#and even if they did the idea of trading your oppression for that of another cant really seem like a good idea

[like-butterflies-and-glitter]

homonationalism is sinister. do not fall for the narratives of homonationalism, just because one group of people supposedly tends to oppress their queer people don't forget so do the ones pointing it out to you they do not care any more about you, think about their motivations and agenda, this is a ploy and honestly a thinly veiled (if at all) fight against liberation, because no matter how far your queer liberation goes, no liberation is complete until everyone is liberated.

[hadesoftheladies]

i've been on radblr for a while, and maybe it's because of the specific users i follow being woc or disabled, but recently i've been seeing more ableist and racist radblr users crawl from whatever hole they've been molting in

in light of a recent conversation thread between @menalez and two whitefems, i've come to see the issue other radblr users have been talking about

radblr lacks a culture of intersectionality. there are many white/straight/abled women here who think solidarity means we only cater to their liberation, and they can ditch us whenever they please. it is one-sided support, and isn't solidarity at all. they are used to being centered, used to seeing themselves as default woman, used to seeing themselves as the standard of feminism and womanhood. their problems as more deserving.

i'm not going to use this post to diagnose radblr, but to say why these women are insanely stupid

racist and imperial radfems have been bold in their assertion that their empires are somehow benevolent, neutral, helpful to outsiders. they have endorsed their militaries, asserted that they are genetically and intellectually superior, and that they're oh so tired of stupid, backward women from stupid, backward countries whining about how colonization improved their society. (and some western black users have agreed).

and it's so STUPID because . . . how do you not see you're approving of the structure of your own oppression while complaining about the injustice of it?

you can acknowledge that men have misattributed women's achievements to men, that they have destroyed, twisted, and erased their history. you can acknowledge that the reason there weren't as many women geniuses as men was because of the brutal subjugation and social, economic barriers women faced, or some just had their ideas stolen and died unnamed and unattached to their invention. you understand how women's language, spaces, and philosophy have been hijacked by the male perspective in everything, from religion, to education, to literature. in marxist or materialist analysis, you understand that economy creates culture.

but you can't understand any of that when it comes to majority world countries? you mysteriously lose your capacity to analyze culture when you're at the top? your countries are rich because they're just so gosh darn good at being rich, aren't they? stolen wealth and labor doesn't give you a head start at all! and if money is power, and you have the money, you can get away with stealing even more, but that only applies to men, see? not our nice, lovely, governments! colonization and war aren't actually that bad or brutal and don't have any lasting negative effects! neocolonial systems don't exist! it's not like our beloved empires have anything to do with killing the cultures of billions because they can, they have, and it is in their best political and economic interest to. black people never did anything significant! this is a fact, and has nothing to do with deliberate propaganda from imperial countries! imperialist propaganda, ha! imagine that? african and asian people can't be smarter than white people, because . . . . genetics! whitefems on radblr care so much about science when it comes to transwomen, but their brains turn to mush when it comes to thinking whiteness somehow genetically increases intelligence. biology, everybody!

it's honestly funny. like you're trading one regime for another, congrats! you're anti-revolution! you can get off our backs and stop using our plight as examples of your oppression.

and to the british storm trooper that claimed her intelligence was genetic--if you truly believe that, you've got two options:

consider that this statement is unscientific, racist, and false, or

take an ancestry DNA test and find out if you're adopted :)

[breitzbachbea]

Buckle in, we're going historical - again. And I did zero research, only remembered bits and pieces I learnt along the way - again. It's set some time in the late 19th and early 20th century in Ireland, because I had such a hankering for a "childhood friends so close they are basically siblings, one betrays the other", but canon just wouldn't allow for it.

Our most important dramatis personae are Harry, Charlie, Arthur and Tahir. Soph and Paddy play a minor role. If you want to get in the same mood as I did when I got the idea, just play "Heaven On Their Minds" from Jesus Christ Superstar approximately 20x in a row. Sets the mood.

It's the late 19th century, after the famine struck Ireland and London let them starve, there's unrest and misery sweltering like it always has. In some town around Dublin, Harry is one of those in whom a fire burns the brightest - but his best friend Charlie doesn't think that a small revolt could move anything other than shovels to dig their graves. Harry doesn't care, really - even if he dies, his death may be the one that inspires those after them to fight.

Now you can switch to Damned For All Time/Blood Money Charlie doesn't want to lose his best friend in a futile attempt to fight for a just cause. As the thing grows bigger and bigger, a revolt is more and more likely and Harry will listen less and less to him, Charlie uses a last resort. Without anyone's knowledge he goes to the local English administration and talks with Arthur - who has an assistant from the Indian Crown Colony called Tahir.

That fact doesn't sit quite right with Charlie, but when he asks Tahir if he thinks he's on the right side of history, sucking up to the same English whose boots are both on Irish and Indian backs. To which Tahir replies with another question - Aren't we on the same side, right now? Not to mention that not all Irish rise up, no people is a monolith. And how many Irish signed up for the East India Trading Company? How many managed to get into the British Army and are currently tools of oppression, miles away? "Do you not want to stand where I stand? Did you not, because your fate at home was sealed, set out to kick down to climb up? What's one Indian returning to use the tricks we learnt from you? There's solidarity here. More than one kind."

Charlie rats Harry out on the promise that no harm will come to his friend. That promise is broken and Harry ends up executed. "You liars! You promised me he'd live! You promised me no harm'd come to him! You promised a trial! Instead he was shot! Shot like a rotten, godforsaken dog!" It is, ironically, what catapults Harry into martyr status. Charlie becomes a social outcast, basically, and Harry's sister Sophie won't talk to him anymore. Only Paddy understands.

But that doesn't stop Charlie, much the opposite is the case. He agrees with all those who despise him now. Joins the Republican Army. He has lost his best friend, the one thing he wanted to protect. He has nothing to lose now.

And during the Easter Rising in this fictional story, he's in the Post building with the rest. He manages to shoot Arthur, who's out with Tahir, part of the forces that try to keep the same order they've kept for the last 700 years.

Charlie is either killed immediately after or dies some other time in the fray. Sophie wants him buried next to her brother and tells anyone off who doesn't want to respect him and calls him a traitor. Charlie paid for his mistake. But he is still a footnote in the history book, if known at all then only as the black sheep in Harry's story, whose still a famous martyr to the course.

So in the end, they got what they wanted. Harry got his martyrdom. Charlie's afterlife is as quiet as the life he wanted to live with Harry. And the people who understand it would leave flowers on both graves.

[beardedmrbean]

So Yasuke discourse back, and I just realize why

Black Americans are taught to HATE the core of the USA because the treatment of us. I mean my feelings towards my country is complex…but where this idea we were never taught this?

I’m sorry were you asleep in history class after the 5th grade?

I mean have you seen Emmett Till Corpse? My community was terrified for generations for black boys like me.

But anyways black supremacists latch onto other cultures like Japan and such for validation. Rather than our own people who survived and found success even in hard times America

Also this post https://www.tumblr.com/someoneintheshadow456/728775975508344832/i-think-one-of-the-biggest-differences-between

It two fictional historical stories, but remind when I saw a actress on the view being shocked she have slave owners ancestors

Despite being half Puerto Rican

And in her 30’s-40’s

I’m sorry does that chick think real life a Disney film?

Also about the samurai thing, yes people glamorize them like FX Shogun

But the Japanese (especially in counterculture as most mangakas are the descendants of the people the samurai oppressed. Oops, someone didn’t get the memo) acknowledged their samurai ancestors caused them significant issues especially with the isolation and stagnation the Tokugawa caused

Also I suspected but check wiki, the imperial Japanese army was heavily based off samurai culture 😬

And given the horrors they committed…

But anyways like I hinted at, the Japanese acknowledged their ancestors were complex people. But also acknowledged the flaws, because we can see it. Like people complain about how the late dbz creator draw black people

The thing is I heard some Japanese people don’t even a black person irl until their 30’s fuck I’m going too long

But at least get Japanese don’t have socialists in positions of influence and power that treat a book made by a antisemitic freeloader that rape his maid and let that offspring died poor less like the Bible.

Also another thing I notice in my abuse healing. If you don’t make some form of piece with what your abuser did to you.

Your shit out of luck at understanding history. Random but stuff I been noticing with Japanese culture and handling of others maybe another anon because an important figure in the pokemon community said something that shocked him while visiting nyc in the 2000’s.

Black Americans are taught to HATE the core of the USA because the treatment of us. I mean my feelings towards my country is complex…but where this idea we were never taught this? I’m sorry were you asleep in history class after the 5th grade?

The scripted 'how come they never taught us this in school' followed by 'you know' is one of the most infuriating things to show up and signal the beginning of discourse.

Texas isn't going to teach about slavery, Florida is going to teach that it wasn't so bad, are both statements I've seen allegedly educated people say, Texas most certainly will teach about it and the comment from Florida is that some slaves learned trades that helped them when they were free, like blacksmithing and coopering still not a statement in praise of anything, just a statement of fact.

They absolutely taught that stuff in school,

True you likely didn't learn about Bass Reeves which would be why people are so willing to believe The Lone Ranger was based off of him now, that would be also because they don't know about The Lone Ranger either, (there is some crossover and they likely pulled some from Bass)

There's only so much instruction time, you want to learn more there's a library or the internet.

But anyways black supremacists latch onto other cultures like Japan and such for validation. Rather than our own people who survived and found success even in hard times America

I have found that weird, then again they latch on to any successful black person as well and act like they own them, right up till the Williams Sisters marry white dudes, which for some reason was worse than Tiger marrying a white woman if memory serves.

The thing is I heard some Japanese people don’t even a black person irl until their 30’s fuck I’m going too long

I love Psych.

In person they may go their whole lives without seeing anyone but other Japanese people, common in not western nations. For all the talk about ethnostates people sure get them wrong a lot.

But at least get Japanese don’t have socialists in positions of influence and power that treat a book made by a antisemitic freeloader that rape his maid and let that offspring died poor less like the Bible.

That would be why no socialism in Japan, they killed the commies. My commitment to free speech says that was the wrong thing to do, but it also says people that want to cheer can.

The GOT/Downtown Abbey thing those were set in two totally different periods of time and one not even on earth so making comparisons to anything is difficult.

Edwardian Vs when Henry VIII was king totally different and not good to compare to each other to, not from a judgmental standpoint at least.

Also another thing I notice in my abuse healing. If you don’t make some form of piece with what your abuser did to you. Your shit out of luck at understanding history. Random but stuff I been noticing with Japanese culture and handling of others maybe another anon because an important figure in the pokemon community said something that shocked him while visiting nyc in the 2000’s.

Makes healing a bit more difficult too.

Forgive and forget is bunk, you don't have to forget, don't have to forgive either but I think that it's important to do that. Doesn't mean you need to speak a single word to the person or spare them a passing glance ever again though. Don't need to give them a chance to do it again, but forgiveness is as much for you as it is for the forgivee.

[crisalidaseason]

my aot what if: If eren followed zeke

Followed as in carrying out Zeke's plan instead of his? Well, first thing is: Zeke's plan was really bad (not that Eren's was any better!!) It's hard to speculate what would happen because it depends on so many little factors, but I'll try my best.

What If Eren carried out Zeke's ideas?

They would buy Paradise some years of "peace" but ultimately bring many negative situations.

Paradise could be feared because of its potential danger (much like we fear the countries that have heavy nuclear weapons), but a lot of other problems could arise: political and economical sanctions are a good example. You don't need to go to war to fuck up a country, just refuse to make treaties and trading with them. Also, ANY OTHER small nation that possibly traded or made agreements with Paradise would be fucked up by anti-Paradise countries and also suffer from sanctions.

There is also a huge possibility that Paradise would still turn out extremely nationalist and resort to a military government. Unfortunately, when a country is suffering from economical and political instability, the first thing to go out the window is the civil government (this weird concept that the army keeps stability is very common). Also, if human rights were already bad before, expect them to be even worse. Paradise will commit social control in order to keep their nation "safe", it's what keeps a military government for so long: political persecution, social control, revoking rights.

Also, there is a possibility that the titan shifter situation would never change. We would still have people dying after 13 years of being a shifter,the remaining eldian children were still going to be used as weapons (you can be sure that the "warrior program" would not die, just change its appearances to seem more "voluntary" and "less cruel"), Historia and her bloodline would be used and sacrificed. Racism agains Eldians would not get better, and the continent Eldians (the ones who live in Marley) would have it so much worse as "punishment" for what the "Island devils" did.

And also, the fact that in a hundred years all eldians would have died for nothing. The cycle of hatred would never change, the remaining world population would find another race to humiliate or another war to fight.

Again, It's hard to speculate for sure. AoT shows that no matter what plan you follow, the outcome is always the same: war and oppression. It is the human nature to destroy one another.

Feel free to give your opinion respectfully or else I'll just block. If you want to send a 'what if' situation, feel free to do so!

[writingwithcolor]

Blending Mythos Respectfully

@sapphicq submitted:

Hi all! I’m trying to write an urban fantasy that explores oppression in a world that is basically the same as ours, except with magic, while incorporating magical systems and mythologies of multiple cultures. I’ve done an okay amount of research on each one that I’d like to include (still need to do more for sure, especially considering how colonization has effected mythologies). However, I’m struggling a bit on how they should coexist, since in the world I’m writing about they’re present and tangible. One example of this is fox spirits in East Asian mythology. Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, and Chinese mythologies each have a nine-tailed fox, and though my research says that the myth originates from Chinese mythology, it also says that each of the fox spirits carry different connotations of malevolence, benevolence, and how widespread they are, depending on which culture’s mythology is being referred to. 

The same sort of thing has been popping up quite a lot in a lot of my research. I started to wonder if I could explain these similarities within world as “different cultures have come up with different names and customs surrounding the ‘same’ thing,” considering mythology in the real world from an anthropological perspective. However I don’t want to overgeneralize, especially considering that these different mythological figures are meant to be present and tangible. If I went that route, I wouldn’t want to say something like ‘actually, benevolent fox spirits do exist, and Korean mythology about fox spirits is wrong since Kumiho are pretty strictly malevolent,’ which would obviously be an implication. All this to say: do you have any tips for multiple mythos coexisting in a way that respects the various cultures they come from?

Avoid Round Pegs in Square Holes

A mistake you sometimes see Western authors make when dealing with mythology in urban fantasy settings is to confine the universe’s worldbuilding to a particular mythology or force the rules of a single culture’s folklore onto other cultures. For instance, here at WWC, we get a lot of questions asking how to represent supernatural creatures from multiple cultures respectfully alongside fae from Western Europe, and it's fairly obvious that the author plans to treat all supernatural creatures as fae. Urban fantasy based on Greek mythology or Christian mythology often falls into the same trap. 

I think a writer can demonstrate greater creativity by embracing these differences. I think a potential way to deal with contradicting mythos between cultures is to come up with compelling reasons why differences exist. What world-building systems, philosophies and real-life phenomena allow for a framework that explains the simultaneous existence of commonalities and differences? As you know, in anthropology, there are theories that emphasize cultural diffusion as a way to explain similar customs within the same region, but there are also theories that hold that multiple cultures can develop the same traditions and principles independent of each other (See: existence of 0, lost-wax bronze casting, astronomical calendars and the use of wheels). The answers I’ve given are mostly technological. However myths and belief systems serve very real social functions as ways to keep people together and cultivate norms and mores. Lesya expands on the utility of intentional cultural diffusion below.

Similarly, within evolution, there are instances of species having common features because of a shared ancestor, but also instances where species without shared ancestors evolve to have similar features because they exist in the same environment. I believe flippers are examples of both types of evolution in marine animals.  Thus, I think you need to question your assumption that “different cultures have come up with different names and customs surrounding the ‘same’ thing.” As the world is daily proof, they sometimes do, but they also sometimes don’t. 

-Marika

First, props to you for sending us this ask. You have been thinking about this a lot and have done research into building an urban fantasy that doesn’t do the thing of putting all Asians under one umbrella. 

