#and with no exiling you get to keep getting the same creature back over and over

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than killing interdimensional entities that stand above the gods

I like graveyard stuff but hate reanimation so I made this card before realizing it was basically just Death's Oasis

[arguablysomaya]

please, elaborate on merlin bbc propaganda and stuff

okay basically:

bbc merlin is a show taking place during a genocide

camelot for 20 years has been genociding and ethnically cleansing everyone who can use magic, including magical creatures. They were all either exiled, fled, live in refugee camps or in hiding, and a great many were executed and slaughtered. Generally speaking, life is inhospitable in camelot for magic users.

And the show makes no attempt to hide this fact, either. We see multiple times over the death and destruction this genocide has wraught, and how radicalized most of the remaining magic population is because of it. For the past few decades, camelot has essentially been doing 2 things: persecuting magic users, and defending itself from vengeful/liberationist magic users

the king (uther) believes that magic users are (stop me if you've heard this one) corruptive, shifty, and evil. he's always paranoid that a magic user will take their revenge on him. and in a way, he's right: there are in fact a lot of magic users eager to kill him, but given the whole Great Purge and literally drowning children thing, you'd thing the show would be a bit more sympathetic to their plight. Nope.

in come merlin and gaius, our two main magic users. merlin is the protagonist, and gaius his benevolent mentor, so the audience is primed to be on their side. only one problem: from bascially the beginning of the series, these two are nothing more than agents for the very state carrying out the genocide. they devote their time to wholeheartedly defending camelot, especially from magic users, something they are rightfully called traitors for. they actively intervene to prolong the lives (and therefore regimes) of both arthur and uther, despite neither king showing any real interest in freeing their people. gauis represents the "diversity" of a genocidaire state; as someone uther only keeps around so long as he shuns any involvement with magic except what helps uther carry put his genocide, gaius hides and rejects every marginalized part of himself that threatens his access to power. even as a member of the oppressed class, he aids and abets the oppressors every step of the way. merlin, as an extremely powerful agic user in hiding, follows suit. the thing is, like so many other minority collaborators, this doesn't actually buy them safety, since they are Other, they still have to walk around on eggshells knowing one wrong move could get their heads chopped off. but this action of defending a regime that would kill you without a second's hesitation is presented as noble and heroic in the show, when in reality it's stupid at best and evil at worst. merlin and gaius might save a token kid from being brutally murdered, but they will never let anyone take action, let alone take action themselves, to proactively stop the brutality.

merlin is literally the most powerful sorcerer alive. if he wanted to, he could create a more fair, more just, better world in a blink. instead, he spends his time pretending to be a hapless servent, messing around with his war criminal friends, and killing any freedom fighter who dares to even look at the prince or king. why? well, he believes in the institutions (and a prophecy that never comes true... lol). ultimately, merlin and gauis hold the same prejudices and stereotypes about magic users that uther does: that they're untrustworthy, dangerous, and that it would be better for everyone if all but themselves (the good ones) just died or left.

and all the people they're defending the empire against... are other oppressed magic users. the VAST majority of antagonists are either magicians or magic sympathizers. even in the context of a genocide, the show takes the firm stance that the architects of genocide (the literal kings who order it to happen) are just flawed human beings who still don't deserve to be killed, while when the people they seek to wipe out fight back, our protagonists will happily mow them down. the show has no problem with killing people,and even killing innocents is only worthy of a fingerwag. it's fighting for liberation that the show makes the real problem. even when uther finally dies the show plays it like something sad, as if anyone is supposed to feel anything but joy that this old tyrant genocidaire finally kicked the bucket after having been saved a million times over from getting his comeuppance. Every magic user that has genuinely good reasons to want to tear down the kingdom are all painted with the "crazy evil person" brush.

another thing is that this show likes to get ~quirky~ with their agents of the state. along with arthur and merlin come a colorful cast of characters like the knights that you can laugh and cry with. the only problem is that despite how lovable these people are, they're still actively carrying out and enforcing a genocide. it's a bit like those tiktoks of IDF soldiers dancing or proposing. i can't feel for these people because despite seeming like relatable people, they're still engaging in something horrific. you can't escape the fact that these people can only exist in the relatively easy capacity that they do because the empire they work for is brutally repressing and eliminating entire cultures.

but the thing is, this strategy actually works. the fandom is often so taken in by fun character interactions and shipping moments that you can often witness people literally look past, or even praise their acts of genocide. these characters are so charming with each other that you can look past how awfully they treat oppressed people. yay! the prevalence of merthur brings up too many idf pinkwashing parallels it's actually insufferable. i had hoped we left oppressor/oppressed person ships behind in the 2010s but guess it's still around

by the time he takes over as king, the "great, kind" arthur is essentially an IDF soldier who only realized that Killing Is Bad Actually when he's got crosshairs on a random kid. now Reformed (TM), he takes the brave stance that he should only kill the angry bad magic users who try to exact their revenge for the whole genocide thing on him, and the peaceful (more often than not, harmless) magic users should accept the merciful counterplan of ethnically cleansing themselves from the region, or continuing to live in refugee camps, but this time with less threat of massacre. in this show, the only acceptable answer to being genocided is to either lay down and die, hide forever, or displace yourself hoping the empire doesn't come and kill you anyway. fighting back, getting revenge, defending oneself, trying to change things: these are all reserved only for the genocidal state.

in other words, bbc merlin is the exact type of genocide obfuscation that most modern genocides engage in. the suffering of oppressed peoples, even innocents, is a footnote. when they suffer, sometimes it's presented as sad, and other times it's presented as deserved. meanwhile, the suffering of the oppressors, no matter how justifyable, is always landmark and deserves our full attention and sympathies, because the thing about the oppressors is that it's always their story.

(the last thing is a common fantasy problem, which is that when you create stories where different classes have actual, material, biological distinctions, it can end up justifying the oppression. in the real world, there is a very limited range of innate human abilities, and people from across the world are largely evenly matched. but in merlin, a sorcerer actually does pose an increased threat to those around them. in terms of allegory... kinda not the best thing to so without any real refutation to the idea that magic corrupts)

so yeah. that's why i don't fuck with this show even though it's enjoyable to watch.

[ember-firebender]

The Corpse Regards You, Lifelessly - Chapter 8: Run, Ravengard

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64962646

------Huge shout out to my lovely editor @thedarksilkpen for making this readable lol. you're the best i love you------

“I should have known you would be the death of us all. I was trying desperately to see the good in you. I wanted to forgive you for your past, but you have gone too far. I am through with your games!”

Cyril stared at him, expressionless and unblinking, and said nothing. Wyll flourished his sword at him, maintaining distance, but making his intentions known all the same. The tiefling did not react. He was unarmed and remained in a neutral, open position, showing no signs of defence.

“It is always about using people,” the warlock continued, “and never about what they need. Look what you did to Shadowheart. You didn’t allow her to learn about her past, just to continue down the dark path that led her to leave us for good. She became too strong, too much of a threat to you, and you exiled her!”

This appeal to Cyril’s guilt was not working. He refused to care. He was as bad as the devils, perhaps he was one. 

Wyll spoke again. “You gathered us together, said we could help each other find a cure, but you’ve given over to your urges time and again. How many have died because of you? Because of us? You have made us all monsters!”

He was met with more sickening silence. Righteous rage roiled in Wyll’s stomach. He was a monster hunter, he had promised to keep the Sword Coast safe, and he was failing miserably at it. Wyll gathered his courage. He had never killed someone he had spent so much time getting to know. The monsters he was used to hunting were clear-cut evil. There was no doubt that a demon needed to be put down, an ogre to be slain. It wasn’t until he met Karlach and Cyril that he realized good could be found in evil shapes, and villainy could be disguised behind such a charming creature.

“This ends now, foul beast! Your days of weaving lies and shedding blood are over. For the good of the Gate, and the good of Faerun, you will meet the sting of my blade, monster!” 

Cyril did not move, his glowing red eyes fixed on Wyll’s horned forehead. The Blade of Frontiers prepared for an attack, aiming the tip of his rapier at the tiefling’s heart, but the monster still did not even flinch. What was wrong with him? Had he accepted his fate? No, that couldn’t be. The beast wouldn’t know remorse if it hit him upside the head. Then what–?

“Esurio!”

Wyll’s blade had just begun to pierce through ridged skin, when he suddenly stopped, letting go of the curved hilt. He jumped back several feet as bone-chilling fear washed over every cell in his body. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his mouth. He was paralyzed. The monster gently picked up the rapier and toyed with it in his hands. He walked slowly toward Wyll, who felt compelled to run as far away as possible, but couldn’t will his legs to move.

The men stood face to face. Cyril had to look up slightly to meet Wyll's eyes, but he may as well have been a Hill Giant for how much power and intimidation he possessed as cold fear continued to eat at Wyll’s veins. For the first time since earlier that evening, the monster spoke, forcing the rapier into the Blade’s shaking hands. “Run. Run away and save your pathetic father. Run away from your little devil’s pact. Run, like you always have, little Ravengard. Run, until there is no one left to chase you. Run away before I catch you.”

[henshin-reborn]

Sooo I'm back... hi :)

I recently deleted my old account, henshin-4. Why? Yeah... lets just keep it to I kinda wanted to disappear. Depression episodes apparently hit harder when you've been feeling fine for a while, especially if it gets triggered by the one asshole who has been ruining your life for over 20 years and who you sadly have to share a house with in combination with, somehow, everything going wrong at the moment. I really thought my depression was gone, but Idk anymore. Maybe it is, maybe these last few weeks have just been extremely bad and unlucky but... it's been hard. I also left home which brings a little peace but where I am now isn't great either.

But anyway... you know, it didn't take long before I started to miss Tumblr so here I am again. A new account will have pros and cons. A pro would be that I am now hopefully rid of all those spam accounts that bothered me daily that I kept having to block, but a con would be that I will definitely miss my boop war badges, plus I lost all my mutuals, and my posts... I do hope to find you all again but I will be combing through the BUCK-TICK tag. I do hope you'll all recognize me (and that no one's mad at me 💀) as I had to find a new username, but at least it is similar to my old one (not using the same pics tho).

I may also be known for having a certain hatred for the BT fandom, but 95% of the BUCK-TICK fans I have found here on Tumblr in the recent past have been great. Of course, every fandom has it's trash, but on this site you'll also find treasure, and you all are that treasure.

Anyway, for those who don't know me, which will surely be the vast majority, let me re-introduce myself.

My name, well feel free to call me Rae.

I am 27 years old.

My favorite band is BUCK-TICK and once I will be posting and reblogging regularly again, you WILL be able to tell ;) I might even repost some of my old account's posts cause why not, they are my posts after all :P

I also love other bands, such as Der Zibet, Dead End, Creature Creature and Vaniru.

I also really really REALLY enjoy side and solo works of my favorites, such as Sakurai Atsushi's solo album, The Mortal, Schwein, ISSAY's solo album, PhI, Hamlet Machine, ISSAY meets DOLLY, even KA.F.KA's few songs, MORRIE's solo work and his recently started new band with 2 songs, Godland, and I also really love Masami Tsuchiya's solo work. I still have to properly check out his old band, Ippu-Do. Other than them I also occasionally listen to Soft Ballet, who I really have to get into again.

My top 3 favorite vocalists, which you may also recognize me by, is:

1. Sakurai Atsushi.

2. Hoshino Hidehiko.

3. ISSAY.

I am also a gamer, some of my fave game (series) are: Saints Row, Payday, Phasmophobia, Ghost Exile, This Is A Ghost, Demonologist, GTA 4, Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Baldur's Gate 3, and a lot more games of similar genres. I can't even remember them all as I barely play anything lately (no PC since a while)

Anyway, let me also do some self advertisement cause no one else will do it hehe. So I am also a fanfic author, I mainly write BUCK-TICK/Der Zibet fics but may eventually expand to more fandoms.

For now, you can find my BT+ fics here:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nameless_Me/works

I mainly write Atsushi x Issay but have also done Atsushi x Imai, Atsushi x reader and Atsushi x Toshiya (on request) and for the future I also plan to write Atsushi x Hide(hiko), Issay x reader, maybe a threesome somewhere, and all BT members (separately) x reader (since I'm also working on a BT dating simulator, but I will also need a PC to finish that)

I also run a Discord server for all J-Rock related things which also functions as an archive for many bands which you can add to if you want to (just gotta ask for access first so I can give you a channel to work in). The archive so far is mostly links for quick access.

Activity is not required, but it is appreciated. We can also host events here where we can watch tours together. The server isn't very active, but maybe you'll find something here anyway.

It also contains my music drive folder which has edited music files of many artists to keep consistency so all songs are the same volume and quality. I work with 128 kbps (small files, won't take much space), 44100 hz (high quality), and 91.5 db (overall more quiet than newly ripped files BUT this matches Spotify's normal volume so they match well as local Spotify files.)

Of course, you can also join to just talk about music and meet people. Racism, sexism, homo/transphobia, ableism etc NOT allowed, but that should be the norm anyway.

Anyway, glad to be back and I will try to stay positive. As long as I have BT, there is something to be happy about. I almost gave up on them too, but that's not their fault, everything was just going to shit for me and still is tbh but I'll do anything for BT.

Also I've been clearing out my gallery since it was a mess so I barely have any BT pics anymore, but I'll just use the pics I used to decorate my new account to decorate this post a bit as well :)

Well, as I said, I hope to find all my old mutuals again and that you all recognize me. Sorry for the sudden deactivation :(... and that I said BT wouldn't give a shit about me, cause they would, they care about all their fans, and that's why I care about them. They are such great people :)

[cyn-write]

The Little Cecelia - Chapter 1: Friends

Summary - Every 100 years, the spirit of the Great Seven and their Rival return. Sometimes, they attempt to right the wrongs of the past, get revenge, or relive the same story, but it all is the same - only one spirit gets their Happily Ever After. Azul has always had a fascination with the human world, which only intensified once he met a human girl, Grace Trien. His desires to become a Great Mage of both Land and Sea and to explore the human world and all its wonders with the Tweels and Grace by his side, but Prince Rielle is willing to do what ever it takes to stop the little Cecelia from getting his Happy Ending.

Masterlist - Next

Pairing - Azul Ashengrotto x F!Oc (Grace Trein)

Tags/Warnings - Friends to Lovers; Bullying; Grace is Trein's Daughter; Angst -> Fluff; Self-Deperication

Notes - I have been working on this for a very long time, and I hope you enjoy it! Grace Trein is based off my Oc Grace Wilde so if you want to learn more about her click the link, but you can replace her name when reading if you want to read it as Yuu or another name. This is only the first chapter of 11, so if you enjoy this and want to be tagged or have questions, please let me know! This is also on Ao3 if you want to follow it over there. Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Without Further Ado: Once Upon a Time.....

Every Merchild was told from a young age how dangerous the humans were. Parents, Teachers, Elders all told tales of the vicious humans who slaughtered merfolk by the dozens and the clever traps they would use to ensnare merfolk for prizes. Landfolk were all described as hideous creatures fascinated with lifeless contraptions. They were monsters… or so the stories said.

Despite the fear, some dared to have a fascination with the beings above. Azul has always had a fascination with the landfolk and their contraptions but stayed away from the shore out of fear. But sometimes, greater forces led people to face their fears. Forces named Rielle.

Azul was minding his own business, studying a new trinket he found that morning while the twins were off hunting for lunch. It was a triangle with a rounded bottom and a cone on the top that made things look closer when peered though. It had an engraving on the side of an odd creature with four legs and fins sprouting from its back. As he looked through the cone at some fish, he failed to notice the Merprince and his gang readying their rocks.

