting excited about it, if he could be honest.

Once they arrived, however, Seteth couldn't help but scowl so deeply he even let out a 'that's it?' under his breath.

The 'ancient beings' waiting for them looked no older than children -- though their ears were immensely longer than Corrin's.

"I'm here, Nowi! Tiki and Fae, too! Good afternoon!" Corrin giggled as she pulled Flayn to the middle of the girls, who all welcomed them with excited bounces and hugs.

"You brought us another dragon friend!!" Nowi jumped in Flayn's arms, digging her face into the taller girl's chest. "This world is THE BEST, did you know? I struggled so much to find dragon friends back in Ylisse, but I just instantly found so many friends the moment I was summoned! IT'S THE BEST!" She giggled happily, twirling Flayn about.

"Well, you met me, though! The not-me, me." A young, green-haired girl -- Tiki -- smiled, also diving into the hug.

"Uh-huh, but that was wayyyy later. I was lonely for a long time, you know! A thousand years!"

Flayn gasped. "So it is true that you are all ancient beings-"

"I'm five!" Fae got on her tiptoes to pull Flayn's skirt. "Five hundred!"

"My, and your youth hasn't changed at all!" Flayn patted the little girl's head, truly already at home amidst these strangers -- they shared something akin to a bond that no one else but themselves had: the blood of immortals and their burdens.

“It warms the heart to see the young ones chatting so happily, doesn’t it?” Bantu said as though he had simply materialized beside Seteth.

“Gah-” The green-haired man flinched. “Since when-”

“Ohoho, I’ve been here the whole time, my lad.” Bantu smiled. “Let us have a seat, shall we? It fits us old men better to simply watch over the younger generation as they bloom on their own, don’t you agree?”

Seteth glanced at Flayn’s genuine smile, one he hadn’t seen in many an age. He allowed himself to smile as well, shaking his head slightly. “You are right. Let us converse over there, friendly stranger. I also have much to ask regarding your- no, our kind.”

[labbaik-ya-hussain-as]

A must read:

The Lost Jewel – Rediscovering Hazrat Imam Ali’s (A.S.) Letter

This is a fascinating story.

Pakistan’s premier female poet Fahmida Riaz, read a letter by Imam Ali (A.S.) while browsing through a translation of Nahaj ul Balagha. Today via email, she narrated how she was “so touched, and felt so angry for not knowing about it all my life, because really no one talks about the real jewels of Muslim history, they would rather conceal it from one generation after another”. She took notes from the ancient text and recently quoted it in her paper presented at an Urdu Conference held at Heidelberg, Germany.

On her current sojourn in the USA, she showed this text to Dr. Patricia Sharpe who was impressed enough to put it on her website under the title GOOD GOVERNANCE EARLY MUSLIM STYLE.

In her email Fahmida writes further that “Another American friend in Santa Fe is writing a book for the National Geographic about the achievements of Muslim thinkers and men of the sciences and letters. I showed him the text and he has asked me to forward it to him so that he may include it in his book. ‘The Americans should know about it ,’ he wrote. I have sent him the text, sighing to myself, “..and so should the Muslims”.

But really, what are we ever told about Islam or Muslims other than chopping of arms and killing of infidels? Or we are informed that Muslims once had a great empire, a brutal picture of conquest and subjugation of the so-called “infidels”. What do we know of Hazrat Imam Ali (A.S.) except that he was very brave with a legendary sword? Pretty little.

And writes Riaz: “here is this document, written by him,1500 or so years ago. The sheer beauty of his thought, the largesse of his great heart, the incredible refinement of his mind! It takes your breath away and brings tears to your eyes. And then, his understanding of the class structure of society.. long before anyone in the world paid attention to the composition of society! All this is so incredible.

The other ancient classics about governance that come to mind…. tell you how to invite your enemy to dinner and then stab him in the back. They tell you how to perpetuate your RULE. In comparison, Imam Ali (A.S.) is telling you how to create a State that provides the greatest opportunity for the people to be happy. So great was this man that even being remotely associated with him is an honour that we hardly deserve though we are all born in the fold of his faith.

Another thought that comes to haunt you: Hazrat Imam Ali (A.S.) was so close to the Holy Prophet (S.A.W) that he could never say what he did not believe to be the Holy Prophet's (S.A.W) own will? O my God! Then in what unworthy hands his teachings fell! How unfortunate it is for us.”