Second, I’m going to agree with Marika here. Rather than go for the generalization route, revel in everyone's differences. It's a way for you to acknowledge the variations in the mythology, that not all have the same origins though there may be some similarities. Instead, they may have reached the same conclusions. My advice for blending mythologies is to lean into it, and not create a homogeneous umbrella. You can make something amazing with that. 

-Jaya

Hybridity Through Diffusion

So a myth originated in China. This does not mean Chinese tellings have the monopoly on what a telling is. Marika and Jaya have gone into a possible solution, here, but what I’m going to examine here is a mental framework that a lot of people get stuck in that is actually ahistorical.

Cultural appropriation as we know it is shockingly recent when it comes to history. In the modern day, ownership boundaries of myths have become very strict because of primarily European colonialism picking and choosing everything it likes about a mythos, and, this is important: not letting up on the oppression of those peoples. There’s also a strong preference to kill those colonialism deems “wrong”, instead of creating a hybrid culture.

Historically, this got a lot more fluid.

What happened historically was primarily cultural diffusion, wherein open trade, intermarriage, and shared borders made it that myths, customs, and cultural practices were (mostly) freely exchanged without massive power imbalances happening, and then modified to fit local beliefs.

Key word: mostly. Because yes sometimes it happened that one place took over another place and imported all of its customs (see: China, Rome, the Mughals), but… often* the ruling power either backed off, was fought of, or otherwise left the region, leaving the common people to do whatever they wanted with the carcass of what had been imposed on them. Or sometimes, even, the imperial forces would actively create a hybridized culture in order to better rule others.

* in places where the ruling power has NOT backed off on oppression and assimilation, even if the colonialism is very old, then this is invalid and the power dynamics of appropriation are still at play.

Because, historically, there was a lot less incentive to simply genocide the peoples you took over (which is what made armies that did destroy all they took over so noteworthy). People were needed to keep providing food and materials, even if the new person got the resulting taxes. 

This meant there were a lot more common people to play with the stuff imported by the imperial culture. And there was a lot more incentive to hybridize your customs to the common people’s customs, leading to the sometimes-hilarious situations like “Rome assigns an equivalence in their pantheon for literally every mythology they encountered, which was a lot.” 

This also explains early Christianization, because it was a lot safer to simply adapt what you already had to make it better for your own ends than curbstomp everything that was “wrong” to your worldview. Ireland’s mythology survives in huge swaths, because it was either Christianized wholesale, or it was about “historical humans” and not fae. Norse mythology was similarly adapted for Christian worldviews, which means we unfortunately have no idea what the pre-Christian myths were.

So instead of thinking in terms of ownership, think instead in terms of diffusion. 

Myths get imported along with food, cloth, or anything else necessary for life. Myths were, historically, a way for people to explain the world around them, both in place of and alongside science. “Ghost marches” are really common, globally, because if you have wind howling in the forest, it’s going to sound like predators, and predators mean go inside and lock the door. Weaving goddesses are also common, because weaving was so necessary to survive the elements.

Sometimes trade relationships soured, and you get bad associations with the imported stuff. Sometimes the relationship stayed great for long enough it got completely adapted. This doesn’t mean any one myth is “right”, nor does it mean you have to erase historical trade links. It just means you look at the historical context, understand that cultural exchange often used to be a lot more two-way than it is in modern appropriation times, and figure out what that means for your worldbuilding.

~ Mod Lesya

[mariamermaid]

Patronus-Protector

Sirius x Reader

Summary: Much to your dislike, your friends have been hiding something from you. Now it is your turn to find out what has been slumbering beneath the surface of the marauder group…

Words: 3.1k

A/N: requested by @divergirl9-blog Sorry it took so long!

Warnings: swearing, blood, little bit angsty

Patronus{m}, Latin- Protector

“Have they been avoiding you?”

Lilly frowned as you sat down across from her in the great hall. It was a custom habit of the two of you to do the potions homework on Tuesdays together. But your mind was everywhere but on the potions.

“What do you mean?”

“Don´t act stupid, Evans. Did James tell you anything?” You scrunched your nose and leaned a little over the table, so the red-head couldn´t avoid your glance. She held in for a second; James hadn´t particularly mentioned anything. On the other hand, the past times she had seen her somewhat secret boyfriend, there wasn´t much talking involved.

“Not really”, Lilly sighed and tried to get back on the homework. But you were too stubborn and took away her pen. You wouldn´t let this slip another time. “Not really? Is that all you got Lilly?”

“For Merlin´s sake Y/n, I don’t really know! He mentioned something about going to the Shrieking Shack.”

It was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion. “What do they want there?” You asked muttering more to yourself. Lilly rolled her green eyes, until they landed on a certain dark-haired boy. You quickly followed her glance, finding Sirius standing across the hall. It seemed like he had either watched, maybe even eavesdropped, but before you could further question the whole situation, he left the hall with hasty steps.

“You´re done, Black”, you cursed as you hurried after him and to hell with the homework, which you left behind.

Lilly watched as you left, her head back in her hand. “Young love.”

It was no secret to her that you felt a little more than just friendship for the heartbreaker boy. It was also no secret, that Sirius Black was only heartless until it came to you.

There was no thing he wouldn´t do for you, much against his own denial. However, Sirius was best at one thing; protecting you. Mostly, from himself.

Oh yes, he wouldn´t trade your long friendship for anything or anyone, but his craving to feel your soft lips on his, was getting stronger by the day. The fear of breaking in took away his sleep. But as the time the night came, he realized the empty spot in the bed next to him. However, he decided on the empty spot, instead of losing you forever. He had determined years ago, his purpose to protect you was greater than his pain.

You made it hard though. Especially as you ran after him through the halls, after he was explicitly advised not to talk to you with the upcoming full moon. It would be hard to contain Remus and James couldn´t babysit a werewolf and an Animagus at the same time. Especially, if said Animagus was only focused on protecting the girl he loved.

“Sirius!”

He ignored you.

“Sirius Black if you do not stop running, I´ll hex you!” Finally, he stopped in his tracks. So abruptly, you almost ran right into him.

“For Merlin´s sake, you better tell me what is going on!” You scolded him angrily. He avoided your eyes, staring out of the window instead.

“I don’t know-“

“Don´t!” You became angrier by the second, but beneath all that anger was hurt. Why didn´t he tell you? What had you done, that made him loose trust?

“Don´t do this, Sirius. We don´t have secrets from each other, I´ve known you my entire life. If I did something wrong-“

It was his time to cut you off.

“You didn´t do anything wrong!” He assured you quickly and you sighed, as he finally starred into your mellow face.

“But clearly something is wrong and as long as you prefer to keep it from me, instead of letting me help, you can shove our friendship up your ignorant ass!”

He wanted to prevent exactly what just happened; you getting hurt. But you were hurt and his actions felt like betrayal to you.

Angrily and gloomy, you left him standing in the empty hall.

For the next two days, neither of the marauder´s saw much of you. Lily, who shared her room with you was the only one. Sirius, who had given up on trying, after your recent fight, only watched you from afar. Both James and Remus attempted to catch you after class, but you slipped away and hurried back into safeties of your room. All of them worried about the silence that hung like dark thunder clouds, but the full moon was approaching fast. They had bigger worries.

It was on the second day of your oppressive silence; night was approaching and your stomach growled in hunger. You had skipped dinner in order to evade James and Peter, who sat with Lilly. It was weird seeing them without Remus or Sirius, but you hadn´t given it much thought. They were probably up to no good as always.

But as you snuck out your room hoping to get at least a late-night snack, you heard toned down voices. Waiting at the end of the stairs of the common room, you listened to James and Peter.

“Come on, Potter! You can always talk to your girl, but we have to get going now! Sirius will need our help.”

James sighed defeated. “If this continues, Lilly won´t talk to me just like Y/N.”

“If Sirius would´ve acted a little more elaborated, she wouldn´t be as pissed as she is. That boy knows how to charm every girl, but her.”

James snickered at Peter´s comment. “You´re right, let´s go!”

You had no idea what was happening, but your feet acted on pure instinct as you hurried after the two boys. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

They left the school building and you had trouble keeping up, cursing at Merlin for their endurance from the quidditch training. You watched as they arrived at the whomping willow, hiding behind rocks and high grass, and then, they disappeared.

How did the old willow not even attempt to crush them? You eyed the plant structure from a safe distance, analyzing where James had previously stood. Something was there, you couldn´t fully make it out, but James had leaned down a little to touch the willow.

“For Merlin´s sake, those boys will be the death of me!”, you cursed whispering as you hurried to the willow. Hastily and purely relying on hope, you searched the plant for anything. It was your luck, that you found the knot at the base and a secret passage opened up.

Your mouth slightly opened and quietly you admitted, that the marauder weren´t completely stupid. At least not all the time (often enough though). It was a rather awkward slide into the passage, but luckily, James and Peter were already more far off and they didn´t hear your stumbling.

It didn´t take long until you found yourself at the shrieking shack, slowly the pieces were put together. However, you already heard loud voices coming from inside.

At this point, your gut feeling took over your prudence and you hurried inside, following the yelling. Screams from all of the marauders echoed through the old shack and you panted, when all kind of horrible scenarios came to your head. Argument or not, they were your friends and you´d do everything to protect them. With your wand safely in your hand, you entered the large room, but what came to your view wasn´t at all what you had expected…

At the back of the stone wall was Remus… But he wasn´t himself.

In the rise of the silver full moon his eyes turned savage and fur crawled across his skin until he was fully covered. You heard the breaking from the metal chains as he rose from the ground, taller than ever before. A gasp left your lips, which brought all the attention to you.

“Remus!”

James, Sirius and Peter exchanged quick looks, it wasn´t their first battle against the full moon, but this time you were a new meeple in the game. James and Peter lunged forward, trying to keep Remus, who was in full werewolf mode, back and Sirius ran to your side. “What are you doing here?” He asked furious and your head snapped at him.

“Me? You were the one lying to me! I wouldn´t have come, but you were hiding something from me!”

“I wasn´t!”

“Uhm, how about Remus being a werewolf?”

“I wanted to tell you!”

Your argument was interrupted as both James and Peter were thrown against the wall, Remus was on the loose. Sirius who had positioned himself safely in front of you, let out a growl as well.

In the next second, he jumped forward, his clothes ripping and when landing, the four paws scratched across the wooden floor. Yes, you had spent many hours cuddled together with Sirius in his hound form, watching sunsets and sometimes sunrises as well. But it was the first time, you witnessed him other than an adorable dog. This time, he truly seemed dangerous.

Not only he, but Remus as well and you felt fear growing. You didn´t know what they were capable of. Barely realizing how Peter grabbed your arm to pull you back from the fight, you watched as the two shadow figures began battling.

“Y/n stay back”, Peter tried to remind you, but you too captivated. Both he and James couldn’t do much, until Sirius was thrown against a nearby dresser, which fell to pieces. Sirius bellowed in pain and while James tried to help the hound pack on his feet (or paws), you placed yourself right in between him and Remus.

“Remus, remember who you are! We´re your friends!” You exclaimed, but aimed with your wand right at him. No one hurt your friends and seeing Sirius down, felt like a wakeup call.

Remus however didn´t listen and as he made another step closer to you, you were left no choice.

“Stupify!”

The red light bathed the dim room, but then the darkness crawled back into the corners and your senses. Your eyes had to adjust again, but then he was suddenly right in front of you. A sharp pain emerged, as you held up your arms to protect your body and head, then you felt yourself hitting the ground. Everything was spinning, you had lost your wand and burning red liquid ran down your outer, lower arms. Screams echoed further in the shallow room and you did your best to concentrate. Sirius´s dark shadow lunged off the ground and threw Remus back down, howling and growls cut through the air. But the two of them disappeared in blurriness. Two pair of arms grabbed your side.

“Y/n, can you hear us?” James´s distant voice rang through your mind; you formed a faint nod.

Peter starred at the continues blood stream.

“James, she´s losing a lot of blood, we need to get her to the infirmary.” Peter quietly explained and shock as well as fear was clearly written in both of their faces. “What about them?”

James felt like vomiting at the sight of your injury and feared the fact, that you were zooning out more and more. But Sirius had Remus pinned down, and Peter carefully, but rapidly put your arms around James.

“Get her to the infirmary, I´ll help Sirius in tying him down, go!”

It was at the edge of your consciousness as you felt yourself leaning against James, while he tried his best to get you through the dark, dirty passage. Then, before you reached the light of the moon again, you blacked out.

 He had decided years ago, his purpose to protect you was greater than his pain.

 Now Sirius sat on the marble bench outside the infirmary. All he ever wanted was to protect to you, and he failed miserably. Deep, dark circles from lost sleep were seen under his matt eyes. It had been almost two days since the incident and he had not the slightest idea, how James had explained the entire situation. Madame Pomfrey sure had enough to do as he carried you in, in the middle of the night with blood dripping on the way. They were able to stop the bleeding fairly quickly, but your body needed a lot of energy to fully close the wounds. As steps approached, Sirius looked up to find Remus; he looked just as tired.

He had lost all memory of the night, but seeing you pale and injured, hit him hard. He probably hadn´t slept as well. “She´s not awake?”

Sirius didn´t answer, his sole presence was enough. On the other hand, he wasn´t sure if he could even face you.

“Lilly´s with her.”

McGonagall’s lecture was hard, but bearable. Lilly´s on the other hand, only created more remorse. She was right, if he had just told the truth, things would´ve been different, under control at least. A deep empty pit inside his stomach growled as blame remained. But the heaping pain in his heart was even worse. The image of you in the hospital bed had been like a trigger, that created an avalanche. It could´ve ended worse, he could´ve lost you.

Sirius felt like throwing up again as the thought crossed his mind. It was his biggest fear; losing you.

 “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them."

“What in Merlin´s beard are you reading to me?”

Lilly´s head snapped up from the potions book, she couldn´t help herself but feel the need to entertain you. And maybe herself as well, while she held watch at your side.

“You´re up!” The red-head exclaimed excited and sat down on the bed next to you.

“How are you feeling?”

You let a small groan as you sat up a little higher, your limbs felt weak and heavy.

“Tired”, you offered her a small smile.

Your eyes traveled down to the bandages on your arms.

“Glad to see you didn´t amputate them.”

“At least you didn´t lose your humor.”

Then you found Lilly´s gaze again. “What about Sirius and Remus?”

She quickly shook her head. “You left us all worried and with terrible remorse, but we all survived, more or less.” You raised your eyebrow at her, questioning, but she ignored your gesture.

“I´ll just get them.”

Only seconds after, you heard steps approaching again. From behind the curtain came two terribly exhausting looking boys; your boys.

“You both look like shit”, you couldn´t hold back the comment and the three of you erupted in easier laughter. The tensions slightly shrunk. Remus was first to sit down next to you, guilt still hidden behind his eyes. But before he could even speak up, you shook your head.

“Don´t. It´s not your fault, you weren´t you.”

He offered you an apologetic smile.

“If I had told you the truth, or at least allowed Sirius to do so, this wouldn´t have happened.”

“Yeah”, you agreed nodding. “Better to remember for next time.”

Remus grimaced, still eyeing the bandages on your arms. “I hope there won´t be a next time like this.”

“If it helps, I barely remember getting here.”

Remus stayed still, but you carefully grabbed his hand. “Remus, I´m fine. Don´t beat yourself up about it, I forgive you.”

Finally, he looked up as well, nodding with tears in his eyes. It was a huge relief that he felt dropping off his shoulders. He gave you a careful hug. “I think I should give you some more rest, and don´t worry, I´ve been doing all your homework!”

Playfully, you hit his shoulder. “You should´ve started with that apology!”

Remus nodded at his friend as he left your side again, but Sirius remained standing next to your bed. You rose your eyebrow at him. “What´s wrong, Black?”

“Nothing´s wrong, you´re back and healing. It´s all that matters.”

“Something´s clearly wrong.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose; it took all his strength not to break down. “We could´ve lost you.” He paused.