“HEY OCTOTWERP! CATCH!” Called the red-haired prince as he signaled the attack. Azul jumped from his spot and felt the first of the rocks hit is tentacles. He accidentally inked as he swam away as fast as his tentacles could propel him. “GET HIM!”

On the princes’ orders, the merchild brigade chased him away from the reef and towards forbidden waters.

“JADE! FLOYD! HELP!!” He called out, but the eel twins were nowhere in sight. He looked for another way out, but he was surrounded. He passed the ship graveyard, the kept forest, the rock grove. He could feel his tentacles strain to keep up the pace and all three of his hearts beating at record speed, but the tyrannical prince would not give in until he saw Azul crying and crippled.

“Come on Azul think.” He grunted as he weaved through jagged rocks. Then he saw the sea floor start to incline and a dangerous idea came to mind. Rumor has it that there is a cave that use to be the home of a long-dead exiled Sea Witch and all rumors had a grain of truth. As the rocks got bigger, he saw the carcasses of sharks and whales and knew he was getting close.

“Rielle! He’s heading towards the shore!” He heard Rielle’s right-hand, a flounder named Florence call out.

“Then hurry up you guppy! Don’t let fatso escape!” Rielle called back; his voice was getting closer.

Azul scanned his surroundings and saw it, a small opening underneath a whale head. He darted for the bones and heard the bullies change direction after him. In a last stitch effort to lose his pursuers, he took a deep breath, concentrated, and squeezed himself into the hole. It was a tight fit, but he made it. As he shimmied through, some of his tentacles loosened rocks that blocked the entrance, stopping his pursuers and trapping him in the process. The hole grew larger, and he let himself stop and hide.

He hid in the larger hole and listened.

“Florence! Get out of the way! I’ll blast my way in!” Rielle called.

Just as Azul prepared to face his death, he heard the distinct voices of his saviors “In where, Princie~”

“TWEEELS!” Florence shrieked in fear.

“We playing a game here?” Jade asked.

“Oooo~ I wanna play!” Floyd retorted and all Azul could hear was chaos.

“Your highness, we need to leave! This place is way too close for comfort.” Another of the prince’s posse, Sebet if Azul was correct, said. “Besides, they’re doomed anyway, let’s leave them for the fishermen. We can play with Azul later. He has to come back sometime.”

“Fine.” Rielle sounded annoyed then decided to shout, “YA HEAR THAT AZUL! SHOW YOUR FAT FACE IN ATLANTICA AGAIN AND WE’LL GETCHA! INKING WILL BE THE LEAST OF YOUR PROBLEMS!”

“YA! WELL NEXT TIME WE SEE YUR FACE OUTTA ALENTICA WELL BE SNACKING ON PRINCIE!” Floyd called back.

Azul heard the group laugh as they swam away.

“Azul, are you in there?” Jade called.

“Yeah, I think I’m stuck…” Azul called back, choking on his words from crying.

“Hold on Zul! We’ll get ya outa there!” Floyd called, “I think there’s another entrance over there!”

“Azul, we’ll be right back!” Jade said before the two swam away.

Azul waited a few minutes before letting himself take a deep breath. A few tears escaped his eyes as he realized his doom. He was stuck in a cave. He couldn’t get out. The twins would get bored of helping him soon enough. And if he went back home, the prince and his school were waiting for him.

‘Would mom look for me?’ He thought as more tears streamed from his blue eyes, ‘She probably thinks I’m dead anyway…she’ll just try again with dad and forget I ever existed.’

His tentacles curled in on themselves as he cried. No wonder the other fry picked on him, he was just a crybaby, that’s all he’ll ever be.

Then one of his tentacles hit something… a vial. He looked up from his spot as his tentacle picked up the object. It was thin, made of glass with a cork keeping some green stuff in it. Then another hit a different object, a rounder, thicker glass container holding a powdery substance. Ever curious, Azul moved forward and saw more vials. Somewhat intact and held different substances while others were broken and had the contents spewed around them. The deeper he went; he saw more things covered in moss with age. Then he entered a larger opening, what must be the main room. In the center was a caldron overturned and around it was different objects.

‘The stories were true… this is the witch’s layer!’ Azul’s mood quickly turned from despair to joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m in The Sea Witch’s layer!”

For once he was thankful for his tentacles as he explored the cavern. He looked into different rooms and saw bedrooms, a kitchen, storerooms and the most wonderful library! In the library there where rows upon rows of spell books. He took some off and skimmed the contents. There where books for beauty potions, translations spells, identification incantations, and even transmutation! He was pulling different books then found a peculiar one titled “Cecelia: A History.” Out of curiosity he pulled it, and the shelf began to move.

A new, hidden tunnel appeared. It was dark and lead straight up, so being the curious creature he is, he went up. His amazement pushed his caution to the side as he began to think about what could be up there: magical artifacts, forbidden spell books, long dead secrets! But instead, it led to the surface. He saw the end of the water and paused. He had never broken to the surface before… but what could be up there? He was already here, might as well take a peek.

He took a deep breath and slowly lifted his head above the water. What he saw amazed him: another living space. It was almost exactly like the one below with a cauldron in the center and a smaller set of shelves behind it filled with things. To the side was a makeshift kitchen, a bedroom, and a sitting room with furniture made from the brown, rough material sunken ships were made of. After determining that the land was also deserted, he rose higher and got the courage to climb onto the land. His tentacles moved on the dry land pretty easily and adjusted to the sudden pressure quickly. After determining it was safe, he let his curiosity take over. He rushed over to the shelves and looked at the different books and objects. He picked them up and read the different titles, some were spell books, but others were books on human society. He made a mental note to read them later after he explored some more. Then he saw a necklace. A beautiful shell necklace that seemed to glow slightly. As his hand brushed the shell, then he heard a noise.

Crying, someone was crying. He darted back to the water out of fear and hid under the waves. ‘Someone’s here… I thought this place was aban- wait… that sounds like its coming from over there…’ He swam towards a second entrance to this place. It was vertical and there was a light coming from the other side. He went through the tunnel and saw the sand make a sharp incline up. ‘The Shore!’

The crying got louder and through the water he saw a small figure. ‘Leave! GO! This is Dangerous!’ part of him screamed in his brain, but the other part recognized that crying. It was a cry of loneliness. He clenched his fist and took another deep breath “Kept it.” He told himself then rose to peer out of the water. He peaked his eyes out of the water but that was all he needed to see the most beautiful being he has ever seen: A human girl.

She looked to be around his age, skin the color of white sand, golden hair like waves fell over her shoulders and hid her face. She had on a cloth thing in a pink color more vibrate than he had ever seen with a matching ribbon in her hair. He could see her legs, thin things that had the oddest fins attached to them with thinner tentacles on the end of them. Her legs were pulled into her chest with her arms keeping them close. He had been in that position many times before. Her sobs echoed in the cavern and made his heart hurt. Next to her was a brown basket made of the same particular material that the furniture was made of. Inside it were books and cloth wrapped objects.

He watched her for a moment and a part of him wanted to swim closer. Subconsciously, a single tentacle stretches close to the girl, and it wasn’t until he saw the black limb creeping up to her legs that he noticed. He wrenched the tentacle back and it caused a splash.

“Who’s there!” The girl looked up quicker than he could sink down. Their eyes locked in that moment, and he was stunned. Vibrant green orbs starred back at him. Filled a familiar sensation that he knew all too well: loneliness.

He has no clue how long they stayed like that. Staring at each other unsure what to do. She was the one to break the silence. “Woah… you’re a.. A mermaid!”

She moved closer and Azul sunk down into the depths, his rational brain telling him to flee.

“Wait! I-I won’t hurt you! Please don’t go!” He heard her call. He saw her legs running towards him in the water and he backed-up terrified. He was about to run, but what she said next would be the words that changed Azul’s life forever: “Please… I-I just want a friend…”

‘Run… Run…’ He thought, then his pesky hearts got in the way, ‘She’s just like me…I’m already dead anyway.’

He turned around and saw her lower half in the water. The fabric moving with the waves and pale legs firmly planted in the sand. He closed his eyes and slowly rose above the water. Her eyes shined and looked over him not in fear and disgust, but amazement and wonder.

“H-hi…” She said and smiled at him. She smiled at him. Then held out her hand, “I’m Grace…Grace Trein, what’s your name?”

She looked so soft and squishy. He reached out his hand tentatively, but his nerves got the best of him and backed away. She could see his hesitation and lifted both of her hands palms out, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise, see.” She wiggled her fingers and smiled. He was still nervous and didn’t move towards her but did speak up.

“a-azul” he said in a quiet voice.

“Azul? That’s a pretty name!” He could feel her eyes studying him and prepared himself for the hurtful comments on his weight. But she instead pointed to something in the water, “Is that a Sexton!”

He looked down and saw he still had the weird contraption that got him in this mess. He lifted it and repeated the name, “Sex-ton?”

“Yeah! Sailors use it to navigate!” She stepped closer and he moved back. She noticed this and stepped back as well, “May I see it?” She stretched her hand out palm up. He saw a silver bracelet on her arm that caught his eye. She saw this and took it off, “Wanna trade for a bit? I promise i’ll give it back!”

Curiosity won and two black tentacles moved towards her hand, and one held the sexton. He quickly took the silver bracelet and dropped the sexton into her hand before she could comment. He took the bracelet from his tentacle and examined the silver base and blue jewels embedded in it.

“Wow! You’re an Oct-mer!” She said, “That is so cool!”

He was not prepared for the comment and a blue blush crept onto his face. He was shocked to say the least, “Cecelia…”

“huh?” Grace tilted her head and repeated the word, “Cecelia… is that the proper name?”

Azul nodded and kept his head down. “Yeah…”

“Cecelia… That is really pretty, I like it!” Her face glowed as she spoke, all happy and joyful. It was completely different from the face she had when he arrived. She looked at the sexton and moved it around in her hands, then lifted it up and looked through it. The curiosity in her eyes made Azul want to ask her questions like ‘where is she from? Why was she in the cave? How did she find it? Why are you being nice to me? What do you want from me? Are you just being nice to my face or to lure me into a trap?’ but he kept his mouth shut and went back to examining the bracelet. It was very beautiful and simple in design, but even more interesting was the writing on the underside of the bracelet: Grace – Our precious pearl Love Mama and Papa. He ran his hand along the writing and felt the indents swirl with the letters.

Grace broke his concentration, “I was just reading about this!” He looked up and saw her walk to the shore with his trinket.

“h-hey! That’s m-mine!” He swam forward a bit as he feared she would run off with the sexton!

Grace quickly turned around and subdued his nerves “I won’t take it, I’m just grabbing my book!” She took out a green book from her basket and sat on the shore, “come here! I wanna show you something!”

“u-um…” Azul bit his lower lip before gathering his courage. This was going against every bone in his body, but he swam to the shore, “Ok.” The dry sand felt weird on his skin, but he made it over and peered at the book.

On the page was a four-legged creature with wings, the same creature that was on the sexton. “It’s called a Pegasus! They are magical creatures from when the great seven lived.” She said and tilted the book as if telling him to take it. He took it gingerly and felt his hand brush against hers as it transferred. His curiosity took over and he started to read the passage next to the picture. “According to the book, The Hero Hercules had a Pegasus who helped him on his adventures. I was reading about it for lessons today!” She was really close to him, and he could feel her clothes brush against his skin as she held up the Saxton. “Papa says that the Gods rearranged the stars so Hercules and his Pegasus’ could watch over humanity for the rest of time.”

“Stars?” Azul asked and turned his head to look at her, only then realizing that their heads were so close. Their noses almost touched, and she looked into his eyes directly.

“Yeah! The bright dots in the sky at night!” She says and points out to the opening of the cave, then her expression changed to one of confusion and realization, “You have never seen the stars. Have you?”

Azul shook his head and held his breath. ‘She is so close to me. Why is she so close to me. Whyisshesocloseto-’

GRRRRR.

Azul’s train of thought were interrupted by his stomach. His round belly grumbled so loudly that it echoed in the cave and Azul felt his heart sank. He froze in embarrassment. He was making progress with the girl and his stomach is going to ruin every-

“Are you hungry? I have sandwiches!” Grace turned to her basket and pulled out the cloth wrapped thing. She removed the cloth and handed him a dry sandwich. It looked like the sandwiches his mom sold at her restaurant, but instead of kelp it had a sponge, beige looking holding the contents together. He looked at her in surprise and pointed to himself.

“Y-you’re giving it to me?” He said surprised.

“Well yeah,” She took out half of the sandwich, “I have other snacks to if you don’t like sandwiches, Mrs. Hellen aways packs extra so I have chips, apples, juice, and some cookies!” She held out more food and he just looked at her in shock.

“You’re not going to make fun of me?” He asks quietly. This question made her smile fall and eyebrows knit together.

“Why would I do that?” She said, she shoulders slumped a bit and she looked down, “Being made fun of hurts more than being pushed downstairs, I don’t wanna do that to anyone.”

The glint came back. The watery gaze, strained voice, tense body, the pain… it is all too familiar to Azul. “People do that to you too?” Azul asked.

“Worse, brothers.” Grace said, “Anthony and Danny always make fun of me. They say I talk too much, or ask too many questions, or am too ugly to be a girl, or make fun of me for not having magic, or worse…” Tears started to form in her eyes. She hugged herself with the food still in her hand, “Ever since we moved here, its gotten worse. Mama and Papa use to step in and tell them to stop, but Mama isn’t here anymore, Papa is always working, and the servants don’t do anything… probably because they agree with them. Eli tries to step in, but he is too little to understand.” She then shakes her head and wipes her eyes away with her forearm, “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much, its not proper for a lady to talk so much-”

“Nonono! Me too!” Azul gestures to himself, “I mean- I like hearing you talk! People back home bullied me all the time! They say I talk to much a-and call me a nerd too! B-but they also call me fat and ugly, w-which is true for me but not in your case you're really pretty-but anyway! I get it! Bullies hurt…” Azul fidgeted his fingers and tentacles as he spoke and looked down at the ground, scared to look into her eyes.

There was a tense silence for a moment and Azul thought he blew it with his new potential friend, “…you think I’m pretty?” He looked up and her face was red, she was blushing so hard and looked at him in surprise.

“Y-yeah… you are…” He was really nervous as they were still close.

Grace loosened her grip on herself and the poor sandwiches and a small smile graced her lips, “Well… I think your pretty cute,” She looked up and him and their eyes met yet again. “And, I have never seen a mermaid in real life before, but after talking to you, I think Cecelia are cooler than regular mermaids.” She held out half of the sandwich and her smile changed from small to big in a genuine manner. And a weird thing happened, her smiling made Azul want to smile. The only people who have ever made Azul smile just by them smiling were the tweels. He feels a weird draw towards her, like a string pulling them together. It was a similar tug he felt with the tweels, but something about it was different.

Grace handed Azul half of the sandwich and he took it. But before taking a bite, she raised her half. “Friends?”

Azul felt his hearts beat faster. He was in shock; ‘Sh-she wants to be friends with m-me? Th-this never happens! I have a Friend! A new human friend! That means I have THREE friends!!’ “Friends!”

“Friends?” “FRIENDS!!” Two teal heads suddenly leaped out of the water.

In the shallows of the cave water were Jade and Floyd in matching sharp tooth grins.

Azul felt panic rise in his chest as the two swam closer and crawl onto the sand. Grace jumped with half a sandwich hanging out of her mouth. “moareyou?” She said with her mouth full.