I wanted to share this excitment and sadness of Fahmida on this space.

Here is the entry in Patricia’s blog where she has reproduced sections of letter and also improved the translations available online:

George W. Bush seems to think that the US political system must be replicated in structure and spirit in order for people to enjoy a decent political system. In fact, the Muslim world also has traditions and texts which establish the principles of good governance. Below are quotes from one such document, a document that might profitably be added to all basic political science syllabi. A close reading might also provide insights and terminology for American public diplomats tasked to engage Muslims in a dialogue about the universal human interest in fair, honest and competent government.

Ali bin Abi Talib (A.S.) Wali-Allah, the First Imam and son-in-law of the Holy Prophet Mohammed Mustafa (S.A.W), wrote a long letter of guidance after appointing Maalik al-Ashtar to be Governor of Egypt. He advises the new governor that his administration will succeed only if he governs with concern for justice, equity, probity and the prosperity of all.

The passages excerpted below illustrate the timeless applicability of Imam Ali’s (A.S.) admonitions. The letter itself is contained in the Nahjal Balaagha, which is a collection of the letters and speeches of the First Imam.

Manifest religious tolerance: Amongst your subjects there are two kinds of people: those who have the same religion as you [and] are brothers to you, and those who have religions other than yours, [who] are human beings like you. Men of either category suffer from the same weaknesses and disabilities that human beings are inclined to; they commit sins, indulge in vices either intentionally or foolishly and unintentionally without realizing the enormity of their deeds. Let your mercy and compassion come to their rescue and help in the same way and to the same extent that you expect Allah to show mercy and forgiveness to you.

Equity is best: A policy which is based on equity will be largely appreciated. Remember that the displeasure of common men, the have-nots and the depressed persons overbalances the approval of important persons, while

the displeasure of a few big people will be excused…if the general public and the masses of your subjects are happy with you.

The rich always want more: They are the people who will be the worst drag upon you during your moments of peace and happiness, and the least useful to you during your hours of need and adversity. They hate justice the most. They will keep demanding more and more out of State resources and will seldom be satisfied with what they receive and will never be obliged for the favor shown to them if their demands are justifiably refused.

A healthy society is interdependent: The army and the common men who pay taxes are two important classes, but in a well faring state their well-being cannot be guaranteed without proper functioning and preservation of the other classes, the judges and magistrates, the secretaries of the State and the officers of various departments who collect various revenues, maintain law and order as well as preserve peace and amity among the diverse classes of the society. They also guard the rights and privileges of the citizens and look to the performance of various duties by individuals and classes. And the prosperity of this whole set-up depends upon the traders and industrialists. They act as a medium between the consumers and suppliers. They collect the requirements of society. They exert to provide goods….Then comes the class of the poor and the disabled persons. It is absolutely necessary that they should be looked after, helped and provided….at least the minimum necessities for well-being and contented living….

Ensure an honest judiciary: You must select people of excellent character and high caliber with meritorious records….When they realize that they have committed a mistake in judgement, they should not insist on it by trying to justify it….they should not be corrupt, covetous or greedy. They should not be satisfied with ordinary enquiry or scrutiny of a case but…must attach the greatest importance to reasoning, arguments and proofs. They should not get tired of lengthy discussions and arguments.Theymust exhibit patience and perseverance…and when truth is revealed to them they must pass their judgements….These appointments must be made…without any kind of favoritism being shown or influence being accepted; otherwise tyranny, corruption and misrule will reign….Let the judiciary be above every kind of executive pressure or influence, above fear or favour, intrigue or corruption.

Poverty leads to ruination: If a country is prosperous and if its people are well-to-do, then it will happily and willingly bear any burden. The poverty of the people is the actual cause of the devastation and ruination of a country and the main cause of the poverty of the people is the desire of its ruler and officers to amass wealth and possessions whether by fair or foul means.

Corruption undermines national well-being: I want to advise you about your businessmen and industrialists. Treat them well….They are the sources of wealth to the country….One more thing….you must keep an eye over their activities as well. You know that they are usually stingy misers, intensely self-centered and selfish, suffering from the obsession of grasping and accumulating wealth. They often hoard their goods to get more profit out of them by creating scarcity and by indulging in black-marketing.