“I could´ve lost you.”

“But you didn´t”, you wanted to argue, but Sirius turned his back to you. Nervously wandering up and down in the room.

“I should´ve protected you better”, he mumbled quietly, his hand roughly running through his messy hair.

“That´s not your job-“

“Yes, it is. I can´t take seeing you hurt. So, I need to protect you!” His voice became louder, almost sounding angry. But beneath the façade was angst and deep distress.

“No, it´s not! Your job is to be my friend, not my patronus! You shouldn´t have to hide something like this!”

Suddenly he stopped, his back still facing you and his hands forming fists. You saw how his shoulders rose and dropped from his heavy breathing.

“Maybe, if I can´t protect you as a friend, we can´t be friends.”

His voice was low and so quiet, you weren´t sure at first about the words escaping his mouth. You felt your heart drop at his sentence, a gasp coming from your lips. Your mouth opened, but no words came out and you watched as Sirius pulled the curtain back, leaving the infirmary.

No, you wouldn´t let this go. Not like this.

You threw back the blanket and your bare feet touched the cold ground. You didn´t care though, or about the thin layer of white linen covering your body.

Just outside the infirmary, you caught up to him.

“Maybe we can´t be friends!”

He stopped once again, not bearing the thought of turning to look at you directly. He felt tears forming and he didn´t want you to see him like this. Weak and vulnerable, unable to protect you.

“And you can´t protect me from everything, especially not heartbreak! Because, you, you Sirius Black are breaking my heart!”

Carefully and slowly, he turned towards you, his eyes still glued on the floor. Your voice was quaking and your entire body shaking.

“You were never just a friend to me!”

Swift, in a blink, Sirius was right in front of you, his hands cupping your face. Only inches were left and you felt his warmth breath on your skin.

“I never wanted to break your heart, all I wanted was not to lose you”, he whispered with his voice shaking as well.

“You didn´t lose me and you never will.”

Then you felt his lips on yours and you eased into the kiss. His touch felt welcoming and you inhaled his musky scent. You had been right, no one was able to stop you from falling for your best friend. But after all, you didn´t need protection; all you needed were your friends and your love.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-ire “Anti-Alliance.”

So my schedule at work has been really weird lately, so I apologize for the weird posting schedule and if things seem a little cramped. I am trying to keep upon my posting, but it has been rather difficult recently.

I hope you all enjoy :)

He hadn’t thought that Spartans were normally meant for stealth with their red cloaks, bright red feathers, and pockmarked golden shields, but he had been wrong before. The ground below them was rocky even as they ducked and dodged through the large boulder field that marked the edge of a wide white salt flat.

From a distance it wouldn’t have looked all that interesting accept for familiar pockmarks in the ground, which he recognized to be evidence left behind from the landing struts of shuttles. His head was still reeling over the idea that there was any sort of Anti-GA resistance. Yeah he knew there were the isolationists and others who did not agree with their cooperation with alien lifeforms, but the idea that people would go to such lengths as to sell weapons to each other was nearly mind boggling.

He would have understood if the government were at all…. Oppressive, and granted there had been a few times when the GA hadn’t gotten it right, especially when it came to the whole LFIL business, but things had been rectified, and there were good relations all across the galaxy. Is only other thought is that maybe the people blamed the GA for the invasion of Earth, though how that could have been called an invasion was beyond him.

Most of the Burg had died within the first few minutes of landing on the planet, and there had only been one reported casualty in the entirety of Mericanda, that being a frail old lady who had seen the Burg from a distance and died of a heart attack related to shock, which he hardly thought counted.

Things were going good for them. In the history of humanity things had honestly never been better, so why someone would want to go and screw that up was beyond him.

But you couldn’t make everyone happy.

He slid into place next to James, the king of Sparta, and Xanthia, the queen, A they poked their heads over the rocks.

James had pulled off his helmet and handed it to Xanthia as he peered over the rock.

“What are we doing here?” Adam muttered as he glanced between a set of rocks and towards the deserted salt field. His bare knee ached from where he knelt on the partial gravel. The leather skirts may have been nice for the mediteranian climate, but he still missed wearing pants. He switched to his other knee, the fake one, so he might be more comfortable.

“My operatives in Athens recently sent me a report detailing this as the place where the anti-alliance ships have been landing.”

“Spies? But that doesn’t seem-”

“Not very Spartan of me? Well Adam, just because we took some inspiration from Ancient sparta doesn’t mean we do everything exactly like they did, besides Spartans were at war far more often than us?”

“Speaking of which, do you guys actually fight anyone?”

“Under GA law, we generally don’t, but the Anti-alliance scumbags work outside the law, and based on some of their actions, which have in the past included slave trafficking, I have taken it upon myself to dispatch a few of them. And no one has gone to the government about my activities because if they did, they would have to explain what they were doing in the first place.’

He gripped his spear tighter, ‘And as technical royalty, I am allowed, by law, mind you to police my own planet.”

Ramirez had schooted up next to them crouched low, using his spear to help him crawl over the rocks.

James nodded to him and he nodded back.

“What are you planning on doing.”

“Well, first of all, since you are here, I want to give you proof of what I have been saying all along, and then maybe you will understand better what is going on here. I want you to see that I’m not just some kind of tyrant trying to get rid of people who disagree with me.” he pointed towards the salt flat, “I really believe that these people need to be removed, but It would take a lot off my conscience if you knew that as well.”

Queen Xanthea raised her head, lips pressing together slightly.

Adam had a feeling that even if he did agree, the queen wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon.

The troop of spartan soldiers crouched behind the rocks with a stiff breeze blowing through them.

Adam had grown immune to mild temperature discomfort since his training had begun, and barely even noticed the early morning chill that rolled over him. Glancing out the corner of his eye, he noticed Ramirez and another one of the young spartans crouching close together, almost touching, sharting body heat.

He shook his head slightly.

Leave it to Ramirez to land a fling with a Spartan.

He turned his head back to the salt field, and was surprised to find movement on the far side.

The Spartans grew very quiet as they watched across the open plante to where a group of people had just emerged from the rocks.

A few of them were dressed like simple athenians in their tunics or togas, but there were a few more dressed in flight suits, looking very out of place on the Grecian landscape. Adam cocked his head trying to hear better, and watched as the king of the Spartains tilted his head and pressed into the skin below his ear. 

Adam forgot that the Spartan King also had a military grade translation implant and data chip installed just like everyone else. 

And also that he had one too, and therefore could amplify the sound.

He followed the Spartain’s lead and was just able to pick up the tail end of a conversation.

“We are moving them to the market on A1-36.”

“The GA has presence there don’t they/”

“It’s just a supply waystop for them, they don’t actually go in.”

“You know how the GA feels about slave trade.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what the GA thinks about the slave trade, without it we wouldnt be able to pay the damn Kree.” He snorted, “Little bastards upped their price after the war, and now we are having to pay them double for being involved.”

“Why are we even doing this? We haven’t gotten anywhere, too small time to really even make a dent.”

Their leader turned to glower at them, “All big operations started out small-time. Now shut the hell up, and stop bitching. We have work to do.” 

There was a roaring in the sky overhead, and the group turned their eyes up towards the great blue vastness as they watched a silver distortion roll like a hazy wave through the atmosphere. Adam didn’t even realize what it was until the shuttle touched down, and noted the reflective skin covering it’s hull.

It was a pretty clever if low-budget trick, though they didn’t need anything more high-tech on a planet that didn’t really seem to use technology in the first place.

The door to the shuttle hissed open, and a group of men stepped out dressed in black flight suits.

A few of them carried weapons, though the vast majority of them were armed with only batons.

While the distribution of firearms was common on earth, and an estimated 65% of the population owned one for personal use, the ability to get your hands on a human grade firearm in space was a little harder.

The GA had strict regulations on the movement of weapons through intergalactic airspace, and you had to have permits out the ass to even own one.

However, since when did laws ever stop criminals?

He doubted that any of these men actually had a permit, which was an arrestable violation to begin with, though he had more than enough probable cause to arrest these men anyway. 

He stayed put however, and waited for the scene to unfold before them as the group of men stepped down onto the salt, their boots crunching against the ground looking around nervously at the rocks.

If these men had had any REAL military equipment on them, their shuttle would have been able to detect the heat signatures of the company of Spartans crouched in the rocks, but even so, no one had noticed them, and they wanted with bated breath as the group of men met up with each other.

“Parked her in low orbit, sir.”

“Good, then let's get things going before anyone has the chance to notice. The damned Neo-Spartan bastards have been giving me trouble. I have had to change shuttle sites three times in the past month. I have a feeling those assholes have spies with the Athenians, though I can’t prove anything.”

“There are no spies, that’s not how the spartans work.” One of the Athenians piped in.

The man turned to look at the speaker, “Then your men are just Fucking incompetent because how else do the spartans seem to know where we are at every turn.” He kicked at the salt sending up a wave of white flecks into the air, “The Damned Spartan King and his and his stupid skirt-wearing, oily, dog shagging bastards showing up every damn time I try to do anything around here.”

The group stood around watching as their leader threw his little fit.

Behind the stones, the skit-wearing oily bastards grinned a little at each other. 

Adam bared his teeth.

He already didn’t like this guy, though the man didn’t exactly make it difficult to hate him.

“Whatever, just get them on the dam shuttle so they aren’t my problem anymore. All the wining and complaining and bitching. You were stupid enough to get caught now they can suffer the consequences.”

Adam had met psychopaths in the past, and even though the last one had totally tried to kill him, he was still pretty sure he liked that one better. This guy was much, much worse.

He talked too much.

And that was coming from Adam, the kind of talking too much.

His hand tightened around the shaft of his spear as he moved into position with the other spartans.

The kind nodded back towards the rest of the group, and then quietly engaged the shielding over the metal faces of their shiels. They had spears and the enemy had bullets, not that that would matter once they got within stabbing range, but until ten, it was a good idea to have some cover.

There was a soft shuffling from the other side of the valley, and a group of chained prisoners were walked out onto the salt. Most of them were alien, Tesraki, and Finnari, but a few of them were human. Adam’s stomach clenched as he noted that most of the human prisoners were wide eyed young women.

His teeth ground together in anger, and beside him he could feel the tensing of muscles from the other Spartans as they responded similarly.

James cracked his knuckles and Xanthia pulled her short sword.

That was an odd thing about her, she didn’t seem all that interested in the use of spears, but he HAD seen her use her two short swords before, and boy was it a sight.

These men were in for a wold of hurt.

Adam looked to James who nodded back at him.

This was clearly enough proof for them.

The Spartan’s shifted as one unit to the balls of their feet, pulling out their spears and adjusting their shields on their left arms.

Adam scooted up next to James on his left, and Ramirez covered Adam’s left in return. 

Their shields hummed  softly with the faint blue pusing of the shields.

James raised his spear, and the men waited on bated breath as the prisoners were brought out further onto the salt. The men with guns were turned away, their focus pulled to the chained prisoners who whimpered pitifully as they were dragged over the salt.

James thrust his spear into the air.

The men did not let out a war cry like they had practiced on so many occasions before, but they went running as silently as possible at full tilt across the salt, keeping in tight formation with each other as they did.

The prisoners noticed them first, and then the gunman allerted to their rapid approach by the clattering of shields and spears. They turned with shocked expressions on their faces just in time to be bowled to the ground by a wave of bodies and metal.

Adam rammed into one of the gunmen hearing the subsonic crack of the rifle as a bullet tore into the salt near his feet. He slammed the man to the ground with his shield. And then raise it just in time to deflect another bullet. Before he could take care of the next man, Xanthia was already there. The cything of her sword caught the man in the wrist completely severing his hand, then she kicked him hard in the chest causing him to fly back over the stone. Blood pooled in crimson puddles against the white salt as the group of Spartans hurried to surround the cowering prisoners.

Adam put his back to them and crouched low behind his shield spear at the ready.

He looked around in the confusion, and saw the slimy little rat running the operation as he clawed his way up the nearest incline and away from the fighting.

He bared his teeth in anger, before turning to shout to someone to take care of him, but it was just at that moment that a horn blast somewhere in the distance.

The group of them turned to look…. As a wave of Athenian soldiers came roaring over the hill.

***

“SHIELDS!” He heard James shout, and crouched down, interlocking the large round shield with the men on his left and right. Behind him, Ramirez was suddenly at his shoulder spear at the ready. Another man behind him locked a shield in palace over Adam’s.

At their backs, the mall group of prisoners cowered together in fear as they were surrounded by the spartan shield wall.

“BRACE1” James shouted, and Adam dug his sandals into the dirt.

The first wave of Athenian soldiers crashed against them, and the shield wall racked back absorbing the impact.

“PUSH!” Came the shout and with a heave of his legs and his back Adam slammed the shield forward pushing the Athenian soldiers back a good two feet, a few of them stumbled to the ground. He opened the shield just enough for Ramirez to lunge forward, stabbing outward at the first line of Athenian soldiers catching one in the stomach before pulling back behind the shield wall.

They turtles up again as the Athenians slammed against them one more time, and again they held, Throwing  them back with a powerful push which sent them sprawling to the ground.

The Athenian line broke.

WIth screams and cries of fear the scattered as the Spartans broke from their shield wall and charged into the frey.

Adam and Ramirez roared out together.

Adam clobbered one of the Athenians with his shield knocking him to the ground for Ramirez to finish off. He thrust his spear forward and waist height, impaling one man straight through the stomach and out his back. The Athenian looked almost surprised as he was thrown to the ground, a hole torn straight through him.

Adam had no time to think about what he had just done, as he stepped over the man’s body to meet another.

This time his spear caught the man in the throat. He knocked the body to the side, and use the reverse end of his spear to turn and take a man who had been sneaking up behind Ramirez.

Blood painted the white ground red as the short pitched battle came to a head.

James and Xanthia fell into step beside Ramirez and Adam and together they washed through the battlefield like a tidal wave of destruction. Adam caught one man’s swords on the haft of his spear, and james darted in, taking the man between the ribs with the point of his own weapon. Behind them Xanthai and Ramirez held their backs, chasing the enemy away from the cowering prisoners.

Adam took a cut high on his cheek feeling warm blood run in slow trickles down his face to drizzle onto his collarbone.

The shield protected his unarmed torso as he roared into another line of men batting them back.

After all the raining he had done with the spartans, these men were barely worth a match, especially since he had trained in the spear against creatures with four arms instead of two.

An athenian charged at him, and he ducked low, catching them in the upper legs and waist with his shield before heaving with his legs and back, sending them up and over his head with a wail and straight into Ramirez’s spear.

He was surrounded by at least three men in the second moment.

One was blocked with his shield, one with his spear, and he kicked the other directly in the chest sanding him spinning backward and away.

He plowed painfully into the ground.

Adam ducked to the side as the man’s sword cut past his arm, cutting his friend in the thigh. He let the spear drop through his hands, caught it near the end and drew the spike right into the man’s face.

There was a brutal crack but he didn’t stop to look as he spun, pulled back his spear, catching it on the balance point in the middle and threw it with unerring accuracy into the chest of the second man no ten feet away.

He fell to the ground sputtering as Adam ran forward and tore the spear from his chest.

He spun, but there was no one there to fight.

Lowering his spear, he stopped to look around at the carnage and blood that drenched the ground.

The Spartans were finishing off the Athenians who had attacked them and Adam lifted his head to find Xanthia dragging the rat from back down the hill. He had a horrible gash across his face, and was bleeding profusely down his front. Adam tried not to look at the bodies that littered the ground below his feet and hurried to join James ashe marched forward, 

Xanthia threw the man to the ground, and Adam and James both stepped over the body as he lay in the dirt.

“Been a hot minute since I last saw you.” James said casually as he bent don to look the rat in the eye.

The man snarled at him.

James shook his head, and then pointed at Adam, “Do you know this man?”

He turned his head to look up at Adam. At first there was no recognition, and then his eyes widened in shock and horror.