Azul’s arms and tentacles were moving frantically, “nononono, please don’t freak out, they are my friends,” Grace took the sandwich out of her mouth and relaxed her shoulders a bit. “T-this is Jade and Floyd, they a-are my friends, and I guess your friends now too since you’re my friend, i-if that’s how this thing works right?” As he spoke his tentacles moved to exclaim his point.

Grace looked back and forth between Azul and the twin’s and her apprehension turned to a smile, “I-I have three friends, I HAVE THREE FRIENDS!” She was as excited as Floyd was. Her hair and bow bounced as she jumped. Her eyes sparkled and she tackled Azul in a hug. “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! YOU’RE THE BEST!!!!”

Azul stood there stunned. Her arms around him and she was thanking him for friends. She moved on to hug the twins, but all Azul could think about was her arms around him and her eyes glowing in excitement.

“YAY!” Grace tackle-hugged Floyd and the two fell in the water. Jade chuckled at the sight and beached himself on the shore.

“Seems like you helped yourself Azul,” Jade commented and plucked some of the treats out of Grace’s basket, “You even found food.”

“Seems so,” Azul replied as Grace and Floyd got out of the water.

Grace squeezed the water out of her dress and hair, Azul couldn’t take his eyes off her and it made Jade’s smile grow sharp, “A human girl… interesting,” He hummed.

Azul turned to Jade and quirked his brow, “What do you mean by that?”

Jade shook his head as Grace came over to hug him, “Nothing, just interesting.”

Azul would not understand what Jade noted until years later. On that summer’s day, Azul’s life changed. He found an abandoned grotto he now called home, he started to seriously study magic alongside the tweels using the books and artifacts now at their disposal, and met Grace Trein, a girl who would help him conquer both land and sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @twistedcece @thisisafish123

Note: Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing more characters in this scenario or these characters in different scenarios, please let me know! (Do not Steal)

[thefiercest]

TMNT Fanfic: Happy Father's Day!...Or is it?

It was not easy for Splinter to start a new life after his wife died. Never in his life had he felt loneliness but then his sons came along and his world was once again bright, then it got even brighter when he was reunited with his daughter. For decades, his only purpose, motivation to keep going was to raise his children but he never thought much about what would happen when they would reach adulthood and start their own lives, having families of their own. To be frank, he never imagined his sons would be able to. He honestly thought they would all live together in exile from humanity but now mutants were free to live among the same streets as humans, and each of his children found love, and had children of their own.

It was bitter-sweet. He was proud of his children, happy for them, grateful that he no longer had to worry about them being accepted in the world but at the same time, it was hard waking up each morning without hearing their usual rowdiness. The lair used to be so lively but ever since his children moved out, there was nothing but silence. There was a time when he would pray for such peace but now...

He just simply needed to remind himself that it is not like he never gets to see his children anymore. He sees Leonardo every Monday morning for meditation and tea before he has to open up his dojo, he sees Raphael every Tuesday and Saturday for sparring when he returns to the city to help Leonardo with his classes, he sees Donatello every Wednesday during his lunch hours to play chest, he sees Michelangelo every Sunday for Sunday Dinner, and as for Miwa, she now lived in Japan, so he did not get to see her nearly as often but she always makes sure to face-time or call him, usually during the evenings, and every summer, they all go to Japan to spend time together as a family.

Yep. It was not easy to not be able to live under the same roof as his children anymore but he appreciated their special times together. Appreciated how they still made time to spend with him despite their busy lives. Some fathers were not so lucky.

So, with a smile, he got up and started heading out down the tunnels, on his way to see his eldest son, Leonardo.

...

Mutant Town, a town that was welcoming to all creatures of all kinds and at the center of this lively town was his son's dojo, The Renaissance Dojo. Splinter smiled each time he read the sign, it was amusing and heartfelt how his son named his dojo after himself and his brothers. Truly shows how much he cares for their bond for each other. The dojo was a three floor building, the dojo being on the center while Leonardo and his family lived on the top floor. The dojo was spacious and beautiful, almost designed like his dojo back in the lair but with Leonardo's own charm to it. The Hamato symbol hung proudly outside and walking inside, pictures of their fallen hung on the walls. He gazed over at all of them, frowning slightly when he looked at the pictures of his parents and wife.

"Kon'nichiwa, gifu-san!" A voice chirped and Splinter turned around, and smiled when he saw Leonardo's wife, Hé Nà (aka Lotus.) "Kon'nichiwa, giri no musume-san," Splinter greeted in return. "Where is Leonardo and the boys?"

"Leo did not tell you? He has been offering private lessons to the students. Musashi being one of them," She muttered the last part, "They are downstairs in our family dojo practicing now before class starts," She then giggled, "Lorenzo insisted on helping. He is such a good big brother."

"Oh I see," Splinter frowned a tad disappointed but understood that his son's responsibilities came first. After all, he used to offer private lessons for Leonardo, April, and even Donatello (Though he used to fight him on it). He knew how hard learning ninjutsu could be, and teaching it was no picnic either. While Raphael and Michelangelo took it on so naturally, Leonardo and Donatello did struggle.

Leonardo used to be quite the klutz when he was younger and Donatello would constantly overthink, get too in his head, not trusting his instincts, making himself nervous and unfocused, and it did not help that he used to hate Ninjutsu. Heavens above, how that child hated Ninjutsu, he used to throw a temper tantrum for every training lesson, the same way Raphael used to throw a tantrum for his schooling lessons.

How those days used to drive him crazy but looking back now, he found it rather amusing and he sort of missed it. "Do you want me to tell him you are here?" Hé Nà asked, snapping Splinter back in reality. "No, no. He is obviously busy. I will come by another time."

"Ok then, Zàijiàn-er I mean, Sayōnara!" Hé Nà chuckled at herself and Splinter smiled before turning to leave. As he walked out the door, he looked back on last time to see Hé Nà at the front desk, getting ready to open. He sighed and began to return home. Today may have been unfortunate but at least tomorrow, Raphael will be in town.

...

Tuesday,

Splinter had waited all day for Raphael to come and see him. Leonardo's classes should have ended hours ago but yet, his second son and his five children have not come. He started to worry that something was wrong, so he decided to call him. He stood anxiously as the phone rang, waiting for his son to answer.

"H-Hello?!" Splinter let out a relieved breath upon hearing Raphael's voice on the other line. "Raphael, where are you? I have been waiting for you all day. Are you alright?"

"Leo didn't tell you?!" Raphael voice shouted but not at Splinter, it sounded like he was shouting so Splinter could hear him and indeed, in the background, Splinter could hear a lot of crying, crashing and yelling from his rambunctious grandchildren. It was so loud, he wanted to pull the phone away from his ear but kept it still, as he answered, "No? Tell me what?"

"I can't help out with the dojo this week! Mona took extra shifts on Salamandria, to cover for her friend while she's in recovery! So that puts me on full-on dad duty! CRASH! HEY, what was that?! Thalos, get off your brother right now! Giovanni stop picking fights with him and Irrilia, stop yelling!" Splinter winced as his son scolded his children but honestly, wanted to burst out laughing. Raphael sounded just like him. He remembered how difficult it is to juggle so many children on your own. Someone was always crying, fighting, injured or sick. There was never a moment's peace.

As they say, Karma was a bitch.

However, his moment of amusement was short-lived as he went over what his son had just said and frowned. "So...I suppose I will not be seeing you Saturday either?"

"'fraid not. From what Mona said, she's going to be gone all week! Crash! Boom! "Give it back, Vinny!" "No, It's mine!" I SWEAR TO-! Pop, I'm sorry, I gotta go, I'm about to kill these kids!"

Before Splinter could say anything, his son had already hung up and he sighed, his ears falling to the side of his head. He was disappointed, sure but he knew it was not his son's fault. It was hard raising five children and with Mona taking extra shifts at the military, of course it was harder. He is proud of his son for being such a supportive husband and loving father. He and his son are so much alike, that he often feared Raphael making the same mistakes as he did but likely, he learned from his father's mistakes and put his family first. He found a balance that Splinter did not find until after he lost his wife.

So despite his disappointment, he smiled and put down the phone. He may not see Raphael this week but there was always next week.

...

Wednesday,

"Kon'nichiwa, Murakami-san," Splinter greeted friendly as he walked into Murakami's and the old man, smiled as he always did. "Ah, Splinter-san, good to see you!" Murakami greeted in return, his voice sounding a bit strained. Splinter smile faltered a tad. Though Murakami still remained in high spirits, he was much older now and Splinter wondered just how many years he has left. He worried for his youngest son, knowing he considered Murakami in the highest regard and looked to him as a grandfather-figure. He is certain that out of all of them, he will take Murakami's passing the hardest.

"Shall I get the usual?" Murakami asked and Splinter nodded. "Yes. Please." Murakami nodded and went to the stove as Splinter took a seat at one of the small tables, setting up the chest pieces for when his son arrived.

An hour went by and Splinter was now, picking at his dumplings, which had long since gotten cold as well as Donatello's food, and coffee. He looked at the clock from above the wall and wondered if his son was going to show up. Just then, the door dinged loudly, and Splinter jumped, turning around to see Donatello enter, running to the counter. "Kon'nichiwa, Murakami-san!" He greeted the old chief while panting. "Can you just make me your fastest dish?!"

"Donatello!" Splinter called and Donnie turned, exhaling in relief. "Oh good, this is even better!" He took a seat across from Splinter and basically inhaled the food before chugging down his coffee. Splinter cringed at the sight, never had he seen his second youngest son behave in such a manner. Back in the day, it used to be impossible to get Donatello to eat, he was always so picky and there were times when he would simply forget to eat because he got so lost in his studies. He constantly needed to be reminded of his bodily needs. Now though, he was behaving like Michelangelo, who is always so eager and impatient to eat.

When Donnie slammed down his coffee mug, Splinter tried to make conversation before they started their game, "So how is-" but he got cut off when Donnie shot to his feet and started headed out the door but before he could, Splinter called out, "Donatello!" Donnie skit the a halt and turned to his father, finally giving him his attention. "Where are you going?"

"Sorry, Dad, Bishop, Fugitoid, and I are on this big science breakthrough! I have to get back to TCRI, ASAP!" Donnie said anxiously and Splinter frowned. "What about our game?"

"We'll play some other time!" Donnie waved off, turning to leave again but then stopped. "Oh, there was something I wanted to ask you though!"

"Yes?"

"Can you pick up Jennika from school and watch her for the next couple days. April is taking late nights and like I said, I'm really busy!" Donnie asked and Splinter sighed. "Hai..."

"Thanks!" Donnie said then shot out the door. Splinter shook his head and looked to Murakami. "I will take my lunch to go, Murakami."

...

Sunday,

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday came, and went. Splinter had not seen any of his sons all week long and he had not heard from his daughter either. He heard from Shinigami, that Miwa had been busy with this important mission and just has not had the time. At least, Splinter got to spend time with one of his many grandchildren but Jennika, is much like her father and mostly spent time in her father's old lab until April came to pick her up.

Splinter had been looking forward to Sunday. When Michelangelo cooked them all an amazing dinner and they all ate together as a family like old times. It would certainly make up for the past few days of not seeing his children. He knew that they all had to attend dinner. However, just as Splinter was getting ready to leave, he suddenly got a text from the family group chat.

SmartestTurtleAlive: I was literally about to call you. We couldn't make it to dinner tonight anyway. Hope the girls get better!

NewYorkKunichi: Aw! Poor girls! Hope they get better!

LeaderinBlue: OMG. Musashi and Lorenzo are sick too! I think something's going around! Tell Lita, Frida, and Missy I hope they get better!

PartyAnimal: Dude, seriously?! What are the odds?! I will. Tell the boys I said I hope they get better too!

TurtleWarrior: Man, that sucks! Hope the boys and the girls get better!

LegendaryCaseyJones: Aw, damn! I was looking forward to dinner tonight! Hope the kids get better!

As Splinter read the group chat, it felt like his heart was sinking. Of course, like all his other meetings with his sons, Sunday Dinner would also get canceled. He knew it was not their fault, things in life just happened but seriously, what were the odds for every single one of his children to be too busy to spend time with him.

He did not say that of course, instead he just replied,

TheTrueRatKing: Send the children my love

He then put his cell away and messaged his temples. Next week. There was always next week.

...

June 8th,

Next week turned out to be the same as the week before. Miwa, Leonardo and Donatello were still busy with their jobs. Monalisa still had not returned from the military, meaning Raphael was still busy taking care of his children and somehow, Sunday dinner got canceled again because Michelangelo caught the girls' cold.

It was a tad irritating that Splinter has not been able to see any of his children but at least, next week they will all go to Japan for summer vacation. For three months long, they will all be under the same roof, like they used to be. It was a vacation he looked forward to every year, he even got an early start on packing. Finally, there will be no more excuses, no more of his children getting caught up in their busy lives because their lives will be left behind in New York. There was nothing that could ruin this...or so he thought until he got a text from the group chat again, this time by his daughter.

DeadlySerpent: Hey guys, I know you are all looking forward to coming to Japan but...is it ok if we hold off on it? Things are crazy here right now, and I don't want any of you guys to get caught up in it.

SmartestTurtleAlive: That actually works out great for me! Things are going crazy at TCRI too! I think we might be really on with something!

NewYorkKunoichi: Yeah, I kind of got this big lead on a case, so I'm okay with it.

LeaderinBlue: Works out good for me too. I have a lot of students who are a bit behind and I need to catch them up before they get further behind.

TurtleWarrior: Mona is not back from Salamandria yet and I don't really want to go without her so I'm ok with it too

PartyAnimal: Well, if neither of you guys are going then I don't want to go!

LegendaryCaseyJones: I really wanted to see Angel but like Mike said, I don't want to go by myself either and if things really are crazy over there, then I don't feel comfortable bringing the kids.

LeaderinBlue: So, how long should we hold off on it? Till July?

DeadlySerpent: Yeah, things should calm down by then.

Everyone: Sounds good!

Sounds good? What was happening? Long ago, every family decision could not be made without his approval and he certainly did not approve of this. What 'crazy' things are going on in Japan, that his daughter does not want them involved? Wouldn't she benefit more from having their help? He has also not seen her nor Yoshi and Amai forever, he was looking forward to spending time with them! He had half a mind to reply and forbade his children to cancel this trip but...he could not do such things anymore. His children were adults now and though they still feared, and held him in high respect, he could not force them to go on this trip if they are truly too busy with their own lives.

So, he decided to not reply at all...

...

Father's Day,

Four weeks, it has been four weeks since Splinter has seen any of his children. It was like they had forgotten about him completely. All week long, he wanted to test to see if any of his children would notice he had not been talking to them. He no longer went to the dojo expecting Leonardo to wait for him for their morning meditations, he no longer called Raphael to see if he was coming to spend time with him in the dojo, he no longer went to Murakami's to wait for Donatello, he no longer bothered checking if Michelangelo was going to host his famous Sunday dinners, and he no longer tried to reach out for Miwa to see if she would answer.

However, today, on this very day, he knew his children had to spend time with him or at the very least call, just to talk to him. They had to know what today is, certainly they could not have forgotten. But just like Splinter has been feeling for the past four weeks, he was met with disappointment. It was well past noon and not one of his children wished him a Happy Father's Day.

They had forgotten.