Stay in touch with the people: You must take care not to cut yourself off from the public. Do not place a curtain of false prestige between you and those over whom you rule. Such pretension and shows of pomp and pride are in reality manifestations of inferiority complex and vanity. The result of such an attitude is that you remain ignorant of the conditions of your subjects and of the actual cases of the events occurring in the State.

Peace brings prosperity: If your enemy invites you to a peace treaty….,never refuse to accept such an offer, because peace will bring rest and comfort to your armies, will relieve you of anxieties and worries, and will bring prosperity and affluence to your people. But even after such treaties be very careful of the enemies and do not place too much confidence in their promises, because they often resort to peace treaties to deceive and delude you and take advantage of your negligence, carelessness and trust. At the same time, be very careful never to break your promise with your enemy; never forsake the protection or support that you have offered to him, never go back upon your word and never violate the terms of the treaty.

History reveals all: Do not reserve for yourself anything which is a common property of all and in which others have equal rights. Do not close your eyes from glaring malpractice of officers, miscarriage of justice and misuse of rights, because you will be held responsible for the wrong thus done to others. In the near future your wrong practices and maladministration will be exposed and you will be held responsible and punished for the wrong done to the helpless and oppressed people.

*The honorific changes, depending on whether the reference derives from the Shia or Sunni tradition. Note also that I changed British spelling to American, have modified some awkwardnesses common to translations into English and have altered some punctuation for clarity’s sake.

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The Definition of Conquest

Definition Differences:

Here I simply searched “Conquest” in both websites directories and put here the definitions I found

               Dictionary.com –

http://www.dictionary.com/browse/conquest?s=t

1.       the act or state of conquering or the state of being conquered; vanquishment.

2.       to defeat in any contest or conflict; be victorious over: to vanquish one's opponent in an argument.

3.       to overcome or overpower: He vanquished all his fears.

This dictionary emphasizes the idea of one side beating the other in which it could be compared to a winning sports team over the losing team or the victorious army. It also describes as an internal accomplishment at times like the example above where one overcame his fears.

Oxford English Dictionary –

http://www.oed.com.manowar.tamucc.edu/view/Entry/39432?rskey=PAX2dK&result=1&isAdvanced=false#eid

1.       Conquest by war or combat.

2.       The action of gaining by force of arms; acquisition by war; subjugation of a country, etc.

3.       The action of overcoming or vanquishing; gaining of victory

The Oxford Dictionary focused mainly on the idea of war and combat, that conquest is one’s army forcefully taking something as the victor of a battle or war. However, it does bring up the last point of “The action of overcoming or vanquishing; gaining of victory” which could be as simple as completing a short term goal or task.

Comparisons:

               Both shared the idea of overcoming the enemy or being the victor. However only Oxford mentioned gaining anything from conquest. It also emphasized war and combat whereas Dictionary.com focused more on personal goals.

Wikipedia and Britannica Comparison

               Wikipedia –

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

When Conquest is searched in Wikipedia you find yourself with a wide variety of applications in which the word can be used shown in pictures here https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157754994979. What this shows me is the word is much more applicable than was presented by the dictionary and how its seen in many modern things like gaming and television.

               Encyclopædia Britannica Online Academic Edition –

http://academic.eb.com.manowar.tamucc.edu/levels/collegiate/search/articles?query=Conquest

Searching “Conquest” in the Encyclopædia Britannica Online Academic Edition, I received some very suprising results shown here https://d-sav islander.tumblr.com/post/157755229159 . It’s a huge collection of History, Music, Definition, etc. However what I find most interesting is the bottom of the page; there are 6 more pages of content! Each leading into a deeper meaning of the word.

           Comparison:

I think the biggest thing I took from observing both of these is that each was structured like a tree. Conquest being the base and the search sprouted countless directions in which the word could be applied and a variety of each in subjects like History, politics, and more. However, Wikipedia focused much more on the modern definition of conquest and how it is used today in our culture as appose to Britannica which focused more on a historical aspect of the words definition.