“Exactly, now the GA knows about your little group, and sanctioned what we have done here today. You have taken slaves which is the highest offence of the GA. You attacked A GA officer, and I would continue adding to the list, but we might be here all day.”

The man just stared at him with his cold dark eyes.

James leaned a little closer spear in one hand.

A cry of pain broke through their little conversation, and they all turned to look in that direction unconsciously.

Adam gave the credit to his mechanical eye for catching the movement.

The rat had taken the opportunity and launched forward drawing a small blade from his belt, aimed straight at James’s throat. Adam, reacting as fast as he could dove forward, shoving James out of the way.

He staggered and hit the ground. The little blade missed its mark but impeded itself high in Adam’s shoulder.

His adrenaline was pumping so hard that he barely even noticed as he turned and slugged the rat in the face. He hit the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. Xanthia reacted only a moment after him. Her swords to the man’s throat but he was already incapacitated.

James turned over into an upright sitting position, staring back at Adam with a look of surprise.

Adam glanced down at his shoulder, and here the small two inch knife was sticking.

It would have been devastating had the man had caught James in the throat, but as it was Adam would probably only need a few stitches.

Xanthia kicked the man in the ribs, and he grunted in pain.

James slowly stood, “You saved my life.”

Adam shrugged, “You would have done the same.” he rested his spear over his shoulder, “Either way, I will want to make a call to the GA and let them know what happened. This is a bit more serious than I had expected.’

James nodded in agreement.

***

Adam and Ramirez stood at the edge of the dock watching as the boat slowly drifted into position.

A group of Spartans stood around them.

Ramirez was off saying goodby to his “friend” and Adam was standing with Xanthia and James.

“It was a pleasure to fight with you, Admiral. It’s a real pity that we can’t keep you and your Marine longer.”

He nodded in agreement, “I wish we could stay as well.” He clasped the other man’s hand, “Keep in touch, it would be a pleasure to fight with you again, plus, I have a couple of aliens I think you would like to meet.”

James smiled, “Any alien that trained you how to fight like that would be welcome.”

He paused and then, Dropped the shield from his arm.

He held his spear and shield out to Adam, “Here, take these.”

Adam looked at him in surprise, at the well worn haft of the spear, and the dented golden metal of the shield, “I, but your weapons…”

“I can fight with any spear and shield, but you saved my life. Maybe one day, these will save yours and we can call each other even.” 

The boat docked.

Ramirez walked over to stand with Adam and together the two of them stepped onto the deck.

Behind them the spartans raised their weapons punching them into the air three times with matching shouts as the King of Sparta saluted them.

Ramirez and Adam saluted back as the rowers began to pull the boat away from the dock.

He was going to miss those men and women.

But now he had to leave, with the knowledge that the anti-alliance was out there.

Hopefully at least, there would be men like the Neo-spartans and their king to keep men like that at bay.

[tomfooleryprime]

The Deep Space Nine episode “Statistical Probabilities” is my favorite Trek story of all time. Don’t remember it? That’s not surprising.

There are more than fifty year’s worth of articles listing the best episodes of Star Trek across the various series with passionate defenses. The same episodes generally top these lists, even if the order shifts around. Does “City of the Edge of Forever” or “Inner Light” deserve top billing? Or should it be “Yesterday’s Enterprise” or “Far Beyond the Stars?”

Perhaps the reason no one ever considers this episode is it’s less of a story and more of a thought experiment. In today’s highly polarized environment, this inconspicuous DS9 episode feels more salient than ever.

In 2020, social media fights devolve into reductive arguments where everyone is assumed to be either a nationalist or a socialist and depending on your worldview, one of those words is a dirty slur and the other is a badge of honor. Even everyday discourse outside of social media has seen us turn words like “patriotism” and “treason” into weapons to suit narratives, with both sides firmly believing they are the true patriots while the other side is comprised of traitors.

I get caught up in this myself. I don’t want to get into my own political views or start a “both sides” argument, so this is where I turn it over to Star Trek and Dr. Julian Bashir, who finds himself caught in an impossible situation that calls into question the very nature of patriotism and treachery and shows how easily the line between those two concepts can be blurred.

A little background if you’re not familiar—in the year 2374, the Federation is made up of thousands of member planets. War is rare, poverty has been eliminated, aliens of all different species live in general harmony with each other. Then the Dominion, an interstellar military empire run by shape-shifting aliens shows up and wants to annex the Federation under its control.

The Federation, understandably miffed at the Dominion’s plans for stripping them of their autonomy, tells the Dominion to kick rocks. A war breaks out. Unfortunately, the Federation is outclassed, outgunned, and outnumbered in just about every way. It’s tough to win a war against an opponent with a larger force, superior technology, and aliens who can shape shift into literally anything, from a table to a Federation starship captain, making them able to easily swipe any intelligence they want on a whim.

It’s also important to note that the Dominion, while an imperialist superpower, isn’t necessarily out to break, exploit, and subjugate the spirits of the people under its control. For planets willing to peacefully submit to Dominion rule, life for the average citizen probably continues on more or less the same—people probably still have barbecues and go to church and do whatever they did before—they just trade one government for another. For planets not willing to yield, punishment is swift and severe.

And this is where “Statistical Probabilities” comes in. Dr. Julian Bashir is tasked with working with several genius “augments” to develop a statistical model to predict the outcome of a Federation-Dominion War. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take the augments long to recognize the Federation will never win with its current resources. They determine if the Federation fights back, it will suffer the loss of hundreds of billions of casualties and Dominion reprisal for their resistance will make life very brutal for the survivors.

However, they calculate that if the Federation peacefully surrenders, there will be no casualties and no Dominion reprisals—the only thing that will functionally change is who people make out their tax checks to. Not only that, with the saved lives and resources of averting a catastrophic zero sum war, the Federation will position itself to develop technologies within a few generations to successfully defeat the Dominion and re-declare independence in the future.

So the augments recommend immediate and strategic surrender. Dr. Bashir is disheartened to hear this, but he sees the logic in temporary capitulation because he’s a medical doctor and the idea of saving hundreds of billions of lives has to fit into that “first do no harm” ethic, surely. So you know what’s coming.

So he tells his higher ups what they’ve discovered, and you can imagine how that goes.

So the augments’ next play is to go full WikiLeaks. They calculate that if they were to give the Federation’s battleplans to the Dominion, the war would be short, casualties would be minimal, and the Dominion would still treat them relatively well once all the member states learned to toe the line.

This is the part I’ve chewed on for decades. When is treason not treason, or at least, when is treason the better option?

I served in the U.S. Army. I took an oath to protect and defend the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The idea of freely giving the enemy all the actionable intelligence they need to defeat my country makes me nauseated. The only thing that makes me sicker is the thought of most of my fellow citizens being senselessly murdered if I didn’t go all Benedict Arnold on their asses.

The dictionary says treason is “the crime of betraying one's country, especially by attempting to kill the sovereign or overthrow the government.” But is betraying your country and betraying your government always the same thing? A country is made up of people, and a government is made up of a few people who should, in theory, support what is best for the greatest number of citizens. So what is to be done when a few people in power decide they would rather die free than live in subjugation, even if it comes at massive cost to the citizenry they have a duty to serve? A conversation that goes like this.

As an American, I fully appreciate that many of my fellow citizens have a lust for freedom that borders on psychopathy, but I personally accept that most of life is lived in shades of gray and not in black and white. There’s a pretty wide spectrum between total freedom and total slavery and life at either of the extremes would be pretty bleak. But there’s also no apparent consensus on what even constitutes independence or oppression.

Just look at the debate over masks in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. On the one hand, you could argue being required to wear a mask is a total violation of your personal freedom. On the other hand, you could argue we wear masks so that you can be free to live your life as safely as possible. Perhaps the truth is actually somewhere in the middle—wearing a mask is a small concession of individual freedom for the greater freedom of everyone.

I’ve thought about “Statistical Probabilities” and Dr. Bashir’s conundrum a lot in recent years. Would he be a patriot for supporting his government, even if he knows it would result in unimaginable death and suffering in the name of the theoretical ideal of freedom, or would he be a patriot for betraying his government for the sake of a practical outcome, which is saving the lives of hundreds of billions of people and ensuring the quality of their lives is bearable? 

And the reality is he’ll be a traitor no matter what he does, but what kind of traitor is better? I have a sneaking suspicion that how people answer this question is probably a powerful predictor of their political affiliation, and how quickly they answer it is directly correlated to the amount of wisdom they possess.

I won’t tell you how he gets out of this awful pickle because of course he does. Dr. Bashir is fictional and exists in a universe where everyone gets a tidy copout in the end. Us mortals in the real world are rarely so lucky and we’re doomed for eternity to grapple with impossible questions, each of us more convinced than the last that our solution is the right solution and everyone else it’s everyone else who’s the traitor.

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #15 Thunderous

“What was the weirdest one?” Maxim’s curiosity never let-up, especially when it came to Charlette’s life in the Order. Consistently, he would pepper her with questions about it. You would think the man had made an unfortunate blunder in his choice of career, but really he had no choice. The Order was never open to him, not as the second born of a family that already had a member in the Order itself. They were not so greedy as to lock-up a family line in their ranks. But here he was again, trying to foist as much information about it as he can, while he and Charlette sit outside the Greenhouse having breakfast before starting their morning duties. “The weirdest one? They are missions to destroy or retrieve aberrant aetherical items or events. It is all weird, Maxim.” She knew how frustrating she was being, but she also knew she was not wrong. There was nothing boring, normal or everyday about the work she did.

“Don’t make me beg. I know you like it when I do, but I’m feeling too dignified this morning. Maybe later I’ll take it down a peg or three, but right now I’m far too proud. Have you seen my Thanalan blossoms? Nothing but pride coming off of those.” His flowers were looking quite fetching, she had to admit that. “Well, if that is all the reward you want for it, then fine. Just let me think for a moment.” He leaned back, hands up, face bright with excitement. Charlette dipped her spoon into the bowl of muesli, swishing it around in the milk until she had just the right amount of raisins on her spoon before taking a bite. The crunch was satisfying, as was the gentle tang. A favourite morning meal of hers. “Gods, I cannot really decide on a single one. Would you prefer weird and exciting or weird and scary?” Maxim tapped his spoon against his bowl, having to ponder for barely a second “Exciting!” “Alright then. So, have you heard of the churning mists? It is in the north, Ishgard is the closest city you will find to it, and even then you have to take a lengthy flight, by airship, to even get there.” At the mention of the infamous floating islands of the Churning Mists, Maxim was already set in. You could tell when he was interested by how he shuts his mouth for once, and just pays attention. “Our final destination was in the northernmost reaches of the Churning Mists. We had been called in by an old contact that often trades with the Librarians in the Order. Anything we find that does not need to be sealed away, or just kept in our own collection, is generally fair game for traders and collectors looking for rare texts. You tend to find a lot of those, when you plunder a secret library every second moon.” The Archives were created with the intent of sealing away all knowledge and technology that might cause harm to the balance of Eorzea, but like anything else it ran on gil. It’s not the proudest piece of the Order’s function, but it has made Willow’s Heart Library a bit of a jewel of the trade. At least for those who know about it, and are trustworthy enough. “The Trader was on one of his usual routes, he was one that did not scare from the more dangerous airways. Churning Mists is known not just for its strange location, and the Beastribe that inhabits it. It is also known for Sky Pirates. He had a particular route though, one that had proven safe each time, and also provided difficult terrain for anything bigger than your basic Merchants skiff to traverse. This time though, he had found something very strange. A derelict vessel.” Maxim had abandoned his food, both elbows on the table and his chin rested in his hands. This little turn in the story made his eyes widen, the bright-blue colour almost flashing in the morning light. Charlette was a complete sucker for a captive audience of course. “We were called out, and it took two airship rides and a very turbulent trip in a cramped skiff to get to this derelict. The strangest thing about it, was that it had not crashed or docked anywhere. It just hung there, in the air, but in pieces. Like it had been diced with a clever into three sections. All of it, not quite together, but kept close and in-line with each other by long strands of lightning aether. The beams sparked and flitted between the sections, and it was all so perfectly aligned you would think it was a model being pieced together.” Charlette had started speaking with her hands, holding them apart and mimicking a model builder slowly pressing parts into each other. “The strangest part, though, was the sound. It was like a thunderous storm, if it was yalms away inside a tunnel. It echoed out in pulses, and each time it did, the air around the ship shimmered and shook. But the ship itself remained firm in its position. And we had to board the damn thing.” She remembered now, the anxiety she had felt just from that sound. It was not loud, or intimidating, but it had all the qualities of something that should be. It was oppressive, she could feel it vibrating in her ears. But it was such an even sound. “Did you board it then? Must have been dangerous, isn’t lightning aether one of the most chaotic?” Charlette nodded, Maxim looked a little more proud. She would have to be careful, or he might give himself a crown by the end of the sun. “The Trader brought his ship as close as he could, it left a short jump for us. Not too difficult, Alistair and I cleared it fine. A’nidreah took a running jump, but she landed it as well as you would think. We had been looking around the section we were on, the stern, before we realized the sound had stopped.” Maxim’s “Ooh!” was very satisfying. “The pulses were still going off, but the sound no longer reflected. It was terribly disorientating though, the air around us felt almost like it was thicker? It is difficult to explain, but it was something between normal, and being submerged in water. Like our steps were lighter, but slower, and our breaths were more laboured. Alistair attempted to run, when he got close to the edge he tried to plant his feet and stop, but he just kept sliding. Right to the end, and then whoops! Over it.” The furrow on Maxim’s brown was a little worried. “Well, Alistair is fine, I saw him just the other sun. So I assume he didn’t fall?” Charlette shook her head. “Nope. He kept sliding until he slowed to a stop, in mid-air. Like he was standing on a solid deck. It did not stop him from screaming, a lot. But only at first.” Maxim didn’t laugh, in fact he looked a little more pale at the idea of it. “We all stepped out onto it, and it was terrifying. You have to really fight yourself for every step, because what you see is nothing but a drop into endless clouds and a likely death. But it was solid, it even tapped like you were standing on glass, or metal. It felt completely wrong, utterly at odds with the natural order of things. There we stood, land borne bipeds, but on nothing. Suspended. No matter how much I understood that, my mind just twisted and whirled around it, moments of panic came, then calm, then more panic. It felt like falling, being rescued, then falling again.” The more Charlette thought about it, the more the sensation came back. Hairs stood up, her skin pulled into goosebumps, even her breath caught as a shiver of adrenaline flowed up her body. Maxim broke her from the moment though, asking “What was it?” Charlette took another bite of her breakfast, and in an intentionally vague response said “Another ship!” Maxim was confused, understandable really since this made no sense. “The Sky Pirates had crashed into another ship, this one had already been caught in the small pathway. We used a device, one of A’nidreah’s little constructs actually. She calls it a Mystique.” The seeker was rather proud of her forays into aetherical constructs, and this was no less a moment of pride for her too. Like Maxim and his blossoms. “Basically it mists an area with aether-neutral smoke. It disrupts fields and illusions, like a glamour and it exposed the other ship. It looked ancient, made mostly from metal like a Garlean vessel, and had been there for some time. Turns out The Trader had lost his way on his own path and stumbled on this. Likely in the same manner the Sky Pirates had. The ship had been wedged into a front bumper made of large, blade like teeth jutting from the front. The Sky Pirate crew must have abandoned their ship, taking their loot with them. But we looked through the ancient ship and found the source of the cloak.” she left that hanging, just for Maxim. Who waited, then raised his hands, and finally asked in an annoyed and urgent tone “What was it?” “Order secret.” Charlette finished, with a smug smile. “Now let’s finish breakfast, we’re going to be late to our shift.” Maxim sulked the rest of the sun.