Splinter thought about calling them but thought better of it. He should not have to remind them of today. He should not have to remind them to show him appreciation and honor him on this day! Splinter was not the type to look for gifts or praise, no. Just a simple 'Happy Father's Day', would suffice. Just something to show that he still mattered to them. That all he had done for them was not forgotten and they still needed him.

But perhaps...they do not need him anymore...

...

Meanwhile,

Leo yawned as he walked up the stairs to his condo. It had been a long day at the dojo and he was certainly beat, looking forward to sleep for the rest of the night. However, when he opened the door, his face was shot with confetti, followed by loud yells of, "HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!"

Leo looked to see his two little turtle tots and his wife, standing in front of them with huge grins on their faces, and gifts in their hands. Hé Nà laughed lightly as his shock expression and presented a cake that she no doubt baked. "Happy Father's Day, my lion."

"We made you cards, Chichi!" Lorenzo exclaimed excitedly, waving his as well as Musashi's cards around. Leo smiled warmly as he took the cards. "Aw, thanks you guys, I had forgotten today was-" Leo cut himself off as realization hit him like a storm wave. "Father's Day...Today is Father's Day?!"

"Um, Yes?" Hé Nà said, confused and a tad concerned by her husband's sudden panic. "Sorry, guys! I gotta check something!" Leo said rushly as he handed the cards back to his sons and dashed to his bedroom, grabbing his computer, and quickly longing in to his Zoom chat. Zoom chat was only met for him and his siblings whenever they needed to discuss an emergency, and this certainly was an emergency.

Almost instantly everyone's faces came on the screen and judging by their expressions, they knew exactly why he was going. "Please tell me you guys didn't forget Father's Day too," He pleaded and everyone gave guilty expressions.

"I...just remembered after the kids said it to me at dinner," Raph cringed. "Same," Donnie added. "Ditto," Mikey mumbled. "Shinigami just told me," Miwa said.

"Are you guys serious?! You all forgot?!"

"Hey! You forgot too! You're supposed to remind us!" Raph said defensively. "What am I, the family calendar?!" Leo snapped back then groaned as he ran his hands down his face. "Father is going to kill us! We are the worst kids ever!"

"Well, he is especially going to be mad at me considering I haven't been able to make it to our lunches these past few weeks," Donnie murmured and Leo sat up straight. "You haven't?"

"No, I've been too busy at the lab," Donnie explained shortly. "I haven't been able to see him either. Since I've been offering private lessons," Leo said.

"Me either," Raph added. "I've been busy with the kids. Mona literally just came back yesterday."

"I haven't seen him either...I had to cancel Sunday dinners because A, we were sick and B because most of you guys weren't coming anyway!" Mikey exclaimed as Miwa bit her lower lip. "I haven't been able to call him to check in either. I've been so busy with this mission I haven't gotten around to it." Leo's eyes went wide. "So...let me get this straight, for the past few weeks we have all been ignoring our father and on top of that, we all forget today is Father's Day?!"

Everyone went silent, their expressions full of horror and regret. Finally Miwa sighed, voicing what everyone was thinking, "We are so screwed."

...

Later,

As soon as they realized that they had forgotten Father's Day, the Hamato Siblings immediately took action. Leo and Donnie went to mutable stores to find the perfect gift while Mikey was cooking their father's favorite dish! Once everything was done, they waited for Raph to come from North Hampton while Miwa, asking a favor from Bishop and had him portal her from Japan to New York. Once they were all together, they rushed to the lair as fast as they could, praying that they weren't too late.

Meanwhile, Splinter was flipping through the channels on the TV, carelessly. Channel after channel, nothing seemed to please him. Perhaps if he was more focused on the screen he would find something he liked but though his eyes were on the screen, his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly, his ears perked, and he heard the sounds of whispering and hissing coming toward the lair. He did not need to see to know who it was, he knew exactly, unlike his children, never could he forget them.

He shut off the TV and stood with his arms crossed, facing the entrance just when his children came through. They all had sheepish, and guilty expressions on their faces. He was surprised to see Miwa with them but tried to stay firm.

"Uh, Happy Father's Day, Dad!" Leo smiled meekly but Splinter's ears pulled back, his tail wagging furiously behind him. The siblings all looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

"HA! We totally got you Papa! You thought we forgot Father's Day!" Mikey tried and his siblings played along. "Yep! totally got ya!" Raph grinned. "You should see your face!" Donnie laughed but Splinter's deep scowl remained, making their force laughs and smiles slowly die.

"You're not buying any of this, are you?" Miwa said flatly. "Nope," Splinter finally replied bluntly and he turned away from them, heading toward the dojo. The siblings exchanged looks before quickly running after him. "Father, we are so sorry," Leo apologized but Splinter ignored him as he went to sit in his meditation position.

"Papa~!" Mikey sang as he presented him a baked cake with a frosted drawing of him on it. "I made you double layer cheesecake, your favorite," Mikey grinned but it fell when Splinter closed his eyes. "If you all will excuse me, I must begin my evening meditation."

"Come on, Pop, don't be mad!" Raph tried to reason. "I am not mad. I understand. It is fine, I know you all have been busy," Splinter tried to dismiss them but none of them were buying it. "It isn't fine," Donnie frowned. "Dad...we didn't realize that we've all been ignoring you these past few weeks."

"And on top of that, we forgot Father's Day," Miwa said scratching her arm.

"We got so caught up in our own lives, that I guess it just slipped our minds," Leo added. "Which isn't an excuse! We appreciate all that you've done for us, what you still do for us and when it is our time to return the favor...we came empty handed."

"We're sorry, Papa. Really, really sorry!" Mikey pleaded and finally Splinter opened his eyes to look at his children. "I mean what I say, I am not mad. Disappointed? Yes but as I said, I understand. It is just the nature of things. You all are grown up and you are all at that time when you need me less and less...eventually, you will not need me at all."

"We're always going to need you, Pop!" Raph insisted. "Sure, we might not need you to tie our masks on, kiss our boo-boos or tell us bedtime stories anymore but we still need you in other ways. Like, whenever I'm at my loss with Gio or any of the other kids, you're the first person I call for advice!"

"And whenever I am close to a mental breakdown because I overload myself with work, you always know how to calm me down and remind me to take care of myself," Donnie said with a soft smile that Splinter returned. "When I wonder if I will ever be as good of a sensei as you, you always remind me not to be too hard on myself and that I don't always have to do things exactly like you did," Leo said afterwards.

"OH! And whenever I am feeling a little down, you always find a way to cheer me up!" Mikey piped. Splinter smiled at his sons then his eyes went to his daughter as she slowly took a seat next to him and put her hand on top of his. "You have always been my biggest supporter and...whenever I'm scared, you are one of the few people who make me feel safe..."

Splinter wrapped her in a tight hug and exhaled as he pulled away, looking at all his children. "Thank you all."

"No, thank you, Father," Leo said sternly as they all sat around him. "We promise we will make this up to you. I'll move my private lessons to Tuesdays, that way you and I can have our mornings together."

"Mona is back now, so we can definitely have our spar sessions this week," Raph grinned. "And I'll pull myself away from the lab to have our lunches. Bishop, Fugitoid, and April have been on me about taking my breaks anyway," Donnie said with an embarrassed chuckle.

" Next Sunday, I'll make a big feast, and invite all our friends! That way you can see everyone and even if most people don't come, I'll still make it!" Mikey beamed.

"And...maybe I was a bit too quick to cancel your guys' visit," Miwa said, a little ashamed. "I could probably use your guys help with this mission anyway. So, you think you guys will be able to come next week? I know Shinigami and the twins are dying to see you."

"I think we can make that happen. After Mikey's 'feast', we'll book the first flight," Leo said. "Or even better, we could ask Bishop to portal us there, like how he portal you here," Donnie suggested and Raph, who was already looking sick by the mere mention of flying, nodded in agreement. "Good idea...I hate flying."

"What do you say, Father? Sounds like a plan?" Miwa asked with a smirk which Splinter returned. "Sounds like a plan." All his children gave hopeful smiles and before he knew it, he was tackled in a group hug, making them all laugh.

...

In the next week that followed, his children all held true to their word. He was able to have his Monday mornings with Leonardo and even allowed him to stay a while longer to help out with his classes. He was able to see Raphael Tuesday and Saturday for their sparring sessions, they fought until they were both panting in sweat then afterwards they talked and even painted together. Wednesday, Donatello made sure to be on time for their lunch and while they played chest, he told him all about this breakthrough that he and his team have been working on. (Though Splinter could not understand even half of it). And Sunday, Michelangelo was not kidding when he said he would make a feast. There was so much food they had to eat out in the backyard so there was enough room and everyone was there, all his friends and family.

Then later that night, Bishop portaled them to Japan, where his daughter and her family were waiting for them. Though they all had to help Miwa with her mission, she also made it a priority that they all have family time together. They all went to a grand festival together, played games, Splinter got to spend quality time with her as well as his grandchildren, and she made sure that he as well her brothers all had time to visit Splinter's parents' and Tang Shen's graves.

Splinter could safely say it was the best Summer of his life. He was truly lucky. Most children would not go through half this trouble. They all did everything they could to make things up to him and make him feel special, and they all swore never to forget about him again which they honored.

So, was it a Happy Father's Day? He believes so. What do you think? 

TMNT Next Generation!!!

[plasma-studios]

Miracle Child (ao3: x)

Chapter 2: the aftermath of almost-tragedy

White was the colour of mourning. It was another one of the nameless traditions associated with grief; as if grief had rules to follow, as if to mourn was just another duty. And for the royalty, it was even more so.

The Princess had not been loved by all the populace. Not everyone had the time to fawn over a girl, and not everyone had the ability to come to the christening. What use was there in praise for a girl quite a stranger? Ambivalence would be the kindest outcome.

But then the christening brought strange stories. 

A man of the moon stealing the babe away. The King having made a deal with some inhuman creature for the girl. The Princess having been a changeling, made beautiful by glamour. Some said that the Princess had been born by Fae magic, not the Queen’s womb. That the reward after seventeen years of toil was won out of trickery, not will.

And together, the rumours brought the worst thing that could happen to royalty. They brought shame. 

Now, of course the commonfolk knew of the Fae. Foolish men would barge into the forests known to be Fae-inhabited for glory and power, and desperate women had sought out Fairy circles on more than one occasion. 

It was not too infrequent that a girl or two would show up with jewel-encrusted shoes otherwise unretrievable from the countryside, or a boy to procure some axe that would never get blunt. But countless more had been lost to the Fae in their pursuit.  It was foolish to risk such a thing for a wish or two; even the rare successes were greeted with stony envy, if not disapproval. 

There had been villages razed to the ground for one of their members having offended a Fae in their search, after all. 

So the rumours of the royalty were certainly unpopular— and did nothing for their reputation.

It was to no one’s surprise, then, that there was a funeral held for the Princess not too long after. The girl, it was said, had gone missing. Gone missing the same way undesirable children disappeared from the sight of the public, gone missing the same way royals that damaged the family name beyond repair were exiled to mountains far beyond their walls. 

Such a fate was as good as death. 

So the King and Queen dressed in their purest hues, and the child that had once been so loved was as good as dead to the Kingdom. *** The girl awoke once they broached the borders. Dream felt the weight in his arms shifting, and made to adjust her so she would not tumble right out.

Her white eyes were blinking up at him. Clear and curious, but not quite intent; they were shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Drool was collecting in the corner of her mouth, like a spool of thread. Her eyes were curious, but not quite lucid; ah, a child exhausted was no sweet thing, even if they had just awoken. 

“Mira,” He mused. The shape of the name was wrong, a hollow thing. 

She did not so much as flinch. It was evidently not her True Name. She did make a soft noise, but it could have just been the tail-end of a breath. 

Her hair was coming in. Not a lot, barely any at all, but faint baby hairs were growing in the same shade as her eyes. The same white, or perhaps silver. The iridescent sheen marked her as a child born from a Life Flower. Though she was flesh and blood, wholly human, he was curious if there was any magic left over from the fruit. 

“Shh. Go back to sleep.” She did not seem very excited to fall back asleep. “Sleep, Mira.”

In a few blinks, she was out cold. The command did work, the heat in his throat only gave proof to it, but the name was no more effective than if he’d spoken any other word. No more effective than any other thrall.

“Stars, Blue, you owe me for this.”

It would be easy enough to deny the curse with an enchantment to keep her young forever. But perhaps an infant would be too much trouble. He’d rather have her a little older to save the hassle of raising a babe that could perish so easily. 

Surely, at the very least, a girl slightly older would be a little less fragile. 

Dream touched her cheek. She was still out cold, even if it’d taken a few more seconds to put her back to sleep. 

“If I’m going to call you by a false name,” He mused. “Might as well be a nicer one.”

He traced his fingers along the edge of her jaw, pondering it. “Mira,” he repeated softly, testing the false name. What other names had he heard of her? Miracle child. Beloved daughter. Oh, and little light? He made a considering sound. My little light. The full address came to him, and he pondered it over.

“How about Lux?” He poked her cheek, and she predictably stirred. “Little light. Is that agreeable?”

She let out the tiniest snore. Dream hummed, the half-formed notes of siren song lingering warmly in his throat. Mortal children were much too fragile. Ink had sent a letter detailing all the ways a mortal infant could pass, and goodness, Dream was sorely tempted to turn Lux Fae just so he would not have to worry about any of it. It would not be too difficult. If her soul withstood the fire, it would be easy enough to mould the melting soul-flesh it into the shape of a Fae’s. If she didn’t, she would die. Done and done, with no room or reason for worry. 

But alas, it would be troublesome to return a Fae-turned child to a mortal mother; away from the magic-imbued Fae lands, she would likely die, or have to return to his Court anyway. It would be much less hassle to just keep her alive as a human for the next seventeen years. 

Or course, it would also be much less hassle if he just let her die now.

But Nightmare had wanted tragedy to befall them, and it would be better if he at least tried to prevent that. Perhaps Nightmare would be even the slightest bit satisfied by their grief. And seventeen years was a small price to pay to deny him it all.  *** Nightmare stormed up the steps of his palace. His footsteps left the ice cracking. 

Frost crept outward from his boots, trailing behind him like the afterfrost of a winter storm. The cold air was rising higher and higher, stirring violently in his wake. The mountain was completely quiet. No Fae would be so foolish as to cross the path of a furious Ruler. Even his own Fae were retreating into the deepest crevices of his Court. How dare they? The ward was meant to be his child. He could still remember the desperation of the mortal King, set into his face like cracks in brittle stone. His voice had trembled so greatly, more man than King, eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. He ought to have frozen him on the spot. Even if he’d been on the very borders between Spring and Winter— he ought to have lured him just a few steps off the path, then frozen him solid for the hubris. At least then an ice statue would make for decent decoration.

But he’d seen the desperation for a child, for a family. And he’d remembered the centuries long, long before his first collected soul; when there had still been so few Fae in the early beginnings of time, when he’d grown tired of seeing no one’s face but his own in the shimmering ice.

And it had been a fair deal. He wanted for a child too, did he not? All the mortals that came traipsing through Winter were always so brash and rude, most quite foolish and stupid, so rare was it that a mortal even half-worthy would be chanced upon. Even fewer were those who had survived their souls freezing over. 

In fact, there had been almost none claimed in the last few centuries. The number of new ice statues that littered Winter were perhaps a hundredfold that. 

He rolled his eyes. The amount of mortals that came seeking power, thinking themselves to be gods among men, only to be ensnared by the simplest trick and taken by the cold was innumerable; surely, by now, they would’ve learnt their lesson. He had watched them approach with bravado, their laughter echoing through the icy air, only to see that bravado falter as the frost seeped into their bones.