  A Google Search:

The following are the three results when searching “conquest” in google

1.       Dictionary.com

The first result is Dictionary.com which I already used once earlier to show different definitions

2.       Planetminecraft

The second is a website hosting a game mode of a popular game called Minecraft. As mentioned before when researching the definition, I saw many times, conquest was associated with a game and it is reflected here.

http://www.planetminecraft.com/texture_pack/conquest-32x32/

3.       Conquest-game

This third website is for a turn based war game called “Conquest” in which a player must fight to control planets in the future. This goes along with both the game aspect of the definition as well as the victory over the enemy definition.

 http://www.conquest-game.com/

 The Conquest for a meme

               https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157765568264

Similar key Words

-          These are some words that I found frequently in relation to the word Conquest

                               Attack

                               Defeat

                               Overcome

                               Overpower

                               Succeed

                               Claim

                               Conquer

MLA International Bibliography related articles

1.       Postcolonial Columbus: Washington Irving and The Conquest of Granada

               McLamore, Richard V. "Postcolonial Columbus: Washington Irving and the Conquest of Granada." Nineteenth-Century Literature, vol. 48, no. 1, June 1993, pp. 26-43. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=0000303377&site=ehost-live&scope=site.                

2.       Bourbon (Re)Conquests: Epic, Empire, and Enlightenment from Madrid to Mexico City

Campbell, Sarah Cox. "Bourbon (Re)Conquests: Epic, Empire, and Enlightenment from Madrid to Mexico City." Dissertation Abstracts International, vol. 74, no. 10, Apr. 2014. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2014420515&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

3.       Attack of the Easter Bunnies: Walter Benjamin's Youth Hour

 Caselli, Daniela. "Attack of the Easter Bunnies: Walter Benjamin's Youth Hour." Parallax, vol. 22, no. 4 [81], Oct. 2016, pp. 459-479. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2016397634&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

4.       Postface: Deciphering the Meaning of the Attacks on Empire

 Hardt, Michael. "Postface: Deciphering the Meaning of the Attacks on Empire." Theory and Event, vol. 18, no. 4, 2015. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2015308603&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

5.       “May you overcome your obstacles”: Reconsidering Pedro Almodóvar's Hable con ella/Talk to Her (2002) through the Disability Studies Lens

 Marr, Matthew J. "“May You Overcome Your Obstacles”: Reconsidering Pedro Almodóvar's Hable Con Ella/Talk to Her (2002) through the Disability Studies Lens." Journal of Spanish Cultural Studies, vol. 17, no. 1, Mar. 2016, pp. 45-61. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2016323152&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

 6.       Models of Feminism: Tunisia's Opportunity to Overcome the Secular/Islamist Binary

Feldman, Jan. "Models of Feminism: Tunisia's Opportunity to Overcome the Secular/Islamist Binary." Hawwa: Journal of Women of the Middle East and the Islamic World, vol. 13, no. 1, 2015, pp. 51-76. EBSCOhost, manowar.tamucc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2015422701&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

 Images of the above articles

1.       Postcolonial Columbus: Washington Irving and The Conquest of Granada:

               https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157796282749

2.       Bourbon (Re)Conquests: Epic, Empire, and Enlightenment from Madrid to Mexico City

https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157796357174

3.       Postface: Deciphering the Meaning of the Attacks on Empire

https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157796458664

4.       “May you overcome your obstacles”: Reconsidering Pedro Almodóvar's Hable con ella/Talk to Her (2002) through the Disability Studies Lens

https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157796511774

The author of Postcolonial Columbus: Washington Irving and The Conquest of Granada

After searching in the Literary Research Database “McLamore, Richard V.” the author of Washington Irving and The Conquest of Granada I found out he had another article called The Dutchman in the Attic: Claiming an Inheritance in The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon. This is the examination of the claim of English cutlre

McLamore, Richard V. "The Dutchman in the Attic: Claiming an Inheritance in the Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon." American Literature, vol. 72, no. 1, Mar. 2000, p. 31. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=lfh&AN=3099506&site=lrc-live.

Scholarly Memes

               Postcolonial Columbus: Washington Irving and The Conquest of Granada

https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157806104054

Postface: Deciphering the Meaning of the Attacks on Empire

                               https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157806239294

“May you overcome your obstacles”: Reconsidering Pedro Almodóvar's Hable con ella/Talk to Her (2002) through the Disability Studies Lens

               https://d-sav-islander.tumblr.com/post/157806365699

Relevant Articles in context of Conquest:

1.       Attack!

Manchester, P. T. “Attack!” South Atlantic Bulletin, vol. 17, no. 3, 1952, pp. 2–3., www.jstor.org/stable/3198544.

2.     The Law of Cyber-Attack

 Hathaway, Oona A., et al. “The Law of Cyber-Attack.” California Law Review, vol. 100, no. 4, 2012, pp. 817–885., www.jstor.org/stable/23249823.