[stormfall1327]

My half of an art for fic trade with the amazing @newvegasorbust! I hope I did your V as much justice as you did mine! By the way, the plot was completely their idea. I only put it into words. <3 Thank you so much for this trade! Your ideas got me out of a writing rut and your art is incredible!  If you haven’t seen the art, check out thier blog or my previous post! You can also find the fic here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916810

‘Til the End

Fluff, Angst, Smut, Fem!V/Vik, Nomad V

The sun is beginning to set as V makes her way down the steps to Vik’s clinic. It’s a Thursday night like any other, a meeting of friends to watch old boxing re-runs over a beer (or three). They started this tradition a few months ago after V showed more than a passing interest during one of Vik’s stories about the good ‘ol days. In truth, she couldn’t care less about boxing, but she’d take any excuse to spend more time with the ripperdoc, regardless of what they were doing.

Sliding open the metal gates, she gives Vik a wave and a warm smile and heads back to the worn leather couch to settle in for tonight’s match, letting him finish whatever it is he’s working on. A few minutes later, he rounds the corner and plops down on the couch next to her with a sigh, handing over one of the beers he was carrying.

“Long day?,” V asks as she gratefully accepts the beer and takes a long pull.

“Eh, wasn’t so bad. Just gettin’ tired of these idiot gonks messing with tech they don’t understand and then bringing it to me to fix. Oh, well. Part of the job, I guess. Day’s better now, at any rate,” he says with a small smile, holding up his bottle to her. Her face flushes pink, wide eyes hidden behind her turquoise shades as she raises her own bottle to clink against his.

“So,” she says a little too loudly, “which match are we watching tonight?”

He stands to bring the screen around and set up the program. “Thought we’d hit something a little more recent tonight. Malone vs Hernandez.” Settling back in beside her as the recording starts, he nudges her shoulder and gestures at the screen with his beer. “Pay close attention, now…”

———

The match is full-swing, Vik sitting on the edge of the cushion, yelling at the screen when V feels her holo buzz. She glances down to see a familiar Aldecaldo logo appear.

Panam’s grainy image flickers to life on the screen. “V! It is good that you answered. I need your help. Again.”

V can’t help but laugh. “Of course, Panam! You know I wouldn’t turn down the chance to go on another crazy adventure with you. So, what grand scheme have you cooked up this time?,” she asks, taking another swig of beer.

Panam chuckles warmly. “No, nothing like that this time. I, well, the clan actually, has need of you and your ripper doctor. The one you always gush about.”

V’s face turns bright red and she whips her head around to look at Vik, eternally grateful that he’s still seemingly engrossed in the fight.

“I do not gush,” she hisses, turning her head back to glare at Panam through the screen.

“He is there with you now, yes?”

“Mhmm. Watchin’ boxing re-runs. Kind of a weekly tradition.”

“But you hate—” Panam’s voice is reduced to muffled nonsense as V covers the holo with her hand and quickly stands, smoothing her down her skirt. “Grabbin’ another beer. Getcha one?,” she asks, not quite pulling Vik’s attention away from the screen. He waves a hand at her. “Nah, I’m good, thanks. But hurry back, now. Don’t wanna miss the knock-out.”

“Back in a flash,” she says, making her way over to the mini-fridge across the room.

Once safely out of earshot, she removes her hand from the holo. “Hey! What the hell was that about?,” Panam calls out. V gives her a look over the top of her glasses. “You’re lucky I like you, Panam Palmer. Now what was it that you needed help with?”

“Oh, right! See, our clan’s ripper, Dusty, is being roped into performing surgery on a goddamn Raffen and his life is on the line, V. He’s out of his depth and well, I was hoping that you and Viktor would come out to the camp to help him out.”

“Shit, why didn’t you say so? ‘Course we’ll come. Vik’s the best ripper in NC. He’ll definitely be able to help. When is Dusty suppose to do this surgery?”

“Thank you, V! I knew I could count on you. He’s starting soon. You’ll need to head here right away. I’ll meet you at the edge of camp.” She gives V a nod and closes the link.

Heading back to couch, V stops when she see Vik staring at her, one eyebrow raised. “So, what was that about?”

“That? Oh, just talking to a friend of mine. Say, how would you like to take a nice ride out to the Badlands?”

Vik’s eyebrow just arches higher.

“So, look… I may have told a clan of Nomads about you and I may have also volunteered you to help perform a surgery at their camp. Tonight,” she adds, giving him a sheepish grin and running a hand through her hair.

He huffs out a laugh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I see. And I’m guessin’ I got no say in the matter?” Not that it would make a difference, he thinks. She has no idea how much she’s wrapped herself around his finger. He’d do damn near anything for her; he couldn’t tell her no.

“You always have a say, Vik. I just figured you’d jump at an opportunity like this. And besides, it’ll be nice to get out of the City for a change.”

“Fine, fine. When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you can pack a bag.”

———

It’s nearing nightfall, the desert wind still hot as it blows in through the open windows of V’s Thorton as they make their way to the Aldecaldo camp. Buckled into the passenger seat, much to his initial annoyance, Vik can’t help but marvel at her driving skills. She’s clearly in her element out here, tearing through the desert like it’s an open stretch of highway rather than a bumpy landscape of sand dunes and cacti. Daring a glance over at her, he sucks in a breath at the sight; wind-blown hair skittering across the tops of her shoulders, the low evening light casting her in an almost ethereal glow. She’s smiling again, fingers tapping out the beat of the song on the radio and damn it, if he doesn’t think she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Out here, away from the crushing oppression of the City, she’s vibrant and free and herself and in that moment, he’s smitten. But given everything she’s told him about her past, about her clan and the ultimate betrayal she endured at the hands of someone so close to her, he promised himself he’d keep things professional, for her sake. She needed someone she could trust and if resigning himself to being her ripper and her friend meant securing that trust, then he’d happily keep his feelings to himself.

He’s shaken from his thoughts as they come to a skidding halt at the edge of the Aldecaldo camp. V is out of the car and grabbing his bag before he even has time to unbuckle his seatbelt. Stepping out, he’s met by V and two others, rounding the hood of the car.

The man grabs his hand in a firm shake and lets out a whistle. “Well, hot damn. Didn’t think she’d actually manage to drag you all the way out here. Pleasure to meetcha. Name’s Mitch. This here’s Panam.” He motions behind him and the woman steps forward to shake his hand, as well. “You must be the famous ripperdoc we’ve heard about. V talks about you all the time. It is nice to meet you, Viktor,” she says with a warm smile. Vik laughs, the tips of his ears burning, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Heh, I dunno about famous, but please, it’s, uh, just Vik.”

“Well, Vik, please follow me. You got here just in time.”

Panam leads the way through the camp, V falling in step with Vik as they make their way to Dusty’s makeshift clinic. Climbing the steps, she places a hand on his shoulder to get his attention and mouths a silent, “Thank you,” offering him a small smile as she hands over his bag which he returns with a nod and a smile of his own. Panam introduces the pair and Vik immediately sets to work, his naturally calm demeanor working wonders on Dusty’s nerves as they discuss the details of the surgery and begin to prep for the Raffen’s arrival.

Panam loops her arm through V’s and clears her throat to get the mens’ attention. “Well, it seems like everything is under control here. We will leave you to it. Good luck!,” she calls, dragging V down the stairs with her.

“Hey! Where are we goin’? What if they need help?”

“You did say that Viktor is the best ripper in Night City, yes? They will be fine, V. Let us go sit by the fire while they work.”

Still holding onto V’s arm, she nudges her toward a log in front of the now sizable campfire and takes a seat beside her.

“So… You do plan to spend some time out here with Viktor tonight, yes?,” she asks, nudging V’s shoulder with her own.

The sounds of Saul arriving with the Raffen echo through the camp.

“I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it,” V says, eyes darting to the ripper’s tent as the man of the hour is hauled onto the operating chair. That was a lie and they both knew it.

“I see. Well, should you decide to give it some thought, there’s a little spot north of here with a great view of the stars. Your man could probably use some… relaxation after this.” Panam waggles her eyebrows and laughs, ducking out of the way of V’s arm as she playfully throws a punch in her direction. She knows exactly the place.

“He’s not my man, Panam. He’s just a friend. A damn good one, at that.” Her words are confident, bolstered by her own laugh, but when she looks over to the tent and sees him, completely in his element and patiently guiding Dusty through the procedure, she falters, her laugh fading away on the soft desert breeze.

“You keep telling yourself that, V,” Panam says as she stands and stretches. “Listen, I have some things I need to take care of around camp. By the looks of things, they should be finished soon. Think about what I said, yeah?” Giving V’s shoulder a squeeze, she heads off into the night.

“Christ, V, if you don’t say somethin’ to him, I will. These mushy puppy-dog eyes make me wanna puke. Hell, even Panam sees it and she’s more oblivious to that shit than you are.” Right on cue, Johnny materializes beside her and lights up a cigarette.

Of all the times… “Can it, Johnny.”

“I’m being serious, V. We both know you’re runnin’ short on time. You just gotta decide if you’re gonna grow some balls and actually do something about it before that clock runs out.”

Her retort died on her tongue. He was right, of course.

“So help me, Johnny, if you show up in the middle of-”

“Easy, killer. I’ll leave you two alone. Scout’s honor.” He lifts his arm in mock salute and winks, blinking out of sight as Vik walks over to stand in front of the fire.

V stands to join him, running a hand through her hair as she tries to keep her cool.

“That was faster than I expected. Everything went well, I take it?”

“Eh, he’ll be fine. Dusty’s a good kid. He doesn’t give himself enough credit; just needed a little coaching, is all. Barely had to get my hands dirty,” he says with a warm smile.

“I’m glad to hear it. I know they’re grateful for your help. And so am I. You didn’t have to come all the way out here to help a group of strangers in the middle of the night.”

“You honestly think I’d turn y- uh, this down?” Her heart skips a beat. “I haven’t been out of the city in years. Plus, the view is incredible,” he says, glancing up at the sky. V seizes the opportunity.

“If you think the view is great here, you should see it from the cliffs. They’re not far, if you want to go. That is, I just figured since we’re out here already-”

“I’d love to.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and grins. “Great! You’re gonna love it.”

———

Ten minutes later, V drives the Thorton up over the last rise of the cliff and slows to a stop, heart thundering in her chest. She hopes he doesn’t notice the tremor in her hands as she turns off the ignition and jumps down onto the red rock below. She meets Vik at the front of the car and leads him up a small incline along the rock face, stopping when she reaches a familiar outcropping of stone. “We’re here,” she whispers.

Leaning back against the rocks, still warm from the sun, Vik lets out a low whistle. “Can’t remember the last time I saw stars like this. It’s a damn shame, really.”

“Probably what I miss the most,” she muses, pocketing her turquoise shades and staring up into the sky.

“Would you ever go back? To living as a Nomad, I mean. The Aldecaldos seem fond of you.”

“Nah. As much as I sometimes hate this city for all the ways it’s fucked me over…” Her hand drifts subconsciously to her neck, fingers idly tracing over the chip slot behind her ear. “There’s too much I’d be givin’ up if I just left. Too many people I’d be leavin’ behind.” He nods in understanding but doesn’t respond.

The silence stretches between them for what feels like an eternity.

“Konpeki.”

“Huh?”

She huffs out a breath. “Konpeki Plaza. The… heist for the Relic. That was the last time I saw Jackie alive and all we did was fight. God, I was so mad at him, actin’ like we were going on a damn picnic instead of stickin’ our necks out for that low-life DeShawn. Then after we got blasted, I yelled at him, Vik. He was bleedin’ out and I fuckin’ yelled at him, blaming him for Bug’s death and for getting us in that mess in the first place. It was wrong and it was awful, but I was so angry. And then he died, right next to me, and there was nothing I could do. He died before I could apologize or even say goodbye. Before he knew how much he meant to me.” She reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes a tear from her face.

Vik lets out a breath and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “V… I still have nightmares about those ‘Sake bastards breaking to my fucking clinic and taking Jack’s body right out from under me. I shoulda stopped them. I shoulda fought back. But I was pinned to the floor with a gun to my head and I… I was a coward, V. I let ‘em take him and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish things had turned out differently. That I was stronger. That I’d done more.”

She reaches out to him then and closes her trembling fingers around his own, heart clenching when she feels his hand tighten against her grip.

“It’s not your fault,” she says softly as another tear rolls down her cheek.

“After I died and you told me about the chip, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get close to anyone else without all the cards being on the table. I wanted everything to be up front with no room for guessing or regrets. Panam and Judy are some of the best friends I’ve ever had because of that. But there’s still one person I’ve been holding back from.”

She glances up and meets Vik’s gaze and steadies herself with a breath before turning to face him and reaching for his other hand.

“Vik, I… I just need to you know that I care about you, a lot. I know my time is short, but whatever happens with the Relic, I want you to be part of my life. I’m so damn scared of losing you and I-”

Vik reaches a hand up to cup her cheek and her words catch in her throat.

“V, when I saw, firsthand, the lengths Arasaka would go to recover their “assets”… part of my nightmares were them stealing you, too. Taking you away from me. I’m already powerless to stop whatever’s goin’ on inside your head and that kills me every damn day. I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls her hand away from his and runs her thumb over his cheekbone.

“Then don’t,” she whispers.

Before V even realizes what’s happening, Vik’s hands are tangled in her hair and his lips are crushed against hers, months of pent up emotion flooding into every movement of his lips and tongue, nearly overwhelming her. She meets him with equal fervor, hands roaming over his chest, kneading the taut muscles with her fingers and enjoying the rumbling groan that she can feel more than hear. She works the buttons of his over-shirt free and pushes it off of his shoulders, moaning into his mouth as she runs her hands over his bare arms, muscles flexing under her touch.

Vik returns the favor, divesting V of her jacket as he breaks the kiss to lick and nip his way down the column of her throat. A shiver races down her spine and she tugs the hem of his tank from his pants, sliding her hands under the fabric to feel his skin. She rolls his nipples between her fingers and he bucks against her, erection straining against the front of his pants and a fresh wave of arousal pools between her legs.

Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she pushes him back, just enough to pull his shirt over his head, before pulling him back into another heated kiss. He’s surprising adept with her corset, undoing it in a matter of moments. Her nipples barely have a moment to react to the cool night air before he pulls one into his mouth, assaulting it with tongue and teeth while the other is pinched and pulled by his skilled fingers. The sensation is too much and V leans against the cliff for support, the rough face of the rock a heady contrast to the slick feel of Vik’s tongue on her breast.

He drops to his knees to place hot, open-mouthed kisses down her belly, hands skimming down her sides to toy with the top of her skirt. He looks up at her then, eyes seeking permission, and all she can do is nod. With a smirk, he pulls her skirt and panties down her legs, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of her arousal. He braces his left hand on her stomach and slides the tip of his finger back and forth along her soaking cunt, leaning back on his heels to see her. Her head is thrown back, bottom lip caught in her teeth, and a thin sheen of sweat coats her skin. Her heaving chest accentuates her tattoo, the snake wrapped around her breast almost seeming alive as it moves with her breathing.

He pulls his finger away and V whimpers above him.

“Patience,” he grumbles before pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

In one smooth motion, Vik slides his finger into her and wraps his tongue around her clit. V arches off the rock, a harsh moan tearing from her throat as every nerve in her body catches fire. She bucks her hips forward, desperate for more. He adds a second finger, pushing deeper into her heat and hooking his fingers, catapulting V closer to the edge. A few more strokes of his tongue and she’s flying, orgasm soaring through her body as she shakes against the cliff face, Vik’s hand on her stomach the only thing keeping her grounded. He coaxes her through her high before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous when you cum,” he mutters against her skin.

“Let me return the favor,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. He stands with a grunt and she leans up to kiss him, moaning as he tastes herself on his tongue. She reaches down to undo his pants, palming his dick with an appreciative sigh before sliding them down his hips. He moans as his aching cock springs free and watches as she rearranges their discarded clothes, forming a makeshift blanket on the ground. She sweeps her arm out, gesturing at the pile with a grin. “After you.”

He walks over, lowering himself to the ground and splaying out on his back. V climbs over him, rubbing her wet folds across the length of his dick and drawing a deep groan from his throat. She reaches down, giving him a few languid pumps before lining him up with her entrance.