But men were always fools first. And he was getting bored of trophies. He’d wanted for something to break the monotony, and a child full of life and promise had seemed like the perfect remedy.

It had been a deal fairer than the rest. He had not laced it with his usual provisions; a child, for a child. How could it be any fairer? He had a room ready for the Princess, stories to put her to sleep, and the softest furs ready for her comfort. 

But by their own fallibility, they had lost their own child, and now they sought to claim his own? The frost crept up the walls.

He let out a quiet sigh, and dissolved the frost. 

The ice trickled away, and true enough, Killer was right there. He leaned against the side of the doorway with his usual casual air, though he did not approach. For all his usual audaciousness, he knew when to be cautious. 

“Approach.” He would not have another one of his own retreating from him as well. 

Killer did approach. "You’re upset," He said in a low amused drawl. Restrained, for him. Still wary, then. He took his usual place to the right of Nightmare’s throne, lazing on the steps to it.

Nightmare reached out to touch Killer’s cheek, the viscous hate gently dripping onto his palm. Though he didn’t have pupils, it was fairly obvious that Killer’s attention was on him. Good.

“They refuse me,” He said softly. Delicately. “They think they can take what’s mine.”

His thumb traced the line of Killer’s jaw. Killer didn’t flinch, but he was completely still. 

“Killer.”’

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. 

“Yes, Boss?” He grinned. Good enough. He gently stroked his cheek.

“They took her. They would steal from me, Killer.”

Killer let out a laugh. He stretched out further on the steps, arms lazily draped behind his head. “Stupid, aren’t they?” He drawled. He reached up, and grazed Nightmare’s palm on his cheek. “Why waste your time on them? Honestly, I’m surprised you bothered to go.”

“I’m very angry, Killer.”

His grin stretched out. “I know. But it’s not worth it, is it? You could freeze them with a flick of your wrist. Why not let me handle it? I haven’t had fun in so long.”

His lips curled into a hint of a smile. Ah, Killer was always so skilled at making him fondly irritated. “You had a hunt a week ago. And no. I’ll handle them myself.”

“Come on, Boss. It’ll be fun!”

“No, Killer.” 

He leaned in, just as he let go.

“Why not?”

“How long,” He quietly said. “Would the horror of a statue last?” 

Killer cocked his head to the side. “Not nearly long enough, huh?”

 They’re not just some stragglers that got unlucky. Nightmare’s gaze darkened. No escape for them, not even madness. Let them feel the full height of their stupidity with painfully lucid heads.

“I will find a way to my child,” He said slowly, “And it will be my pleasure to make it hell for the two stupid souls who thought trying to trick me was a decision that would end well for them.”

The thick frost was dripping on the walls.

Killer was quiet, once again.

“Why?”

He looked back to him. “Why what?”

“Why bother? What’s the child to you?”  

Nightmare opened his mouth. Then, he slowly scanned Killer.

“I’m curious, Killer. I ought to be angry. But you, oh, I don’t see why you’d be angry. And I don’t think you’re so loyal that you’d get angry on behalf of me.”

Killer’s grin was gone now.

"I don’t see how she’s worth it, Boss. She’s not even Fae. There’s dozens of brats running around you could pick up with ten times less fuss." A sharp gust of wind sliced through the room. Nightmare rolled his eyes. 

“Did I make a deal for all of them?”

He shrugged. “It’d be half the effort. Especially since your brother’s made a counterdeal.”

Killer’s casual arrogance was met with a long, chilling silence.

Nightmare’s lips curled up into something far from amused. The temperature in the room plummeted, and for the first time in ages, Killer felt the bite of the frost edging into his bone.

“You forget your place.”

Killer let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe. But I remember how we first met, and I don’t think you took me in because I was docile and pliant.”

Killer had been his first soul taken in as his. The first soul of his collection. Before Dust, even before Horror. Even after all this time, he was the same insolent soul.

He looked at him, and let out a long sigh. 

“Are you worried?”

“Who’s worried?” He got up from the steps. 

“You have a reason, you always do,” Nightmare said plainly. “Spit it out. What’s bothering you?”

The quiet footsteps of the other retreating were not so quiet in the otherwise silence. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Boss.”

The ice on the walls slowly began to recede.

"Don’t play games with me, Killer."

Killer shrugged. “I would do anything for you, Nightmare. I’ll just complain every step of the way.”

Nightmare made no move to stop the ice from melting, made no move to block off the doorway slowly forming. 

“Tell Horror and Dust to come out of hiding. It’s unbecoming.”

Killer let out a snort. Then he was through, and the ice quickly formed back over.

Nightmare stood in the dimly lit chamber, the cold light of the moon filtering through the ice. He let out a quiet sigh.

Outside, the storm abruptly ceased.

[cruel-heathcliff]

what if you celebrated by telling us about your favorite cards and how they work? or your favorite strategies to use when playing :) ?

okay so . i mean obviously i have a few favorite cards

my three winters obviously . i actually dont have the last one yet as im waiting for a friend of mind to bring it up to complete a trade he and i did last week ... but the other two i have .

the middle on though ? cynical opportunist in golgari ? that was my first ever magic deck after getting back into playing seriously . back in 2021 red dabbled a bit in the game mainly just collecting cards - not so much playing - so ive a lot of left over information from that time period .

any road that deck was a precon from duskmourn obviously its whole thing is self mill - which for those who dont know magic mill is a mechanic where a player takes the top card of their library and puts it directly into their graveyard - this differs from discard as that is from the players hand !!! any road winters ability in that card allows one to exile ( remove card from your graveyard and put them into a ( usually) unplayable state ) four different TYPES of cards from your graveyard and then return a permanent from the cards you chose to the battle field for free with a finality counter on it . finality means when it is destroyed instead of going to the graveyard it goes into exile . basically its meant to keep you from pulling the same card out of your graveyard over and over again . that is the main goal of the deck - use cards to mill your own library to start exiling said graveyard to cheat out large mana cost permanents without paying said cost . its a ton of fun .

i have cards such as these to help with mill in this deck :

the two creatures - the overlord of the balemurk and six both allow for more ways to retrieve things from my graveyard or interrupt things like lands i dont want in my graveyard from hitting by putting them into my hand . balemurk - while i still have to actually cast the creatures - is very reliable at at least getting the few low mana cost creatures i want out of my graveyard and onto the field too -- my personal favorite being this piece of shite

i love this thing . i just fuckin explode things . AND I CAN JUST KEEP GETTING IT OUT OF MY GRAVEYARD WITH OVERLORD OF THE BALEMURK . ITS SO FUN . PEOPLE LIVE MY MITE

AND THIS AND CRAWLING SENSATION LEADS ME INTO THR MASSIVE BUG THEME IN THIS DECK !!! the precon came with a lot of token creature generation but it was so all over the place with bird tokens and elemental tokens and demon tokens ... when it comes with a fucking planeswalker who ' s uptick +1 ability CREATES INSECT TOKENS so i heavy leaned into making a ton of insect creature tokens + using a lot of insect creatures in general to activate the abilities of the aforementioned planewalkers

literally theres so many bugs in my graveyard its crazy . augh im out of pictures but I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE THANKS

[finalmere]

WHEN: Late evening

WHERE: Harborside, the beach

WHO: Meredith & Ashton (@ashton-taylor-murphy)

WHAT: Ashton think's she's being haunted and drunkenly escapes to the beach. Meredith, escaping similar things, runs into her.

WARNINGS: Grief

The sand was wet, water licking at her toes in a rhythm. The sea could be gentle at times. It was nights like this that Ashton enjoyed a moonlit walk to think and reminisce. It was beautiful, and a muse could appreciate that. Ashton liked it because if she looked out at the waves and focused on the beat of the water, she could hear Margot’s voice swirling around in her head. If only for a moment, things were right, but that moment didn't last. The angelic laughter in her mind always turned into a haunting accusation. It was her fault; that's how she felt about it. 

Usually, she was here in this place with only her thoughts. No one ever bothered her at night. Maybe it was the overabundance of the fae or other creatures that lurked in the shadows; maybe Ashton should fear them too, but she didn't. Ashton Murphy was content to lay on the sand, letting the salty breeze lick her wounds. Ashton wiped away her tears. The life she lived in her prison of exile was lonely and excruciating, but that's what she chose, what she deserved.

That self-sentenced punishment was what had Ashton lying in the sand with an empty bottle soaked to the bone and shivering. “You just fucking left!” ashton sat up and pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt's breast pocket. It was a poem, something about love and loss and the emotional wreck she was. Ashton stuffed it in the bottle and corked it tight before hurling it into the water. Ashton realized she wasn't alone, fuck, this was going to get interesting. The muse pleaded with her emotions to try and compose herself. 

“It's a little late to be —” Ashton sensed it, talent and potential and creativity, “—that makes sense.” Ashton wiped her tears with her sleeve. “still late to be alone out here.”

Being alone was something Meredith was trying to better acquaint herself with in her adulthood.  Growing up, she always had someone.  Her sister was her constant companion, and that was just the way she liked it.  She was happy now to see Mallory off living her life happy and free,  but a part of her longed for their childhood spent running down the beach.  It’s where she sat now, watching the waves as they crashed loudly over the rocky shore.  The monotonous sound was soothing to her, it was familiar, nostalgic.  It was why she came that night, to hear the water ebb and flow.  She needed the familiarity to keep her from spiraling into the unknown.  She felt like she was going crazy.  Maybe it was stupid to be out late, alone.  Whatever that thing was that had picked off her friends one by one was still out there.  Meredith had wounded it, she thought, but it wasn’t dead.  She feared it was on the hunt, she feared it had unfinished business.  She was completely vulnerable out here in the open, and yet it was one of the only places she felt sort of safe.

Meredith walked towards the water and let it encircle her ankles.  She closed her eyes, her arms crossed as she took a few deep breaths and just focused on the feeling of the frigid sea against her skin.  She debated running into it at full speed so she could feel the cold all around her, but she decided against it.  After a few minutes she pulled back and slid her sandals back on her feet.  She huffed, turning to make her way back down the shore.  She supposed she couldn’t stay out here all night, though back home was just more emptiness- more alone.

She thought she heard someone.  That same fear crept up in her throat.  The fear that came out as screams back in the woods.  Her hand felt for the jackknife that was now kept in her pocket- a token from her father after the attack.  She wasn’t sure how much good it would do and she wasn’t sure he was either, but she thought it made him feel good to give it to her, like he was doing something.  And Mere needed it too- the feeling that maybe she could defend herself if she needed to.  

Luckily there was no ghost or monster lurking on the beach.  It was a woman sitting on the sand.  “What?”  She didn’t look familiar, but she almost looked at Meredith like she recognized her.  It was a weird feeling.  “Yeah, I guess so.  I suppose I could say the same to you.  This isn’t like, the weird villain speech you give before you murder me, right?”

Ashton was sheets to the wind after her bouts with a furious ghost and her lack of sleep. It was easy to drown it all at the bottom of a bottle and let the water wash away the sins, “I think villains are a little more composed than this. You are safe for now, but it is late. There are dangers.” Ashton could be dangerous, not intentionally, but passively. There was no question about the dangers of a muse, especially when Ashton could sense the woman's creative potential. No, the muse would not reveal herself as the bad one now. Honestly, the idea of anything that didn’t resemble some penance was out of the question. This was Ashton’s moment to reflect on the weight of her guilt. 

“I’m not going to hurt you tonight.” Ashton put it plainly. Maybe eventually, there would be a need to take, but Ashton wasn’t in the habit of taking food by force. She’d have a choice in it, and that was that. They hardly ever said no, but the choice cleared Ashton’s conscience of wrongdoings.

“I’m safe here; my house is there, but I won’t return tonight. I’m going to sleep here.” Ashton smiled into the darkness as the waves came in. It was peaceful out here. That feeling was hard to come by lately. Ashton had forgotten it could be felt tangibly. 

“I’m out here because life fucking sucks, but you probably gathered that. Why are you out here?” Ashton drew her knees into her chest and shivered against the damp cold seeping through her clothes. This emptiness is what she deserved.

Meredith prided herself on having “a good head on her shoulders”.  That’s the way her dad phrased it.  She’d always rolled her eyes but she secretly reveled in the truth of it.  She let petty comments roll off her back like beads of ocean water.  She was practical and resourceful.  She saw the world clearly yet maintained a sense of creativity and wonder.  But she hadn’t felt this way of late.  She’d felt for weeks like her mind was not her own.  She flinched in the darkness and second guessed everything that was said to her.  And so, she wasn’t overly fond of the way the woman said “for now”.  She wasn’t fond of the way she said anything for that matter.  A year ago it wouldn’t have bothered her.  She’d chalk it up as a crazy lady on the beach who had one drink too many and got cryptic at night.  Now she wondered if this wasn’t some trick or taunt.  “I know plenty about dangers,” she replied, an unknowing lie.  

“Well gee, thanks,” Meredith kicked a rock and watched it skid across the sand towards the water.  She avoided sitting down next to the stranger, her eyes bouncing back and forth between her and the shoreline.  “I’ve slept a few times on this beach.  Never alone.” Meredith recalled the “camping” trips she’d take with her sister, her parents trailing not far behind but giving them the illusion of independence.  

 “Life fucking sucks,” she answered with a shrug.  She paused for a moment, the heaviness of it all weighing on her.  “This is where I come to clear my head.  It’s been uh- foggy lately.”

The haze was natural for Ashton. Sometimes, it felt like she lived outside of her body, looking down at the fragmented life that remained in the wake of all her losses. There were many listed—in order of most traumatic—in her little black book; all the creativity and beauty left in the wake made the tragedy worth it, or at least that thought was her twisted justification. 

She was here to avoid the sins of her past. There were lingering consequences clawing out of buried graves, consequences more significant than the guilt she was already accustomed to maintaining. “I had to get out of the house.” mainly because Margot was there, and Ashton could not take any more of the guilt her spirit was throwing in her face. 

“Are you a writer? A singer? Maybe an artist?” Ashton knew something was lurking in the woman, an essence of creativity she could feel in their proximity. 

“I am a writer; I used to write poetry,” she still did, but she couldn't quite unscramble the emotion from the words because There was too much emotion and not enough words. Ashton felt like screaming into the void across the cresting waves and drowning while she waited for the echoes to return.

“Do you know what a muse is?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Meredith responded, and she did.  Her apartment haunted her.  Stevie’s room sat empty across the living room.  She kept the door ajar to let the cat come and go.  Every once and awhile when she walked past she caught a glimpse of the few remnants that remained after her family had come to clean it out.  A bit of glitter on the floor, a mirror still hung on the wall with a picture of the two of them stuck in the frame.  It didn’t get easier seeing the room hollowed out, sometimes she just needed to escape.  

The question caught her a bit off guard.  Perhaps it was the flecks of paint permanently stained on her fingernails, or maybe she had a stain on her somewhere.  “Does the brooding by the sea in the middle of the night give it away?”  She allowed herself to show a small smile.  “An artist.  I paint, mostly.  But I’ve been experimenting with digital art more lately.”  She explained, though she wasn’t quite sure why she delved into more detail than necessary.  Maybe it was the ocean, maybe it was the bit of wine that still lingered in her system.  “You don’t anymore?”  She probably shouldn’t pry into the life of a drunk stranger on the beach but a part of her needed the conversation, to get out of her own head if only for a few fleeting minutes.

“Like…Greek mythology?  ‘Goddesses of the arts and proclaimers of heroes’, muses?” 