“I don’t want to lose you, Viktor,” she says, voice shaking as she stares into his eyes.

“Then don’t,” he echoes, grabbing her hips and pushing her down on his length. They moan in unison, finally feeling completed, finally feeling whole. V sets a wicked pace, riding Vik into the sandstone as their sounds of pleasure echo across the Badlands.

The stuttering in his hips tells V he’s close. She’s close, too, that familiar flame lapping at her spine. His head has fallen to the side, but she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her.

“I want you to see stars,” she breathes, angling his head up to the sky. She bears down, her walls clamping hard around him and within a few strokes, he’s shouting at the stars as wave after wave of pleasure shoots through his body. She’s not far behind, crying out in relief as her orgasm crests, riding out her release on his twitching cock.

As their breathing slows, V rolls off of him and snuggles into his side, sighing contentedly when his arm wraps around her waist. They lie there silently for a time, watching the stars sparkle overhead.

“You know I’m here for you, right? Even if I can’t stop the Relic, I’ll always be here to help you, any way I can.”

“I’m here for you, too. ’Til the end.”

He pulls her close and presses a kiss to her forehead. “’Til the end.”

[haloshornsinkstains]

Other Side [Songfic, slight Dabi x F!Reader]

While I’m working on Kinktober stuff and my head is a mess, here have a songfic that wouldn’t leave my damn brain for the past few weeks after I saw an animatic based on this song (The Other Side from The Greatest Showman). It just works? Also, apologies on the quirk, I was rewatching Bungou Stray Dogs and <3

CW: Female reader, alcohol, swearing, mention of unwanted groping, Endeavour is a dick... otherwise, pretty SFW

You groaned, pressing your head against the bar and gesturing to the bartender for your usual. Hearing the glass set down beside you, you looked up and smiled, taking a long drink. “Thanks Ryu.” The bartender smiled sympathetically. “Boss still a dick?” “The biggest flaming dick in Japan.” You grumbled. “They’re still keeping me on office duty. I break one creeps jaw and they trap me inside. Mirko punched a reporter and she’s still a top hero.” “Hey, it could be worse. You could be not working under the number one hero.” “No, that makes it worse.” Ryu frowned. “How?” “I hate him. I always hated him.” “Then why don’t you just leave and work for someone else.” You scowled at your glass, left hand leaving dents in the wood of the bar where it rested. “Not allowed.” “Bullshit. And stop denting my bar.” “Truth. Believe me, I’d leave if I could. But I can’t.” You sighed, lifting your hand from the wood apologetically. “Sorry Ryu. If I left I wouldn’t get to be a hero any more, even if all I do is paperwork I worked my ass off for this.” Ryu shrugged, spotting another customer signalling him out of the corner of his eye and smiling apologetically. “Sucks I guess. I’ve got people to serve, shout if you want a top up.” “Believe me, I will.”

You heard a glass set down next to you, the unmistakable heat of a body taking up the seat to your right. "Hey there princess." The voice was gravelly but so familiar. "Nope. I've had more than enough Todoroki bullshit for one day." You growled, staring daggers at your drink.  "Sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else." You turned, narrowing your eyes at the man sat next to you. "Dabi. You remember I've known you way too long to fall for your bullshit right? And I am so not in the mood." Dabi went to lift his glass, only to find it stuck to the bar, your skin giving off a faint red glow. "Come on princess, I only want to talk. We can bitch about that asshole like old times." You sagged a little, the glow fading and his glass suddenly much easier to lift. You knew he wanted more than to just talk, Dabi's talks always came with attempts to recruit you into the league or, if he was drunk or high enough on adrenaline, his bed. But he was an old friend, and one of the few people more than happy to join your Fuck Endeavour and Fuck The Hero Commission rants. Shaking your head you gestured to one of the darker tables in the back, this might have been a very shady bar but Dabi was well known enough now that even here someone might be dumb enough to try to call the pros. And you liked this place too much to see it turned to ash. 

  You both settled into your seats in the back, you nursing your whiskey with a frown. "So what did dear old dad do today?" "Existed?" You huffed. "Bitched me out for not downplaying the damage caused in one of his 'rescues' while I was writing his reports for him. Which turned into more general belittlement of my attitude, abilities as a hero, quirk… basically he covered all the bases." "You know they'll never let you leave there right? You'll be doing paperwork until you die." Dabi drawled, you glared at him. "They're keeping you there because you're too dangerous to them, you know too much and you were caught sympathising with a villain. He hates you, he won't hesitate to put you down at the first sign of defection. You're trapped." "I didn't sympathise with a villain. I just didn't disagree with all of his ideas regarding the behaviour of heroes. I didn't exactly agree with his methods, I liked Ingenium plenty thank you very much." You grumbled, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “He was friendly, and fun.” "Still… you hit like a truck when we were kids, I'd love to see what damage you can do now." He hummed, eyes flashing bright for a second. "You could be very dangerous. So they lock you up in an office doing filing for a man that hates you like a good little minion." "You're alarmingly eloquent today." You took another sip, setting the glass down and closing your eyes with a deep sigh. "I worked my ass off to be a hero, why would I want to throw that away?" "Oh, so you enjoy being his little secretary?" Your eyes flashed, skin glowing red as his chair creaked under the sudden strain of the gravity increase. Dabi just smirked, that stupid smug look that told you he knew he'd won. "Just listen to my proposal?" You sighed, the oppressive pressure dissipating in an instant as you waved at him to continue. Maybe he'd put a new twist in the spiel this time.

"Right here, right now I put the offer out I don't want to chase you down I know you see it"  “We do this on a near weekly basis, you have quite literally stalked me to this bar, if that’s not chasing me down what is?” You scoffed and shook your head, eyes flicking to the bar while you debated how many more drinks you were going to need after this. "You run with me And I can cut you free Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in So trade that typical for something colorful And if it's crazy, live a little crazy" "Well at least you acknowledge your league is entirely batshit." "You can play it sensible, a king of conventional" "Conventional? Really? I'm wounded." "Or you can risk it all and see Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride It'll take you to the other side 'Cause you can do like you do Or you can do like me Stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly" You drummed your fingers on the table, honestly the bird metaphors were a bit weird but he was starting to sound like he had a point, which was…. Alarming. You needed to shut this down fast or you’d break.

  "Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in Well I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen So thanks, but no I think I'm good to go 'Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in" Dabi scoffed. "Really? Didn't sound like it five minutes ago." You shot him a glare. "Now I admire you, and that whole show you do You're onto something, really it's something Don't you know that I'm okay with this uptown part I get to play 'Cause I got what I need and I don't want to take the ride I don't need to see the other side So go and do like you do I'm good to do like me Ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine I don't need to see the other side"

Dabi laughed, gesturing at the dingy bar and the glass in your hands with possibly the most judgemental look on his face you’d seen in years.  "Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays"

You sighed again, but your shoulders were sagging now and he knew he was winning. You couldn't pretend you enjoyed this any more, restrictions and abuse breaking you down into someone much easier to tempt and mould.  "If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns"  You huffed, waving a hand vaguely in his direction.  

"But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little Just let me give you the freedom to dream And it'll wake you up and cure your aching Take your walls and start 'em breaking Now that's a deal that seems worth taking But I guess I'll leave that up to you" He stood to leave only to find the gravity of your quirk forcing him back down. He knew then that he had won, they'd turned a hero. Shigiraki might take some convincing but that didn't matter right now. Your resolve was crumbling.

"Well it's intriguing, but to go would cost me greatly So what's in it for me?" "Freedom. You want to punch the next guy who touches you inappropriately through a building? The League won't question you for a second, and there's no paperwork." You shook your head. "You'll have to raise the price a bit more than that." "Its a big fuck you to Endeavour?" "That was weak even for you. Dick has hated me since I was, what, five? All I’m doing is giving him an excuse to come after me. He'll be after my head as soon as I leave, and as much as I’m loathe to admit it we both know he's powerful." "You get to spend all the time you want with your favourite childhood friend…" his smirk turned wicked and knowing. "No one to stop you, no questions, no hiding in the corner of a dingy bar. And I guess Shigaraki is okay.” "You play dirty, you know that right?" "Well, I am a villain." Rolling your eyes you knocked back the last of your whiskey and stood, holding out a hand to him. "Well, guess I'm pissed off enough not to care any more. Congratulations Touya, you win." Grinning Dabi took your hand, ignoring the use of his old name in favour of pulling you in for a hug. “Oh, you’re going to be amazing Princess.” “I’ve always been amazing.” You chuckled. “Take me to your leader before I change my mind.” Dabi grinned. “As you wish.” “And no burning down my favourite bar!”

The pair of you stepped outside, Dabi sending a quick message on his phone that was shortly followed by the appearance of a swirling black void. "No wonder I've never seen you on the subway." You joked, though your fingers tightened anxiously around his. "Time to move up in the world princess." He chuckled, tugging you forwards into the void. "You know I don't like...holy shit." You stepped out into a different dingy bar, several faces snapping up to look at you as you appeared. Dabi was a comforting presence at your back. “No more corners of dingy bars huh?” You murmured, shooting him a sideways glance. "Hey Dabi, what's with the midget?" You bristled. "I am not a…" "Shit, that's a pro!" The villain speaking launched at you, intent to kill flashing hot in his eyes. Already irritated and more than a little on edge you activated your quirk, watching him fall flat on his face as overwhelming gravity pulled him down. Dabi had crumpled to his knees behind you, the others struggling to move.  "Princess."  You just growled. "She's with me, with us." Dabi continued. "Princess?" With a huff you released your quirk, watching warily as the villain who'd gone to attack you pushed himself to his feet. Dabi's hand on your shoulder made you flinch but his grip was strong, somewhere between restraint and support in case wide scale use of your quirk had taken it out of you. It was hard not to appreciate the gesture, even if you felt fine. "Meet Graviton. She's… an old friend." "I didn't know you could make friends." Your head snapped around at the sound of the voice, focusing in on Shigaraki sat at the bar, watching you from between the fingers of the hand on his face. "I've got more than you creep." Dabi snapped back, fingers digging into your shoulder. You tipped your head back a little, raising an eyebrow at him.  Shigaraki scratched at his neck, eyes never leaving you. "Why is she even here? She could be a double agent."  You couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled out at that. "Hah, no." "Why are you here?" You were glad for the dim lighting, the constant attention making a blush rise on your cheeks. "I had a really bad week, and Dabi asked nicely. Even said please." As much as you tried to be nonchalant you couldn't hide the slight tremble in your voice. Shigaraki scoffed and you finally looked away from him. "I'm sick of being stuck doing paperwork because the Heroes say so. I worked hard to get my license only to be told I'm not allowed to do anything except sit in a cage with someone I hate. Guess I finally had enough. I was told you'll let me use my power." "And she really wants to punch Endeavour in the face." Dabi added cheerfully. "Oh yeah, that too." "I trust her, and you should know by now I don't drag in just anyone." "Shigaraki, she could be useful. She has inside information and that power was impressive." The black void behind the bar spoke, startling you a little and pulling a quiet chuckle from Dabi.  "Fine. Make yourself useful, if you try to betray us I'll kill you." Shigaraki huffed, standing from his seat. "Kurogiri, I'm going back to my room." "Welcome to the League [name]."

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

Hitmen AU! | Head Canons | 19+ [Haikyuu!!]

ΛӨBΛ JӨΉƧΛI [PART i] [PART ii] [PART iii]

Here’s Aoba Johsai~!! Can’t believe I made it to the 3rd school SKSKSK 

Like the others, I hope you guys enjoy these ones as well~! As always, thank you for the support for this AU!

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

In terms of the other groups in their precinct, they’re one of the groups that is known, but not known enough. Often compared to Shiratorizawa, they often consider the popular group their rival.

Their right hand man, or the ‘true’ boss, was actually the mentor to Karasuno’s ‘gifted’ sniper, and thanks to teaching the kid, the mentor gained a new scar.

T̷o̷r̷u̷ ̷O̷i̷k̷a̷w̷a̷

If y’all thought he was the head boss--- you’re wrong, but also right.

despite being cunning and observant, Oikawa is more the right hand man than a boss. If anything, he’s the boss in the shadows 

he enjoys being an element of surprise and being out on the field gives him that advantage

he enjoys torturing his victims via psychological torture and physical 

though he enjoys it, he is the team’s main sniper and is constantly improving himself and his skills

he acts sweet and cute on occasion, but can be sinister and uncomfortably sweet

“Ah~. So this is where you were hiding~! And Iwa-chan was thinking I couldn’t find you~. You’ll tell him that it didn’t take long, right~?” An oppressing aura came from the brunette as he grinned wickedly at the cowering and injured man before him. Despite having been shot in the shoulder and thigh, he had managed to escape to a nearby alleyway, though of course running away wouldn’t do much. Especially against someone as cruel as the figure standing above.

“Besides, Iwa-chan was so mean saying that I let you get away! I was just giving you a chance to escape! It’s a lot more fun when you can break someone’s last hope after all~!”

Unsettling. That’s all one could think of when put face to face with a man like this. 

“Though it was fun, I have to say bye~. I really did wish you could’ve told Iwa-chan that I did find you~.” With that, a psychotic grin and a sudden silence filled the alleyway.

Lean and buff, he doesn’t really show that much of a strong body with the clothes he wears on a daily, but once in mission gear he’s literally thicc thighs and bulging biceps

messy reddish brown hair that’s either slicked up and back while he snipes, or down and fluffy when he’s torturing and interrogating

doesn’t really like tattoos, but does enjoy piercings has a couple on his ears. Has a bit of a nasty fleshed together ear scar from when he tutored Kageyama in sniping way back when.

Literally covered from head to toe in bruises, scars, and wounds because of how hard he trains himself

he’s rather cute and teasing to his s/o

he really enjoys toying with them

calls them his little bunny 

I̴s̴s̴e̴i̴ ̴M̴a̴t̴s̴u̴k̴a̴w̴a̴

a trainer in the group

he runs through various training regimes with the rookies

his skill is wide set 

though not an expert, he is still considered a jack of all trades as he has the basics down for any required skill in their group

besides being the trainer he’s the one who runs errands and brings updates to the team in regards to client pay and which people have purposefully tried to avoid paying them

A slow tilt to his head as he observed the fidgeting figure before him. They were seated in the store’s storage room. A make shift table and pull out chairs hastily put together at the sudden visit. 

“I’ve been informed that you’re late again on your payments Hirai-san.” His voice was smooth, no indication of emotion as he stared blankly at the nervous man. The constant fidgeting and incessant shaking of his leg being major indicators that the client hadn’t expected this abrupt visit. Well, luckily-- or rather unluckily for them...he had some spare time today.

“You’re lucky that I don’t have another appointment after this Hirai-san. So why don’t we have a nice long chat about your payments?”

One of the tallest members in their group

is also one of the best fit and built as well due to his skill set and the body’s demand to keep up to date with each and every skill he knows

has one tattoo 

he’s very casual with his s/o

likes to tease and be in a more comfortable / chill sort of environment

isn’t too aggressive when it comes to PDA, but doesn’t mind displaying it every once in a while

T̷a̷k̷a̷h̷i̷r̷o̷ ̷H̷a̷n̷a̷m̷a̷k̷i̷

One of the strategists within the group

he works alongside Oikawa when they need to hustle to put send out assignments

usually is the one who processes the transactions made by those on the dark webs and hands out the assignments with a sort of witty humor to help soothe the nerves of his fellow teammates

despite being calm and collected, he’s rather caring and kind to the rest of the team

though isn’t afraid to be sharp and cold when it comes to helping with interrogations as the ‘good’ cop

“Oikawa...I told you to let me get to them first before you have your way.” A soft sigh came from the calm male as the one before him couldn’t help but huff and pout as he scuffed his shoe against the floor.

“I just couldn’t help myself! It’s been so long since I got a chance to play with someone at base!” The reasoning was simple, and he understood that though they still had one more person to interrogate, and he’d make sure the taunting male would at least wait.

“I understand that, but as we bring in the next person let me take care of it okay? If things do not work as I’d like I will immediately call for you.” 

A pout and a huff came from the other male before a reluctant nod. “You say that but we all know that they’ll crack with you before I even get a chance.” Another chuckle and a pat to the pouting male’s shoulder was all that was given as the next victim rolled in.

“I apologize, but you know Oikawa. You may be effective here, but you do some amazing work out on the field too.” 

Noting how the mood lightened around the other, He would say a job well done to himself as the male left in a happier note.

“Now then....let’s go ahead and start. Shall we?”

second tallest in the veteran squad 

is much more lean than built 

frequents the gym and spars with Matsukawa on occasion

doesn’t have tattoos or piercings, but does have bruises and cuts from sparring

similar to Matsukawa, he’s rather calm and casual with his s/o

doesn’t really tell them much about details of missions or any interrogations he does

is a gentlemen with his s/o

H̴a̴j̴i̴m̴e̴ ̴I̴w̴a̴i̴z̴u̴m̴i̴

the “known” boss of Aoba Johsai

unlike the other groups, Aoba has the idea of two bosses, the real one being Oikawa

is the face of Aoba johsai in a sense

ruthless and blunt with his work

besides keeping Oikawa in check, his strength lies in close combat and fighting any sort of fight that requires him to be close to the target

in a sense is a close combat decoy if the sniper fails to complete the kill he’ll take the kill into his own hands

“Tch. Goddammit Shittykawa!” An annoyed grunt came from the suited male as he sprinted down the empty halls. He heard the cut of the bullet in the air, yet instead of hitting it’s intended target the bullet got the ear of their kill instead.

Of course the sniper’s cheers and demands that his bet had been fulfilled were ignored by the decoy as he chased after the runaway target. Rage and irritation spiked with every step he took until he came face to face with the target desperately trying to pick a locked door. A sort of last attempt at salvation as they got on their knees and pleaded to the decoy to spare their life.

Nothing of the sort came as he stepped forward, his worn combat boot making rough contact with the back of the target’s head as he pressed down.

“Beg all you’d like...you should wish that the sniper had killed you. Now you have to deal with me.”

A very built boy with thicc thighs and big biceps like Oikawa

Though he is just a touch more leaner than the other 

has two tattoos on his body and like the others, is covered in scars and bruises

likes to keep his hair short or spiked up and out of his face so he can keep his eyes constantly on the target

honestly with s/o he’s a flustered mess of a man

oikawa teases him so much for it

he’s very shy and considerate of his s/o

will always call or text whenever he can

[47-shades-of-hitman]

In Your Likeness | Chapter 5 - A sliver of humanity

“Hey, you down for a run?”

Agent 47 looked up from the folder Diana had given him and saw you standing on the threshold, hands on your hips. Your hair had been tightly tucked behind your ears and instead of your usual Assassin’s attire, you now wore a somewhat more casual fit.

“Why not.” he said, standing up and putting away the documents.

You hummed and plopped down on one of the available chairs.

“Well then, I’ll wait here for a bit until you’re ready to go.”

He frowned. “Wait for what?”

“For you to put on your training gear, or something more breathable.” you said.

After a moment of silence you turned to him.

“You aren’t going to tell me that your plan was to… To run in that suit?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, a lot actually.” you explained, “People will stare. Besides, it’s very hot outside.”

“I function just right in this no matter the heat.”

You arose from your seat and crossed your arms, opposing him. “It looks ridiculous. A man sprinting in a suit like that through ancient Jerusalem. Tell you what, we’ll take an alternative route instead.”

Agent 47 wasn’t sure what you meant – “Alternative route?”

Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and left the room, the hitman soon following. He easily caught up to you and in silence, you left the Brotherhood’s quarters.

Despite the scorching heat, you broke out into a slight jog to warm up.

“Do you do parkour?” you quizzed upon approaching a wall.

“Excuse me?”

You flung yourself onto it, grabbing ridges and bricks that were sticking out, climbing up with practised ease. In about six seconds, you stood on top of a two-story building, peering over the edge to see what was taking him so long.

“I’m not sure if I…”

You pointed at the drainpipe on the side of the wall, shrugging. “Just use that. You’ll learn.”

47 climbed up and dusted down his slacks right after. “Heavily reliant on scaling buildings, aren’t you?”

You chuckled dryly. 

“The Assassins have been doing that since the beginning of the Brotherhood. If anything, it’s one of our most important skills. It’s a fantastic way to go from A to B unseen, and way quicker at that. I don’t carry them on me at this moment, but on one of my bracers I do have a grappling hook which I can use to my advantage.”

Walking over the flat rooftops, you hopped from one house to the other, staying out of sight from balconies and cameras.

“The beginning of the Brotherhood,” Agent 47 repeated. “How far back does it date? Golden Age? Middle Ages?”

A laugh fell from your lips and you jumped down a ledge before propelling yourself up a higher wall, gripping the edge. After hoisting yourself up, you turned back to help 47 out, but he managed just fine on his own.

“No, 47. The Brotherhood of Assassin originates in ancient Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

“In the time of Cleopatra. The Hidden Ones were the first ones, but no one knows who they really were. Eventually, it grew out into a Brotherhood for people carrying out assassinations and protecting our employers. Long story short: through the ages, we spread all over the world. Greece, Italy, America, France, England… You name it.”

47 let out a sound of surprise, since he had never known that it dated so far back.

“Our cause was to fight for peace above all things. Protect the people who needed us to do so. Working in the dark to serve the light. Our motto –  nothing is true, everything is permitted .”

You halted and looked out over the Wailing Wall, folding your hands on your back. Taking in the sight of Jews gathering to pray brought a sense of serenity.

“We fight for peace in freedom. And in that, we differ from our enemies, the Templars, or their more public name nowadays, Abstergo Industries . Once founded in the early thousands, set on claiming back the Holy Land under a veil of Catholicism, but under the surface, a whole lot less to do with whatever peace the church preaches. The Order of the Knights Templar once believed that peace could only be gained through oppression of lesser people and dictatorship.”

You shuddered even though the weather was far from cold – thoroughly appalled by the idea of them.

“And eventually, it became an institute of rich men seeking to become more wealthy and powerful. And then came the Pieces of Eden. Of course they already existed, but the more modern war about them, I mean.”

For a moment, you looked over at 47 to see if he was still listening. His eyes were as blue as the sky and made your heart skip a beat. Every time you saw that colour you remembered that they were the bluest shade you had ever seen.

Deciding to proceed walking, you stepped away, 47 in tow.

“I promise I won’t bore you for any longer.” you said, “If I’m talking too much, just say the word.”

“Well,” 47 began, “I was the one who asked you to teach me about the Brotherhood of Assassins, did I not?”

Your lips quirked upward and you exhaled. “I suppose. Tell me about you first, it would only be fair.”

“If you insist.” he said, “At the moment, I work for the ICA. It’s an organization handling contracts given by clients. I’m their hitman for particularly difficult jobs.”

“Like seeking out a secret organization created by both of our enemies.”

“Correct. As you know, I’m genetically made to be the best assassin one can create, with a very low failure rate.”

You hopped down a few roofs and reached a lower wall, where you jumped off, landing on the cobble street. Your conversation hadn’t made you able to do some parkouring through the town, anyway.

“Since you told your story quite quickly, I shall make mine short, too. I killed Ort-Meyer, who created me through his experiments, wanted to leave the world of killing by living with a priest, but eventually, he got kidnapped and I was pulled back into the trade. After all, I barely know how to do anything else.”

A large grin spread over your face as you two walked down the street, pushing past a few tourists in the process. “A priest? Never expected you of all people to take interest in such things.”

“I tended to the garden.” 47 explained, unsure why he was telling you this – after all, he barely knew you and whatever he was telling could be used against him, for he couldn’t be seen as weak.

But your eyes were kind and glimmered in amusement as you looked at him.

“Look at you, the one purely created to take lives, tends and cares for it.”

47’s gut twisted in confusion at the lack of humour in your voice. Where he had expected you to mock him for it, you were inexplicably accepting. “I suppose.” he mused.

“And here we are.” you added. “This way.”

You guided him outside of the ancient city and went uphill for a while, the Mount of Olives at your right hand.

“The Pieces of Eden, then.” 47 reminded you.

“Oh, yes.” you breathed, “The Pieces of Eden grant the holder great power over others. The Templars want those artefacts for themselves, so the Creed countered by making it their duty to do all to prevent that. And if we know where those artefacts are, we can keep an eye on them, take them to hide them away and most importantly, avoid conflict.”

“Avoid conflict? That clashes with our current mission.”

“Well, if it  can  be avoided. We’re not afraid to fight for it. Peace through freedom, I mean. Sometimes force is needed, and so it shall be done.” you concluded, shrugging a little.

“And you, what is your story?” 47 quizzed as the pair of you halted on top of the Mount of Olives. You were slightly out of breath because of the heat, holding your hand above your brow to shield yourself from the sunlight. The golden Dome of the Rock stood shining brightly.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), thirty-five years old, Master Assassin of Jerusalem’s Brotherhood. Nothing that you don’t know of.”

Agent 47 huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Why the interest?” you softly quizzed. “It’s not that it matters.”

“You said you wanted to become acquainted.”

You smirked, folding your hands on your back, closing your eyes to enjoy the light of the sun on your cheeks.

“I was born into the Brotherhood, like my father and his father’s father. Needless to say, we have a long history in the Creed. Not the most prominent or anything, but quite famous. My father’s side of the family consisted of ruthless Assassins, living for their trade. My father fell in love with a young female Assassin and married her – my mother. They had my brother, Joseph, and me. All was well and my parents were loved by the Brotherhood, but one day, my father died while on duty.”

Your voice faltered upon ending your sentence, and you looked at your boots for a moment, exhaling deeply. “I never really got to know the man who he was behind the blade. He trained us, and everything I know, I know from him. In hindsight, he was more a mentor than a father. I respect him greatly, but I never felt like I was his daughter. I suppose it’s a bit strange… Well, not for you. In theory, you killed the man who put you onto this Earth.”

Agent 47 hummed, breathing in the scorching air.

“And your mother?”

“She’s in Thailand, in a retirement home set up by Assassins. There she can live her final days in peace, try to forget about the passing of her husband and her son, but with her later stage of Alzheimer’s, I’m not sure where her emotions are at the moment.”

Gesturing to the side, you told Agent 47 to head down the street.

“What happened to Joseph?”

You halted in your tracks, a few tourists that had been walking behind you nearly bumping into you, muttering something angry in what you recognized to be Spanish –  Perdona , you murmured, shaking your head before resuming your walk, albeit at a quicker pace now.

“I don’t like to talk about it.” you said, “Maybe another time. I’ve already told a lot about myself. Enough for now. We should get to actually working out, now.”

Breaking out into a jog, you started running down the street, passing by tourists every now and then.

“Do you often run?” 47’s voice was unusually steady given that you were dashing forward at quite a pace.

“As often as I can. Keeps me fit.”

He hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You went running through a few streets before speaking again – “Mind if I spice this up a bit?”

Before 47 could respond, however, you were already scaling a high wall on your left, pushing yourself up with practised ease. He spotted a drainpipe and sighed in acceptance, soon following you up the roof.

When he finally vaulted onto it, he saw that you were already a few buildings away, leaping from one with so much as the bat of an eye.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked, then realizing that Diana couldn’t hear him – after all, he wasn’t on a mission and thus he didn’t carry his trackers – and he knew that pursuing you wouldn’t bring him anywhere. Another thing he recognized was that he lacked an important skill he hadn’t realised he didn’t have, until now. You leapt further and further away, gracefully so, as if you were dancing.

Where he mostly blended into the crowd, hiding in plain sight, you were away in the blink of an eye, gone with the wind.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing him just stand on the roof where you had left him. He was watching you with an odd posture, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of your antics.

Smirking, you shook your head, resuming your trip back to the headquarters. Bouncing to the edge, you peered down the side of the roof to see if it was all still clear, and upon seeing that the bushes were still soft and plump enough to fall upon, you spread your arms, diving off.

Agent 47 felt his stomach churn in shock, his breath hitching as he watched you jump. As if snapped out of a trance, he darted to the end as quickly as he could, immediately figuring out the importance of scaling and parkour in the speed at which he was currently going.

He came to a halt at the edge and leaned over it to find you standing with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you…”

“Hm…” you replied. “Come on, let’s get back to the headquarters.”

47 slid down a drainpipe and walked up to you.

“That was… Impressive.” 47 stated as you resumed your trip back to the base.

“Thank you.” you mused, “That dive was a  Leap of Faith. Took a long time to master.”

“I can imagine.”

You turned your face away, smiling in amusement.

Even though it was tiny, a bond was starting to form.

These months were going to become interesting, you figured.

[brighteyes-darkhearts]

I read the Iliad, the project of a sun-drenched, blood-soaked semester in Florence. I loathed Achilles. What a stupid, selfish, dishonorable man. Homer originally called the epic The Wrath of Achilles, which is a far more appropriate title, all things considered. Sixteen thousand lines of dectilic hexameter to which thousands of people have devoted countless hours of life and countless jars of ink reading, translating, pondering; a civilization destroyed, innumerable lives lost, children left father-less, all because of one terribly petty man. The most terrible part of all of it, though, is that he is right, and successful.

Achilles strove for immortality, and he achieved it.

He died over two thousand years ago and everyone in modern Western civilization still knows his name. I hated him most because I knew , I know, his name, too, and because I see myself in him and him in myself. We all want a legacy; we all want immortality. Not in the sense that we fear the deaths of our bodies, though some of us certainly do, but rather in the sense that we fear the deaths of our names. They say we all experience two deaths: the first when our bodies cease their function, the second when our name falls from someone's lips for the last time, never to be spoken again, the memory wisps of smoke, uncatchable even if someone wanted to.

People would rather go to war and fight and kill and die instead of fulfilling some kind of peaceful pastoral idealism if such happiness means they will be forgotten.

Have you ever really considered the implications of that?

Have I? Has anyone?

To have or leave or create, cultivate, curate, a legacy, one needs to have a name. Sounds obvious, no?

A name is something everyone has, the second gift we're ever given, one longer lasting than our first gift of life. Names can be terribly old fashioned and boring, staunchly traditional, wildly new age, or if one is the child of a celebrity, they can be bizarre and unfortunate.

I never thought too much about my own name until recently, except in comparison to that of my twin sister, against whose monumental combination of syllables most others pale significantly. However, as my young adult self nears the expectations of marriage and motherhood, which many my age have already fulfilled, the concept of names has been on my mind with increasing frequency. On a superficial level, this consists of thoughts like "Could I marry someone whose last name doesn't sound good with my first," or "since my children will be saddled with my husband's last name, I get to pick their first and middle." I have been informed by my mother, however , that that is, in fact, not how the partnership of marriage works.

Marital disputes aside, as I thought about having to change my name for my eventual husband's, something I had always planned on doing when I got married, and something I had never considered much of an option, I found myself developing quite a resistance to it.

Why am I the one required to upend my identity, and not my husband? As previously referenced, isn't marriage supposed to be the ultimate collaboration, a team endeavor? Sure, I can keep my name, but then I designate myself as an "outsider," an "other," concepts that shape the very foundations of the human behavioral matrix. This, in turn, led me to the whole "why" question.

Names function to provide order to society, categorizing people in a clearer way than "hey, you" for everyone we meet. They also delineate strict patrilineal origin and hierarchical status within said society, often emerging from one's trade. I am referring, of course, only to men, because up until astonishingly recently, and sometimes still today, women were considered the property of men. Women would not own property or function independently from the man to whom they belonged.

The names of women, like the names of fields and houses, denote ownership.