Ashton nodded, “bad shit happened in there. My wife died and I don’t think she left. Do you believe in ghosts? I didn’t but I do now.” Ashton let the tears fall freely then. She cried because it was her fault and the guilt was hers alone. It eroded her exterior and bared her insides to the world. The manicured armor she carefully strapped into place crumbled beneath the weight of it all. 

“What gives it away is nothing you have any control of. I can sense the creativity in you, taste it practically when you’re this close.” Ashton drew her gaze away from the water to study the woman more closely, “I write some, nothing good, there’s too much emotion and not enough words to let it all out.”

She tossed her head back in laughter, laughing and crying was perfectly doable together. It was just intensity and Ashton was usually good at being  tense. 

“Did,” Ashton giggled, “just quote the beginning of the Disney animated Hercules? Close, but I’m actually Irish. A muse is a type of being who inspires art and feeds on creativity. There’s a small price, like all things come at a price. If I feed on you, you will be inspired to create truly breathtaking art.”

Ghosts…Meredith hadn’t believed in them either.  She’d always assumed most ghost stories were fake or weird coincidences, but her night in the cabin had changed all that.  Maybe it was a ghost, maybe it was something worse.  Either way, she wasn’t sure what she believed now.  “I’m so sorry,” was all she answered, unsure of exactly how to respond.  

Her head turned to mean the woman’s gaze.  She had an odd way of speaking, she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or just who she was.  Part of it was alluring and interesting- another part sent a chill up Meredith’s spine.  “Well, I guess it’s good I give off artistic energy.  There are worse vibes I could exude.”  She smiled, an attempt at lightening the mood.  “I’m sure you’re better than you think.  Part of art is failing.  There’s been a lot of projects I’ve scrapped.  But, I get what you mean.  Sometimes it feels impossible to get it right.”

A nervous laugh escaped Mere’s lips as the other woman cackled in the sand.  “Yeah, it’s a great movie,” she said with a serious smile.  Her ear’s listened intently as the blonde explained exactly what she meant.  Her eyebrows furrowed, was she serious?

“I’m sorry…feed?”  She had a weird feeling- it brought her back to the woods.  She felt herself scooting back a little on the sand as anxiety tingled in her fingertips and made her heart thump.  “You’re saying you’ll make me a better artist and I’ll what…bake you a lasagna?” 

“Sorry, everyone is sorry. My trauma doesn't really care one way or another. I can drown in it without you being sorry for it. The sentiment is nice, though. Thank you for it. I'm sorry for you too. Everyone has endured something worth being sorry for. Trauma is a common denominator in this neck of the woods.” The girl continued, Ashton listened. She was creative, the muse could feel it. She, however, found the idea of taking from her repulsive. “Fucking unfair, the way it works. You seem sweet, do you want to hear a few lines?” Ashton looked up at her with a half smile drowning in tear streaks. She was sweet too, dripping with creativity and raw talent. Ashton wanted s taste terribly.

“It is. I'm not Greek. I'm half-Irish on my mother’s side. Sidhe, a name we are called there. I don't know all the history. My mum only taught so much. Fae, you probably recognize that word. With them being all the rage in fantasy novels. There's a lot of different kinds.” Ashton’s words were slow and slurred with the alcohol. She had consumed much to drown out the fucking Cranberries. 

“A muse takes life force. I wouldn't take anything you didn't offer me. I can give you the inspiration to achieve great fame for your art or whatever piece you are working on. It's not a bad deal in small doses. I advise you tell me to fuck off. It's not worth it in the end. You just lose everything you love most.”

Ashton spoke from the heart. She fucked up a lot of meals that way. She couldn't feed on the ones who reflected her pity. The people who saw her breaking, a Morton of her guilt and shame. “I like pasta.”

The woman’s words made Meredith immediately regret her own.  She related to the sentiment- she’d heard so much apologizing lately, it got her nowhere.  She didn’t know what to say anymore when people said it, she knew they were just trying to be nice, just trying to show they care, just as she was to this stranger on the beach.  But she was right, Meredith was drowning and it didn’t matter how sorry people were for it.  So she kept her lips tight and didn’t say anything further, just let her eyes watch the shoreline and listened to the beat of the waves against the sand.  

“Sure,” she tried to smile, looking back at the other, wondering if her poetry would be any good or just strings of drunken ramblings.  She wouldn’t judge either way, she had canvases collecting dust in her apartment that were nothing more than smears and smatters of color.  She got a bit messy when she’d been drinking or crying or both.  

Meredith was less understanding of the next few things that came out of the woman’s mouth.  She listened intently, but she couldn’t ignore that feeling- it was still there.  It hadn’t completely left her since the cabin but sometimes it was stronger.  This was one of those times.  She instinctively looked around, her eyes scanning the darkness for anything out of the ordinary.  She couldn’t make sense of it, everything the other was saying.  She was drunk- that was all.  She was intoxicated and grieving and talking nonsense, but something about it still left her on edge.  “So, you’re saying you’re some sort of Irish faerie who can drain my life force in exchange for…creative inspiration?” she repeated back.  Any other time, perhaps she’d laugh.  She’d chuckle at the notion and move on.  Lately she hadn’t been in much of a joking mood.  “Alright.  You know, I think maybe I should get going.”  Meredith lifted herself off the sand.  “And you- you seem like you could use some sleep.  Maybe in a bed?  I know, your ghost.  Maybe the Five Tides has a room.  It’s gotta be better than this.” She shook her head, taking a few steps back away from the stranger.  Her heels shifted in the sand and she turned away from the shoreline, her head spinning despite being completely sober, something she couldn’t say for her evening companion.  “Goodnight,” she called behind her as headed off in the direction of her apartment.

[bloodofthefates]

x. “You know I’m always here for you, right?” (elain for nesta!) from @homebehind

The soft melodic voice was familiar, yet the words they carried felt as foreign as the sentiment behind them. Nesta remained still as stone, caught in the crosshairs of a contemplative moment and finding any reason to excuse herself from her sister’s company, from the very room itself and away from Elain’s  pitying gaze. It was the same look that had been in Feyre’s eyes at the river house, the same defeat stitched together with hopelessness at the downfall and subsequent spiral of their eldest sister though the words they used remained vastly different. With a sudden jolt of movement, Nesta closed the leatherbound volume she’d had splayed across her lap with the brush of pages the only sound as she palmed the cover willing the worlds she so often escaped to of fictions and fantasy to give her power in the moment. She hadn’t yet turned to face Elain, to deign to acknowledge her entry into the sanctity of her quiet solace in the  House of Wind’s  library beyond the shift of her steely gaze to her periphery, not unlike a cornered or caged creature losing its territory but refusing to concede. Nesta set the book aside on the table tucked in next to the plush arm of the oversized reading chair she’d coiled herself upon with her legs tucked beneath her; the same way she’d done as a little girl resulting in only reprimands from their mother and grandmother for her very unladylike posture. If she didn’t possess the right poise and silhouette, then no suitor and certainly no husband would want her. Nesta cleared her throat at last, chasing away the echoes of human memories she couldn’t help but wonder if they too would fade away over time, over decades and centuries as the High Fae marked the passing of age. There were many things Nesta missed being human, but there were troves of closeted skeletons she wanted to leave behind to never look back on again. She pushed herself to the edge of the chair that dwarfed her in size, feet slipping out from under her to gracefully meet the floor and she half-turned in her seat to finally face Elain standing before her head-on. There was the same angry feral part of her that wanted to rail against dear sweet Elain, to combat the kindness she’d clearly come so selflessly to offer but the part of her that didn’t want it consumed her just as it had in Rhysand’s office with everyone watching her when she’d been exiled and shipped off to the House of Wind in the first place. She didn’t want anything from Feyre, her help or her pity and now she’d sent Elain in her stead in hopes of what? Getting through to her so she would cater to her little inner circle and remain under her High Lord’s commanding thumb? Nesta felt the bile of emotions rise up in her throat, heating her skin with the residual fury that was never far beneath the surface but as her glare narrowed in on Elain as her target she suddenly expelled a singular exhausted breath. All the first in her eyes and fight in the tension of her muscles went out of her and offered nothing more than a practiced and produced polite ghost of a smile. “I know…” Was all she said, voice hoarse and rasping from the control she exerted to keep herself as calm and collected in the moment as she could until the storm within her chest was doused and Elain left her again to her own solitude. Elain was there for her in all the ways Nesta felt she had failed her before, had failed both her sisters and the sting of those words unspoken were the ones that cut her the deepest.

[the-single-element]

Good morning. Did you sleep well? If not, try to fit in a nap today. It's Sunday, after all.

...and not just any Sunday. We're officially halfway through Lent, which makes this one of the two pink (technically "rose") Sundays in the Church calendar, where the hope of joys to come manages to brighten the normally solemn and penitent purple of this season.

It is a bit strange, then, that on such a day as this, we begin our readings with such a dire excerpt from the TaNaKh. We've been talking about God's covenants with humanity through the years... but those covenants have always been on shaky ground. After all, humans are fallible. Humans don't always hold up their end of a deal. Our relationship with God, especially through his covenants, has been rocky, and we've been hearing about those rocks all Lent - Noah's flood, Abraham's cruel obedience, and now the Sinai covenant, a contract which we hear had been in default for generations before the consequences could be held back no longer.

Where is there any "joy" to be found in that story?

John's Good News today might give us a hint.

After cleansing the Temple, Jesus has his first interview with a top Jerusalem rabbi who's trying to understand the underlying logic of Jesus's sermons. In the middle of that (somewhat frustrating) conversation, Jesus evokes an image from Torah of another rough spot in God's relationship with the children of Abraham. The way the story goes, is that during the Hebrew conquest of Canaan, they had to make a long detour around Edom, and people's frustrations at God over the whole situation boiled over, into the old rhetoric of wishing they were back in Egypt. Apparently as a result of this, they fell victim to a plague of venomous snakes. When people repented, God told Moses to make a bronze statue of one of the snakes, and put it up on a pole; everyone who saw the bronze serpent was cured of their snakebites.

So if we're afraid of the consequences of a broken covenant - the dire consequences in these excerpts from the TaNaKh, or the equally dire worries of John - the common thread here is to show the possibility of changing that dire fate if we can get our relationship with God straightened back out. And those changed fates, that healing and mending, take an interesting pattern: God tends to use the very thing that inflicted the consequence as his instrument to heal it.

The first destruction of the Temple - that first exile at the hands of the King of Babylon - is ended by another king of Babylon, inspired by God to let the Israelites go home and rebuild what was destroyed.

The bronze serpent is almost a metaphor-made-literal on its own - something horrible (a poisonous serpent, and more than that, an animal idol like those of Egypt) turned into something beautiful, that destroys the danger it once represented.

And in his letter to Rome, Paul argued that this same pattern applies to the Messiah, as a sort of anti-Adam, undoing what went wrong in Eden.

Perhaps we should take this one step further. In this second half of Lent, we begin to see - and will see again, next week - that the new paradigm Jesus came to establish is a change in the script from the past breakups and reunions that litter God's relationship with humanity. If covenants can't work long-term, then something else is needed. If it's human nature that keeps reviving the curse - as John argues today - then, just like the bronze serpent, God's way of solving that problem is to destroy the curse using human nature as the instrument.

That's the life of Jesus, who chose, for our sake, to live a human life. That's the death of Jesus, now less than three weeks away, to which he alludes in this conversation. A death which will destroy the logic of this world that would normally doom imperfect creatures like us.

And that is reason to hope. Time may be short - time may be running out - but if we can get our relationship right with God, then God can fix this. God can "turn our morning to dancing, our tears to joy", and often does so more literally than we probably imagine. And it's in that hope for the Resurrection - the one that happened at Easter, and the resurrection of our own personal relationships with God - that can keep us going through this last stretch of Lent toward the Cross.

[bestworstcase]

@cyanprime

Okay, just wondering since a lot of this was really good analysis of background lore of the world, but...where does the 'Salem is a Faunus' idea come from, other than her being over the Vacuan leader in the WoR thumbnail? V6 explicitly shows that she's from before the Gods wiped everyone out, a time where Faunus didn't even exist yet; so how could Salem be a Faunus?

this is something i natter about pretty regularly, so i tend not to elaborate on it in depth when it’s ancillary to the point of a given post (esp when a post is already running as long as this one did lmfao)

but to break it down,

one thing i think is worth keeping in mind is that, while there is a real physical difference between faunus and humans in that one group has a smorgasbord of animal-like physical traits and the other does not, ultimately ‘faunus’ and ‘human’ are socially constructed categories. the idea that faunus is a different species from human is cultural, and definitionally not true in the biological sense. (interracial human-faunus couples bear faunus offspring, not hybrids.)

thinking about it in those terms: if you took an ordinary person from remnant who had no prior knowledge of anything to do with ozma or salem or the last world, and put them in a room with salem, how do you suppose they would intuitively make sense of what she is? well, there are humans and then there are faunus (who are like humans, plus extra non-human physical features), and here’s a lady who looks sort of human but clearly isn’t, because her skin and eyes are weird. she kinda-sorta looks grimm-ish, in the same way a guy with feathers kinda-sorta resembles a bird. and grimm are sort of like animals. right?

“faunus with grimm(?) traits” is the explanation that makes the most sense, absent historical context. especially because salem really does not look that much like a grimm. like, the most humanlike grimm we’ve encountered so far is the apathy:

…whereas salem is just a really pale woman with weird eyes and markings. if you’re someone familiar enough with faunus culture to know that faunus sometimes alter their appearance to look more like ‘their’ animal (think sienna’s tiger-stripe tats), it’s even more intuitive to read her as a faunus.

so there’s that. i think she would have, historically, an easier time making inroads with faunus than with humans for this reason alone, although that’s sort of a moot point in the present given her exile.

but the main course here is that there’s a lot of textual support. like… a lot.

#1: faunus cultural adjacency to the grimm.

grimm are “the greatest foe to mankind” and “exclusively hunt humans and their creations.” WOR: grimm is narrated by salem—compare her inclusive phrasing (“the aura of humans and faunus”) in WOR: dust or the general language (“every living creature on remnant”) she uses in WOR: aura. in ‘grimm’ she’s discussing historical and modern-day beliefs about grimm, which are not necessarily factual, so this specificity—humans only—is worth paying attention to.

that exclusion gets called back to in WOR: faunus, where qrow leads with “most of us spend a lot of time talking about mankind versus grimm, but technically, there is a third party in the mix: the faunus.” this is the accompanying imagery:

so we have humans vs grimm, with the faunus in the middle. that’s the dominant cultural narrative, again not necessarily factual. qrow represents a sympathetic framing of this model (that faunus are trapped between humans and grimm and must defend themselves from both), but:

historically, grimm were thought to be the corrupted spirits of animals or animals possessed by evil spirits.

faunus are humans with animal-like traits.

historically, faunus were subject to EXTREMELY VIOLENT persecution and the story humans tell about why is, per qrow, that “seeing something that looks like you and acts like you walk out of the forest and reveal a pair of fangs” is “upsetting.”