Even then-names are a privilege, because they provide an avenue through which one can form an identity, through which one can be remembered. Throughout history, not everyone was considered important enough to warrant remembering. Enslaved people on plantations in the American south were not given last names of their own; they had to create them themselves or take on those of their owners, and with it, a clear signifier of their forced place in society. Considering the last names of Jewish Europeans both unnecessarily difficult and too clear a sign of the identities they sought to erase, Nazi Germany renamed millions of the Jews they killed or enslaved with unconsidered combinations of nouns and adjectives- Rosenberg, pink mountain, or Gardenschwarz, black garden. The immigration operatives of Ellis and Angel islands did the same to thousands of newcomers whose names they did not want to attempt to spell, so here, you take “Smith,” and you get “Jones.” Your connection to family history and national culture? You won’t need those here. Welcome to America.

Our names are the greatest gifts our parents can give us, planting us firmly within family lineages or tying us to historical figures and concepts; again, another moment in which the memory of another is re-embodied to continue its arduous trek towards immortality. We become our names as we mature, growing into or out of them. There were several options for my own name floating around before I was born, all of which seem entirely inappropriate and unfitting now, though occasionally I feel nostalgic for the Gracen I could have been but never was, a multiplicity of personalities never given the chance to realize themselves. Friends of mine whose names were mercilessly anglicized have slowly begun to reclaim them in their original, intended forms, building back conversation by conversation, introduction by introduction, the bridges back to who they are, who their parents named them to be, the cultures and histories from which they come.

Perhaps, in contemporary society, none so acutely feel the pain that names can bring than members of the trans community. Claiming their true name as an act of courage and authentic life in the cool sunlight of every morning and having to defend it in every hour that follows, having to suffer, too often in silence, the sting of a deadname used by those with no empathy or understanding or common sense in their hearts. Sometimes, the names our parents give us are simply wrong, and reclaiming our true names, those given from the deepest depths of truth at the core of our hearts, is the greatest gift we can give ourselves, and the utmost respect we can give to others.

Identity is a smoky concept to pin down concretely, but names are the first iteration of this idea, translating conceptuality into physical manifestation. It should come as no surprise, then, that our names are the first to go whenever someone seeks to dehumanize. Ayn Rand bestows upon all her characters a litany of numbers, distinct but uninspired, parts of a machine, easily replaced, insignificant.

Names are dangerous, because they allow for and support the construction of an individualized consciousness. There is no greater threat to oppression than a fully realized, highly actualized, wildly individualized consciousness. We most certainly cannot be the masters of our fate or the captains of our souls if we don't even know who we are.

[coldalbion]

Thoughts on mythic morality

(Disclaimer/CN: This post discusses such things as depictions of rape, theft, murder, kinslaying and incest. None of what of what I write here should be taken as approval of, or apologia in relation to these acts.) “You look at trees and called them ‘trees,’ and probably you do not think twice about the word. You call a star a ‘star,’ and think nothing more of it. But you must remember that these words, ‘tree,’ 'star,’ were (in their original forms) names given to these objects by people with very different views from yours. To you, a tree is simply a vegetable organism, and a star simply a ball of inanimate matter moving along a mathematical course. But the first men to talk of 'trees’ and 'stars’ saw things very differently. To them, the world was alive with mythological beings. They saw the stars as living silver, bursting into flame in answer to the eternal music. They saw the sky as a jeweled tent, and the earth as the womb whence all living things have come. To them, the whole of creation was 'myth-woven and elf patterned’.” — J.R.R. Tolkien 

The above quote is a charming one, isn’t it? Tolkien’s invocation of another way of seeing, of existing, beguiles us with its sense of possibility. It is, like much of myth and story, fundamentally conservative - not in the political sense, but in the conservational sense. As an attempt to preserve, or at least, keep possibilities open in the mind of the reader, it’s pretty good. Of course, the wrinkle is - or some may say - that this took place in the distant past. Nobody, they might say, sees the world like this - or if they do, then their perception is deluded - because we are past that. We see the world representationally now, striving towards accuracy. Anything else is just superstition, is it not?

The mistake these stereotypical straw men make - within the context that I have breathed life into them for - is to suggest that a linear path between “then-now”, and “past-future”. Actually, they make several mistakes, not least because of their unexamined bias. I’ll not elucidate them all here, but suffice to say that our vegetative friends have not considered, amongst other things, the role of the cultural, historical, and philosophical structures which influence how we perceive and know things. In philosophy, such consideration of knowledge and how, why, what, and where we know things is called epistemology. The thing with philosophy is that it covers many things: morality, ethics, metaphysics, linguistics, epistemology, sociology etc. We have words for all these things, and they are often their own disciplines. Philosophy - literally descending from “philia” + “sophia”, meaning affection or love for wisdom - can cover a kind of work in them all them all, precisely because understanding and using what is learnt in these many and varied arenas, and dong so well? Understanding the implications? Knowing that we know nothing for certain and that things are seldom as they first?  This is wise, these things are wise, and so: wisdom is the useful, sound, and valuable deployment of knowledge and living life itself well.

Our straw men, conjured into existence by the magic of speech and words - shapings of breath digitized and transmitted across the planet to you, dear reader? They are brought forth into a world where the majority of its unexamined structures descend from the cultural shapings of men with pale skins. Dig further back, and deeper, and you will find that those men re-ordered, restructured and built upon the knowings and experiences of people who were not white or male.  The structures of how we perceive, how we know what we know - even how we are taught to think, and express and feel? These did not come from nowhere - unfiltered and whole from the mind of one omnipotent, omniscient, Creator. Rather, many powers and potencies, principalities and agencies act all together.  The flows of power, influence, propaganda, social and economic capital; the emotional and cultural response to events and experiences. All of these are contoured and shaped by the many. That many of the pale-skinned men shaped much of our world today is an accident of birth which is then compounded by economic and social factors based on climate, trade routes, geography, resources etc. This acquisition is then compounded  and backward rationalized - the accidental conflux of factors becomes a self-justification for ideas of false superiority, which drives behaviours which weight things in the favour of that group. Make no mistake reader - there are still many worlds, even today. Bounded spaces, their boundaries staked out by those with the influence and ability to enforce them. That this is being written by a pale skinned man from North Western Europe is no coincidence. Nor is the fact that many will be able to read this, though my tongue is not what they speak natively - their first words carried a history different to mine. For various reason those people learnt my language which sneaks up behind others and mugs them in dark alleys, or engages in savagely lucrative trade deals.   History literally is an accounting what has gone before, thus recounted by those later to be reckoned as accurate sources and authority. It is not all violence, theft and brutality. It is cultural exchange, trade, sharing, incorporation and diffusion also. All these things flow between in flux - this is influence. Influence is often codified and commodified under the rubric of power in an attempt to wield it more universally - which inevitably divorces it from its original context and forces a more acquisitive mindset amongst those who seek it, rather than seeking out points of influential confluence and integrating oneself within that. The orality of history, and cultural transmission, is not something often thought of today. With the advent of writing, information and knowledge conservation shifts to the texts themselves as authority - the metaphor of something being “there in black and white” refers to newspapers, but the sense of it descends from textual authority.  Perhaps not so coincidentally, the historic belief structure of those pale people is rooted in a distortion of a heresy of a Middle-Eastern monotheism, which in itself seems been an offshoot of various Middle-Eastern polytheisms. That Judaism has a central authoritative text, leavened with thousands of years of oral and written commentaries and arguments should be noted. That this text was itself an edited version which scholars believe contains multiple texts, and was added to and redacted from, in response to socio-political and religious reasons over time,  is also of note. That that text was selectively edited and canonized, before being translated in various languages in response to socio-political and religious reasons over time, is worth further note. That this collage of ancient material is elevated to holy scripture and used as basis for moral authority for the majority of the pale people for over a thousand years, and used as justification for imperalism, rape, murder, theft, oppression, oppression on grounds of sexuality, gender - and was a fundamental source of, and during, the social construction of the concept of race - would be shocking, were it not for the desire for that which is referred to as ‘power’ and ‘authority’.  The singularity of authority and power presupposes scarcity. This is to say that fixed, codified protocols of behaviour, perception, and emotional affect allow definition and navigation in an unpredictable kosmos. By structuring experience, we make sense and it is by sense that we structure the world in a feedback loop.  In a society based on orality, it is the stories that are told which preserve, iterate upon, and transmit knowledge and culture. In this, it’s worth quoting Marshall McLuhan: “The medium is the message.” What this means is that how a message is transmitted influences the message content and context. Similarly, it is how and by whom-as-medium it is transmitted which influences the message. Oral societies are often conservative in nature - there are ways things are done, and for reasons. Thus, to deviate from that is dangerous, precisely because things are done that way for a reason which benefits certain people.  Whether those certain people are an elite or a society as whole varies according to societal structures. Those who deviate are dangerous for several reasons - they are unpredictable, which in many societies at one time meant that they are or were a potential threat. They are non-conformist, which implies they may not honour the social contract which is supposed important in keeping everyone safe and keeping the world-order-as-society knows it running.

Recall Tolkien’s charm? His elder possibility is a world-order or worldview (weltanschauung) which sees the numinosity in all things. It thus sees flux and agency and multiplicity.  In the case of polytheism and animism, the multiplicity of agents  and powers suggests a multitude of agents all acting on one another and interpenetrating - rather like ripples or interference patterns. Gods and “Big spirits” ( terminology that is pretty much synonymous in the mind of this author for the purposes of discussion) can be said to have mythic “mass”. A large stone dropped into a pond will make bigger ripples and cancel or interfere with smaller ripples generated by smaller pebbles.  When considering gods as establishers of world-order - or even creating worlds, it’s instructive to consider that in many mythologies, this is accomplished by the overthrow of a previous order or set of structures, and their reconfiguration.  Which is usually, to judge my many world mythologies, a polite way to suggest murder and butchery; fundamentally catastrophic  in all the linguistic and etymological senses of the word.. Once bloodily established, it is usually the actions and processes of the gods which keep the kosmos running. This accreted behaviour forms mores. Myth is thus a recounting of these behaviours and deviations therefrom, not simply as dry recounting but as felt experience which stimulates emotional and psychological affect which joins all participants (human and otherwise) into a shared epistemological framework. In any society, the element of performance is key in any media - not just what the media ism but how it does it, as mentioned above. In an oral society where knowledge is shared through speech, whether by poetry or storytelling, the performance of the teller is key, as is the setting and context of the delivery. Many myths depict rape, murder, theft,  trade, sharing, incorporation and diffusion. In this, they are as much like other forms of media as anything else. Likewise, it of course is the choice of those personally affected by such things not to engage with such things if they feel it would be detrimental to them. Yet, in dealing with myth, particularly if one views it not as synonymous with falsehood, but in fact expressive of some world-reality which forms the root of of our perceptions and experience, we often have questions of morality. To say that myths containing rape, incest, murder, theft etc “offer a window onto a different time” or to suggest that the actions of a mythological figure are literally representationally true and thus that figure should be hated and despised is to present only a fairly shallow reading in the view of the author. Let us take the Norse god Odin - he who, according the texts we have, committed near- genocide against giant-kind; slaughtering his own kindred the god (along with his brothers) butcher the primeval giant Ymir and use his body to make the worlds. The brothers then create humans by breathing life into two logs/trees found by the sea shore - far better then men of straw, no? He steals the Mead of Inspiration (itself brewed from the blood of a murdered god) after seducing and tricking its giant-maiden guardian, but not before killing nine thralls in order to get close to her father - bearing the name Bolverk (evil-doer). He uses magic to impregnate Rindr after she turns him down repeatedly, making it so that Valli, the agent of vengeance for the death of Balfr, is a product of rape - regardless that he is in the shape of/dressed of a woman at the time. He attempts to have his way with Billing’s daughter, but is discovered and chased away by a pack of angry men. He sets up heroes to die in the midst of battle, abandoning them at the precise moment they need his aid. He is, in short, a major bastard.  Did the Norse enjoy stories of rape? Was it a particular genre that pleased them? We have the images of Vikings as raping and pillaging, after all? Certainly, there are texts that suggest they had a different view of sexuality and violence than we do today. But is perhaps our take on Odin in the myths we have had passed down to us heavily biased? Of course. For one, it appears the idea of Odin as chief god in Iceland was due to the preponderance of preserved texts. Archaeology suggests Thor was more popular with the population-at-large than the weird and terrible bastard wizard Stabby McOne-Eye the murder hobo. But Odin is the Master of Inspiration - and both kings and poets were buoyed by his patronage. That this is passed down, collected and written down by a Christian after Christianization of Iceland, and then translated to English, some eight or nine centuries later?

This influences the medium and message. Further, amongst certain neopagans and heathen polytheists, there is a tendency to look at the preserved texts in a similar way to the Bible. This is a product of the mutations of that North West European brand of heresy we mentioned, contextualized in sectarian manner (Protestantism has a lot to answer for). Even if the myths are treated not as literal, we have been culturally contoured to look at myths which describe religious and numinous experience as exemplary. That’s to say, things that serve as examples or moral models, illustrations of general rules. In a sense, that’s akin to looking to police procedurals or popular movies, or 24hr news channels for a sense of morality today. Such things do contain troubling assumptions today - valourisation of violence if it “gets the job done” in movies, or  news stories inciting rage for political or social gain as example. Yet their key raison d’etre is experiential affect. Information and mores may be passed on and inculcated unconsciously, yes. But to view their content as explicitly and directly representational without bias? This is surely dangerous. Furthermore, our attitudes to sexuality and violence, both as distinct groupings and how they interplay in all forms of media are worthy of critique - exactly what is acceptable and why? What is the historical and social context for this? So if myth is not to be read as moral exemplar, what then? In this we must engage beyond a surface reading, if we so choose. As method of epistemic transmission and framing, myth is is not exemplary, but does aid in modelling. It is the response to myth that aids modelling not the myth itself.  To say Odin is a rapist, a murderer, and thief is important - not because he is, or is not these things, but what that means  to the audience participating in the myth, both historically and currently in context. This is why his self-naming as Bolverk is so important, within the context of the myths. Performer and audience and mythic figure all acknowledge this behaviour as unacceptable to humans.  Throughout the myth cycle, the “morally dubious” stories illustrate deviance from acceptability is only viable longterm if one is influential, and this motif exists across cultures. There are always consequences for such behaviour, whether it be the dooming of the world, or more subtle responses. Yet they serve a doubly illustrative function in the case of Odin, and other such figures (often Trickster or magical figures) wherein their behaviour and character is ambiguous precisely because of that nature - existing asocially, breaking rules and remaking them, surviving and prospering in impossible ways, in often hostile environments. This renders such figures “unsafe” “criminal” or “unnatural”, perhaps even queer in relation  to wider society. For such figures, it is the transmission of this quality via the myth which the narrative preserves, even when preserved and iterated upon by time. In this context, to state again, solely literal representational readings of myth are mistaken. This is not to say it is all symbolic, but rather that metaphor transmits information - an Iroquois story says their people learnt to tap maple syrup from squirrels. An Iroquois boy  saw a red squirrel cutting into tree bark with its teeth and later returning to lick the sap; the young Iroquois followed the squirrel’s lead and tried the same technique by cutting into the tree bark with a knife, thus discovering the sweet sap. Long derided as mere “myth” or “folklore” it took until the 1990s for a scientist named  Bernd Heinrich to observe and record it, publishing in a scientific journal - thus ‘legitimizing’ pre-existing indigenous knowledge. 

That such knowledge only became ‘acceptable’ or ‘real’ when performed outside of its original form tells us much about the biases of so-called ‘Western Culture’ as regards myth and folklore. Yet, this example proves the utility of such transmissions, existing over the centuries. That Iceland’s corpus of myth (even in those tales that remained to be written down) may contain metaphorically encode experience which can be re-experienced through felt-sense is made all the more likely, given the preservation of highly localized folklore and histories. Questions of legitimacy or lack are defined by flows of influence and power - inextricably linked to agency and consequence. Myth is therefore conceivable as a manifestation of currents of social influence and should never be held as a fixed thing, whether or not one has positive or negative emotional response to its figures