(note: that’s the story humans tell about why humans treated faunus so horrifically throughout most of human history. the stories faunus tell are “humans are hateful and close-minded, and when bad things happen to them they look for someone to blame instead of fixing the problem, and that someone is usually us.” which is a good case study in the importance of parsing the world of remnant spots as character studies exploring character through the lens of cultural beliefs and personal biases, rather than objective factual lore guides that happen to be narrated by character VAs, because the faunus narrative on this point is quite clearly the one that’s intended to be “correct”—the narrative portrays anti-faunus bigotry as fundamentally irrational and rooted in exploitation and scapegoating, meaning the faunus viewpoint is the one that’s accurate to reality. i am convinced the core reason the fandom is still dragging the corpse of white fang arc discourse around is a lot of people assumed they were supposed to agree with ruby’s drunk kind of racist uncle about faunus being gross and weird and a bit upsetting but hey we’re all human i mean we’re all people, right? instead of compare-contrasting what qrow says against how the narrative treats faunus and anti-faunus bigotry and concluding that were meant to understand that qrow has some pretty glaring unexamined biases that make him an unreliable narrator on this subject. in the unreliable narrators show.)

(<- never-ending frustrated writer scream of FRAMING IS EVERYTHING)

anyways.

on the one hand you have a violently persecuted group of nonhuman people distinguished by having animal traits—on the other, monstrous corrupted or demon-possessed animals that eat humans (only humans, the thinking goes). math!

now add in the fact that grimm are now thought to be attracted by “negativity” (& the implication, in WOR: grimm, that it’s violence specifically), and that these cultural attitudes formed during a period of history when humans were hunting, ostracizing, caging, and enslaving faunus; there probably was a real correlation between the presence of faunus and grimm attacks, because faunus were subjected to violent persecution.

and… in ‘the judgment of faunus,’ literally the first things that happens to the newly-created faunus is they try to flee to safety from grimm and immediately get unjustly blamed for “luring” grimm to attack a human settlement. which suggests that humans blaming faunus for grimm attacks was so historically common that it is engrained as one of the defining experiences of faunus cultural identity.

so this is the history that is being tapped into by things like the white fang grimm masks (“people wanted to make monsters of us, so we chose to don the faces of monsters”) and blake’s miserable self-identification with the beowolf being trampled underfoot by human hunters in beacon’s statue as she takes off her bow to reveal her ears to the audience.

(<- reclamation of a grotesque stereotype to make a political statement and self-hatred rooted in internalization of the stereotype.)

the narrative uses grimm to symbolize the harm done to faunus by human violence and also there is an in-universe history of faunus being culturally associated with grimm, and that association being a vector for bigotry.

the question is, how much does salem’s existence—as a nonhuman person who is grimm and fits into the social category of ‘faunus’—factor? for a considerable span of remnant’s history, salem was widely known; ozma travels around for years hearing stories about “the witch” wherever he goes.

(she was also said to live in the wilds among the beasts and monsters… during a time when “creatures known as faunus bore fangs and claws and were locked away in cages.” when the humans who enslaved faunus and told these stories said “the beasts,” did they mean wild animals or did they mean faunus? it is probably not a coincidence that ozma’s total lack of concern for the “creatures” in the cages precedes ozma believing the stories he heard about salem from the human people who built the cages.)

(<- FRAMING IS EVERYTHING i am so tired)

the pieces the narrative has given us about historical persecution of faunus and narratives undergirding anti-faunus bigotry add up to a picture that looks really suspiciously like salem.

salem is a human-grimm -> faunus viewed as being “in between” humans and grimm.

the witch in the woods commanding dark powers among beasts and monsters -> grimm viewed as corrupted animals and faunus as creatures or beasts in a human guise.

salem can control grimm -> being blamed for grimm attacks was a defining experience of faunus identity and is still engrained in the cultural memory even now.

whether or not salem herself identifies this way (i think she does), it seems… pretty open and shut that a lot of anti-faunus narratives trace back to the witch in the woods, by virtue of her (real) grimm-ness being generalized to all faunus, thus forming the foundational cultural justification for persecuting them: if faunus are grimm or are responsible for the grimm in some way then running them out of town or killing them isn’t violence, it’s self-defense, and if grimm attack us when we do it that proves the faunus can summon them. this is how scapegoating works.

(as an aside, i think it’s likelier than not that “grimm are drawn to negativity” is a relatively recent theory as to why grimm do what they do—i say theory because the CFVY novels explicitly flag the possibility that this is an incorrect or at least incomplete understanding—because it’s stated outright in WOR: grimm that the modern effort to study grimm through a scientific lens at all is, well, modern. there’s a certain strain of fandom meta, often critical, that posits grimm as a cultural pressure against bigotry/persecution, which apart from misunderstanding how and why bigotry perpetuates itself in the real world also shades a bit into ignoring the textual framing that what’s known about grimm nowadays is specifically the product of modern scientific study. we used to think disease was caused by imbalances of the bodily humors.)

#2: squinting at the creation myths

this part is why i believe salem does self-identify as a faunus. the fairytales anthology includes two quite different myths regarding the creation of the faunus, ‘the shallow sea’ and ‘the judgment of faunus.’ both depict the faunus as humans who chose to be transformed by divine magic into a new kind of being; note that this belief is apparently contradicted by the historical consensus (per WOR: faunus) that the faunus may have been around longer than humans.

‘shallow sea’ is the older myth and explicitly originated as a faunus oral tradition; the exact origin of ‘judgment’ is left ambiguous, but the fact that it’s newer in combination with the narrative focus on divine judgment and unity as a moral imperative lead me to believe that it is a syncretism of an older faunus tradition into the (human) cult of the two brothers or vice versa.

(for clarity, i use “cult” here in the non-pejorative historical sense of a system of religious devotion or practice oriented around a particular god or set of gods.)

all that to say, ‘shallow sea,’ being an ancient faunus oral tradition that had canonically never been written down before ozpin transcribed it for his anthology of tales, is probably the clearest window we have into faunus culture before salem’s exile and erasure from history—the only question is whether it dates back far enough, and oral traditions can last a very long time.

in essentials, the story of ‘the shallow sea’ is this: the shapeshifting god of animals found humans to be fascinating, but also dangerous. they wanted humans to partake in their world—a harsh but beautiful and magical island—but knew they would have to be cautious about which humans, so they disguised themself and traveled all around the world looking for misfits, outcasts who felt like they didn’t belong among humans. these were the humans the god of animals chose to offer their kinship.

they brought their chosen people to the island on a boat, then invited them to jump into the shallow waters to discover their true selves. some leapt on faith, and some waited to see what happened to the first group and jumped after being reassured that nothing bad had happened. all of those who submerged themselves were changed, regardless of whether they had done it on blind faith or with foreknowledge: they became the first faunus. but there were also a few people who became scared and angry, declared the god of animals a monster, and refused to leave the boat.

the god of animals hardened their heart against this third group and sent them away unchanged, to return to the lives they had lived as humans. and ever since, those people and their descendants have resented the faunus for “reminding them of what they are not and what they never can be.”

now. there are two immediately obvious details in this story that really interest me in regard to salem. the first is that closing line—the humans who refused to change resent faunus for being “what they are not and what they never can be.” that is a really startlingly similar turn of phrase to what salem says when she refuses the divine mandate: “why spend our lives trying to redeem these humans when we could replace them with what they could never be?”

(i have a whole tangent i could go into here on the subject of interpreting “them” to mean the implied antecedent of “the gods,” as in “why redeem these humans before the gods when we could replace the gods,” because that has continuity with salem’s previous desire to… replace the gods. it’s a bit ancillary to the point of this post but i have to bring it up every time.)

fairytales of remnant was published about two years after the lost fable aired and is in conversation with the lost fable generally (see: the grimm fable, the infinite man, the two brothers, the girl in the tower). salem’s line, “what they could never be,” is the emotional turning point of the episode precipitating the tragic ending and also the only actual line of dialogue in that scene; it is the single most narratively important beat in the episode. likewise, “what they never can be” is the final line of ‘the shallow sea’ and getting there is the point of the story—it is an origin myth but also a myth about the origin of persecution.

what i’m getting at is i don’t think the similarity here can be anything but deliberate. slight syntactical variation aside, it’s the same line, in an ancillary text that was very clearly written with the lost fable in mind.

so. we know that ‘shallow sea’ is a very old faunus oral tradition, plausibly old enough to have existed before the ozlem kingdom did. rwby as a story is very interested in narrative and specifically how people use stories to make sense of their lives and communicate ideas, and salem in particular is not very good at articulating her thoughts clearly.

the simplest explanation is that salem quoted this oral tradition as a shorthand for how she felt about ozma’s task of “redeeming” humanity, which ultimately has the intention of everything going back to how it was. in the context of the myth, “what they never can be” is part of a statement about a specific subset of humans who:

felt unhappy and unfulfilled

were given a chance to change

angrily rejected it

went home

still felt unhappy and unfulfilled

hate the ones who did accept change and found happiness and fulfillment through that choice.

and… it makes a lot of sense to apply this context to what salem says. strip it down to the bare bones, and her counter to the divine mandate is “why should we try to go back to the way things were when we could make something new?”—why reject change when we could embrace it?

(if this is the context she had in mind, and by “them” she meant “the brothers,” then there’s also an interesting layer here of salem rhetorically casting the brothers in the role of “ones who were given a chance to change and didn’t and are now resentful and envious because not changing had consequences they didn’t like,” humanity as the ones who did change, and herself as the god of animals—by virtue of being the one who invited humanity to join her in confronting the brothers, thus the one who offered everyone the choice. which is tracks with how she seems to feel about the brothers and remnant generally.)

…the point being. ‘the shallow sea’ is specifically a faunus oral tradition that prior to ozpin’s tenure as headmaster had never been written down, “not by faunus and certainly not by humans.” in his commentary, ozpin very strongly implies that this is story is part of a closed tradition and makes an effort to provide cultural context for his (presumed human) readers. and that is in the present—a time that is in many ways defined by the unprecedented assimilation of faunus into human civilization. for salem to be familiar enough with this story to quote it conversationally during a historical period when humans hunted and enslaved faunus, she would have to be someone with a right to that closed tradition—i.e. a faunus.

the second interesting detail is that ‘the shallow sea’ brings the grimm three times specifically in order to say “they have nothing to do to this story, so put them out of your mind.” three times, the speaker interrupts the story to have essentially a back-and-forth with an audience member in the vein of “stop asking me about grimm, there are no grimm in this story.” that’s… really weird? it’s weird. if you’re reciting a story to an audience, there are two reasons you might repeatedly mention something that isn’t part of the story only to tell the audience not to think about that thing. either:

you want the audience to think about it, or

you know the audience expects it to be part of the story and you are anticipating interruptions from them asking why you’ve left it out

as written, there is no obvious reason for ‘the shallow sea’ to have grimm in it aside from those parenthetical statements. and while the grimm are an inescapable presence everywhere on remnant, there are a lot of other stories in the anthology that don’t mention grimm whatsoever: the man who stared at the sun, the story of the seasons, the girl in the tower, the gift of the moon. so it isn’t that grimm not featuring in a particular story is shocking in and of itself, especially in the context of a myth that is part of a broader oral tradition. “how did god create us?” is not a question you need to talk about the grimm to answer.

unless it is.

like, oh, i don’t know, maybe…

’cause the thing about ‘the shallow sea’ is that choosing to take a leap of blind faith into divine waters because you’re miserable and desperate for something change, thereby becoming your true self and finding a new life for yourself in an unforgiving new world where humans despise and fear you because you look different but at least you’re free—that is exactly how salem became grimm.

now imagine that you are a faunus in ye olden times and you escape from a mob of humans who want to kill you only to get lost in the woods, and you stumble across a cabin and inside the cabin there’s a person who isn’t human and maybe isn’t a faunus either but is undoubtedly something like you, and you ask her where she came from, what she is, and she tells you that story. she was human, and then she leapt into a magical pool left behind by a god and became something new.

now imagine that you are far from the only faunus who has ever crossed her path and asked that question and heard that story, because she is millions of years old. and maybe the unfathomably lonely woman who lives alone in a rotting hovel who answers her door expecting trouble appreciates these other nonhuman people who look at her and see a reflection of themselves instead of seeing a monster. and also she has terrifying magical powers that include crumpling up giant nevermores like they’re made of tissue paper and not dying even if you blow her up.

who’s the god of animals? IT’S HER. not in the sense that salem created the faunus (necessarily) but rather she was the basis for the mythical figure and the real story of how she shed her old human form and became what she is now is the seed of truth that germinated into the faunus creation myth. before ozma reunited with her, to humans she was the witch of the wild, commanding dark powers among the beasts and monsters; to the faunus she was a god.

(see also, her immediate jump from “these humans need guidance” to “we could become [their] gods”—which on the one hand is just sort of an acknowledgement of reality* but on the other, if she’s been worshipped by faunus for centuries because she defends them from humans then of course it would feel natural to her to approach helping humans through a religious framework. I AM BEING VERY BRAVE ABOUT RESISTING THE “RWBY IS A POLYTHEISTIC NARRATIVE” TANGENT.)

[*divinity is a social construct and nearly every canonical definition of “god” that exists in the world of remnant includes not just salem and ozma but also arguably the relic spirits and the four maidens; an entity that is culturally defined and worshipped as a god is ipso facto a god]

obviously, the faunus god being a grimm lady is something of a double-edged sword, because if you’re a faunus living within her reach she’s real and she can protect you, but her protection will reinforce the human belief that all faunus are grimm-people or make grimm or control grimm somehow, humans outnumber your people by terrifying margins, and salem’s reach only goes so far but the fear and hatred of her is everywhere.

there was a time in remnant’s history when this arrangement would have been tenable. both ‘shallow sea’ and ‘judgment of faunus’ are explicitly separatist texts, the faunus seek to live in their own societies apart from humankind. this is supported by qrow’s historical overview (“faunus began to consider man nothing more than a hostile species”). if the faunus wanted no part in human civilization, worshipping a grimm god makes a certain amount of sense—especially if grimm really do only hunt humans, which might be the case given that nobody in menagerie ever expresses concern about grimm.

but if the goal is peaceful coexistence with humans or assimilation into human societies then you. can’t worship grimm.

and then the ozlem kingdom falls and salem is driven into exile, so after that point the god of animals might as well not even be real, which alters the calculus on whether her protection is worth the intense persecution.

so there is an obvious source of cultural pressure, after salem’s exile begins, for faunus to separate themselves from the grimm and adopt more human-ish beliefs and traditions, hence the repeated “no grimm in this story! stop asking!” disclaimers in ‘the shallow sea’ as it’s told thousands of years later, hence the possible brother-cult syncretism with the mythical character of the god of light being transposed onto the god of animals.

(hence also: ozpin singles out velvet for questioning after the massacre in lower cairn, suspects that blake is salem’s spy and makes thinly-veiled threats to her about it, gives lionheart a replica of salem’s tea set and LEAPS to the conclusion that leo is a spy on the thinnest grounds. man sees a faunus and thinks of salem, because he remembers this history.)

#3: minutiae

lastly, there’s a grab bag of minor details that taken together and in context with everything outlined in the first two sections support the reading that salem still, today, identifies with and as faunus:

the formal mode of address her inner circle uses is “your grace” (which is not commonly used for kings/queens in the present irl, so the narrative choice for salem to be called “the queen” but addressed as “your grace” is unusual). the formal mode of address for menagerie’s chieftain is also “your grace.” salem styles herself as a faunus ruler. or allows her followers to style her that way.

she is also explicitly worshipped as a god by her faunus agent, who is well-spoken and intelligent (and therefore plausibly educated or well-read enough to have had some inkling that the faunus god was historically associated with grimm prior to meeting salem, and making the connection after)

no plans to attack menagerie (all or nearly all of the population are faunus). it’s specifically remarked upon that salem’s forces do not attack mantle (significant minority of people living in mantle are faunus).

actively preferred sienna (a genuine activist with faunus’ best interest at heart and a strong moral backbone, not easy to manipulate) over adam (a selfish man driven by spite and vengeance who treated his own kind like disposable cannon fodder, useful pawn). sent hazel, who is motivated by moral outrage at the huntsmen academies and thus has a cause and beliefs likely to resonate with sienna, and who was also utterly disgusted by the assassination, to talk to sienna on her behalf. hung adam out to dry after sienna was dead.

in a similar vein, salem took an interest in the white fang that she didn’t with cinder’s other allies; she had no idea who neopolitan was, but seems to have been in direct contact with adam after beacon fell based on the way she refers to him in 4.1

grimm don’t attack menagerie. grimm are not even a concern in menagerie; even when blake tells sun the island’s interior is uninhabitable, it’s “the wildlife are more dangerous than in vacuo.” not grimm, wildlife. animals. adam’s lackeys go around having shootouts in the streets for months, grimm aren’t even mentioned. the chieftain’s home gets burned down and a crowd of scared and horrified people gather around the wreckage, not a peep from the grimm. menagerie is the most densely populated city in the world. either they are quietly doing something that is LAUGHABLY MORE EFFECTIVE at managing grimm than the human kingdoms are, or… grimm just don’t attack menagerie. we know there are grimm on menagerie—that’s mentioned in the novels—but to all appearances they’re leaving the people there alone.

<- that might be natural grimm behavior, although we’ve seen blake being attacked by grimm plenty of times and all the characters seem to have a general sense that faunus need defending from grimm too, slanted cultural narratives notwithstanding. the other possibility is that grimm don’t attack menagerie because salem did something to ward them away, a la the white fang transporting grimm in airships without coming to any harm but at larger scale and possibly in secret. the only reason for her to do that that really makes any sense is if she felt personally invested in ensuring that this fledgling new faunus state would succeed, and given that menagerie is strategically marginalized (geographically isolated from everyone else, not industrialized, no airport so the only way to get there is by boat, politically irrelevant because humans don’t even acknowledge it exists most of the time) and well outside ozma’s sphere of influence (thus: salem gains no meaningful advantage by cultivating a spy network here), “salem, a faunus, wanted to be sure all faunus had a safe haven to live free from not just human violence but also The War She Is Planning” is kind of just the simplest answer

BUT WHYS HE A FAUNUS

gestures again at ozpin pointing at every faunus he encounters who looks even vaguely like they might possibly have something to hide and going “is this salem’s lackey” because MAN. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. his trust in ironwood vs his suspicion of lionheart when to any reasonable outside observer ironwood is the one with red flags waving everywhere (“council overruled me, i’ve been too busy to check in with no news to share” vs “i have used my two votes to unilaterally close the borders, cut off the world’s biggest supply of dust, and withdraw all my troops from my ally whom i know is the enemy’s probable next target” OZPIN. PLEASE.) this despite his verbal if lukewarm support for faunus rights and likely played an outsize role enshrining faunus equality into law in all four kingdoms after the war; he isn’t an overt bigot and i doubt he thinks of himself as bigoted at all, but there is a pattern here of ozpin Being Racist in a very specific way that only makes sense if he has “salem=faunus” lodged in the back of his mind somewhere. he’s subconsciously assuming that all the faunus in his immediate social circle know her.

salem consistently separates herself from mankind (“these humans” etc)—which the fandom largely interprets as disdainful, that salem doesn’t think modern humans are real people or worth anything (which is in itself a countertextual and pretty fucking wild assumption to make about a character who opens the story waxing poetic about humans being strong, wise, passionate, resourceful, ingenious, and capable of transcending impossible odds through hope and persistence). but. like. salem isn’t human. i mean, in the basic metaphysical sense she is a human being, as are faunus. but socially, culturally, salem is not human and has not been human for literally thousands of years, if not millions. it is entirely likely that salem spent the entirety of this humanity’s history being Not Human. why in the world would she still think of herself as human? she’s a non-human person, and on remnant the word for that kind of person is “faunus.”

tin hats on. let’s talk about the great war.

first, a general point about the relevant world of remnant spots: qrow narrates all of them. i think this is important to keep in mind when assessing the information provided, because he editorializes constantly, and i do not believe that we are meant to take qrow’s obvious biases at face value. rather, this is a narrative choice to introduce us to this history through a very distorted lens; qrow is ozpin’s man, loyal to the bone before to the revelation of ozpin’s lies, and it is also very likely that he had no formal education prior to his enrollment at beacon academy.

#1: the pre-war kingdoms.

vale sits on the northwestern coast of sanus, sandwiched between “steep mountains” and “waters too shallow for any real monsters to pop out of.” throughout the kingdom’s history, every attempt to expand the kingdom’s borders past the mountain range has ended in “colossal failures”—the most recent of which is mountain glenn, in the post-war period.

however, vale was also engaged in a different expansionist effort in the century preceding the great war: the kingdom was building settlements on “the small islands and peninsulas” of the northeastern coast.

to the north of vale lay the kingdom of mantle. qrow does not give a lot of detail regarding the settlement of solitas, just that “at some point, a group of settlers were crazy enough to venture out into the northernmost continent,” but i submit that the founders of mantle came from northern sanus. why?

mantle’s location at the southwestern tip of solitas is geographically closest to the island of vytal, just off the north coast of sanus; had the settlers come from northern anima, they would have more likely landed on the eastern side of the continent.

qrow says this: “the harsh weather conditions proved to be just as useful as the mountain ranges when it came to keeping the creatures of grimm at bay,” and while anima does have mountain ranges, they’re not remarked upon in WOR: mistral. it is vale that depends upon “steep mountains” to bulwark its eastern flank against the grimm, and vale that has made repeated, unsuccessful attempts throughout its history to expand its borders beyond those mountains.

it is unclear how long mantle existed as an independent state prior to the great war, but we know that it’s not very old; qrow also states that the century preceding the great was “filled with so much tension” that it might as well be “lumped together” with the great war. meaning almost certainly that there were smaller-scale conflicts throughout the whole period. sometime during that century, vale began to build settlements in northeastern sanus. mantle was settled “at some point” by “a crazy group of settlers”—and “i guess when you’re that desperate,” qrow opines, “a frozen hunk of rock doesn’t seem like such a bad place to call home.” mantle is geographically closest to northeastern sanus. there are—there have always been—people living outside the kingdoms, who do not want to be part of the kingdoms.

you do the math. or i will: mantle was founded by people displaced from northeastern sanus by valean expansion, probably in the neighborhood of a hundred years prior to the great war.

meanwhile, mistral was conquering anima. notably—because qrow doesn’t like mistral, particularly—there is less ambiguity on this point than on vale’s settlement of northeast sanus: this expansion was an imperial project. a conquest. mistral was (and based on the language used in the present, still is) an empire, meaning its “territories” are all conquered people or polities from whom the imperial core extracts resources, which—both historically and in the text of this story—includes slaves.

so, argus. during the century preceding the great war, mistral’s attention turned to northern anima. according to jaune and ren in 6.7, mistral’s expansion into the region was stymied by the cold until forming an alliance with mantle; qrow describes mantle as an “unlikely friend” to the empire. the goliath in the room that none of these characters acknowledge (and may not know, given their upbringings—bandit, orphaned young, & very sheltered) is that the region was probably not uninhabited at the time.

empire. conquest. controlled territories. you cannot have these things without also having conquered people. what stymied mistral’s expansion into the region was likely not the cold per se but the logistical burden the cold imposed upon military action here; invading a cold region with an army in the wintertime is famously not a good idea. and, if mantle was founded by people displaced by valean imperialism… well, that explains both qrow’s view of it as an “unlikely friend” and why mantle would make such an overture of alliance to mistral in the first place; vale and mistral were the great world powers, and for mantle—a small, vulnerable, dust-rich but otherwise resource-poor state with every reason to fear its closer southern neighbor—cozying up to mistral would have been just rational politics; hug one great power to insure against invasion by the other.

and then there’s vacuo.

WOR: vacuo is easily the least factually trustworthy episode in the series to the point that i think it is probably all but worthless in terms of the historical narrative given; it’s worldbuilding the modern day cultural narratives about the conquest of vacuo, not the actual history.

(the CFVY novels, i believe, support this reading: in the present, many city vacuans believe the narrative qrow offers here that the old kingdom of vacuo was a “paradise,” but “comfort breeds weakness” and its people were complacent, soft, helpless to defend themselves from invaders from more hardened kingdoms… but the first king of vacuo was a man called malik the sunderer, shade’s history teacher states that it’s been centuries since vacuo was conquered and the real history has been so obscured and distorted by myth that it’s impossible to know what it was truly like, and desert vacuans—the nomadic peoples who don’t live in the kingdom—have a starkly different cultural outlook on hardship that is much more in line with the story’s themes and also reality, valuing community, hospitality, and resilience over “strength.”)

but there is one kernel of very interesting information in this episode: “after the great war, a formal government was finally established.” meaning there wasn’t a formal vacuan government before the great war.

vacuo was not a state before the great war.

of vacuo’s entry into the great war, qrow says this:

Up to this point, Vacuo had done its best to stay out of the fight. Mantle and Mistral, having both already established a small presence in Vacuo territory years before promised to leave them alone, provided they didn't interfere. Soon, those talks evolved. It went from "Don't side with them" to "Side with us and you'll be safe". Vacuo did not much care for that, and they came to the conclusion that if Vale were to fall, there'd be no one left to stop Mistral and Mantle from conquering them next. So they did what they considered to be the logical thing. They drove Mantle and Mistral out of Vacuo and told Vale they had their backs.

at this point in history, vacuo did not have a government. at this point in history, vacuo was not a state. the kingdom of vacuo had been conquered centuries ago (by “more developed kingdoms,” qrow says—by whom?), and according to rumpole (<- an actual authoritative source, given she teaches history at shade!), “few documented accounts or records remain from that far back.”

the conquest of vacuo predated the conflicts of the prewar century (and probably predate the existence of mantle). this illustration in WOR: vacuo implicates all three of the other kingdoms—blue for mistral, white for mantle, green for vale:

so there is no question that vale participated in the butchering of vacuo; it did. but this illustration is also impressionistic, ahistorical, not a literal representation of how vacuo was conquered.

by the time of the great war, vacuo was a territory occupied by mantle and mistral, but vale does not seem to have had a significant presence there. in the present, vacuans harbor a lot of resentment for mistral and atlas, less for vale. vale is also, by virtue of being located on the same continent, the kingdom best positioned to invade vacuo if it so chose.

(qrow asserts that vacuo was conquered by “more developed” kingdoms, but it was also dust-rich—the CFVY novels confirm this—and there is a clear correlation between technological innovation and access to an abundant source of dust. it’s possible that a scarcity of, say, iron inhibited ancient vacuo’s technological development and put it at a military disadvantage, but generally i think it’s more likely that qrow is regurgitating historical propaganda there.)

the point being: vale conquered the kingdom of vacuo and then either withdrew or lost a war with mistral for control over the territory at some point prior to the great war.

regardless of the finer details, the historicity of qrow’s account regarding vacuo’s entrance into the war seems… pretty suspect given that vacuo did not have a government. what sort of “talks” do you suppose the mantle-mistrali bloc was having with the non-state actors of vacuo? what kind of “presence” did mistral, the empire that conquered all of anima, actually have in the vacuan territory?

hmm. i wonder.

vacuo “drove mistral and mantle out” and threw in their lot with vale; meaning, the vacuan side of this war was really a war of independence. vacuo wasn’t “doing its best to stay out of the fight” so much as it was under mistrali control until the vacuan people rebelled, then sided with mistral’s enemy.

#2: salem?? ?

ozpin—and qrow by extension—believes that salem ignited the war with a false-flag op in northeastern sanus (“to this day, no one knows who shot first” + “salem’s smart. she works in the shadows, using others to get what she wants, so that when it comes time to place the blame, we can only point at each other”). much of the fandom not only takes this at face value but also assumes without… really any basis at all that salem was responsible for the “incident” in mantle that the mantelian government used to justify a raft of draconian censorship laws.

but… authoritarian regimes can and will use any pretext to justify repressive new laws whose real purpose is to punish dissenters and strengthen control over the populace; banning art and all forms of self-expression is not a move that anyone would think with any seriousness would protect people from the grimm. qrow is either being disingenuous in purpose or (more likely) just doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about because four years at the monster-hunting college is the sum total of his education: “the people of mantle had come to believe that they would be much safer from the grimm if they could only keep the emotions of the masses in check” is the kind of bullshit nonsense you would expect if the guy doesn’t know how government works, either the modern-day democratic councils or whatever system prewar mantle had; what is the distinction between “the people” and “the masses?”

in. the. unreliable. narrators. show.

mantle’s autocratic government found a pretext to crack down on subversive speech and pumped out a massive body of propaganda to the tune of “we’re just doing what we must for the good of the people :)”—that’s what happened. that’s why mistral imposed the same laws on its territories but not in the imperial core, and why mantle didn’t have a problem with that “selective” enforcement.

maybe salem sent some grimm to attack mantle, maybe she didn’t. maybe there was a public protest that got angry enough to attract grimm. maybe there was a protest that got too rowdy, and who’s going to openly question the government officials claiming that officers on the scene opened fire into the crowd because a grimm jumped out of the sewers? grimm evaporate when they die. kind of a hard thing to fact check.

and in a similar vein… vale’s king rolled out a welcome mat for mistrali colonists who came to colonize valean settlements. it is beyond nonsensical to think that there was no violence involved. colonization is an inescapably and inherently violent process. and remember, the rioting began shortly after mistral imposed draconian censorship laws on its occupied territories, which absolutely would have included parts of eastern vale.

it was inevitable and completely predictable that this situation would explode. might salem have sent someone to fire the first shot? sure? but why would she bother, when the fuse was burning down all on its own?

(and that’s assuming she even had an interest in provoking a massive war at all, which seems rather unlikely given her apparent disinclination to engage in wanton destruction; see also her consistent choices to limit civilian casualties by pulling out of vale quickly / planning a surgical strike on haven academy / not attacking mantle / not sending grimm into the subways of atlas.)

but. but–

they did put her in the thumbnail. the point of this is presumably to imply that she did, in fact, do something to influence these events.

specifically.

they put her in the thumbnail superimposed over the leader of the vacuan rebellion, who:

led what must have been a pretty desperate fight against steep odds to drive an industrialized global power out of vacuo,

kept that coalition together after they won and formed an alliance with vale, and

was a faunus.

ozpin is superimposed over the king of vale because he was the king of vale. so: is the choice to position salem in this way similarly non-arbitrary?

looks into the camera like i’m on the office.

salem is a faunus. she identifies herself as such (“your grace” is the mode of address for menagerie’s chieftain) and she has been socially understood as a faunus for thousands of years (in a time when faunus were hunted and caged like animals, the stories about the witch who lived in the woods among “beasts and monsters” were, uh, probably not referring to wild animals; “beasts” was a euphemism for the people the ones telling those stories hunted and caged.)

to this day, ozpin associates the faunus with salem. he suspects blake of being her spy; he similarly singles out velvet after the massacre of lower cairn (and we don’t get to see what he actually says, only that velvet is in tears by the end). at haven, leo more or less says “the council overruled me and my hands are tied,” and ozpin immediately decides to freeze him out and insinuates to the kids that he suspects leo might be a traitor; meanwhile james “two votes” ironwood is closing atlas’ borders, cutting off the global supply of dust, recalling his troops from an allied state, and behaving so erratically that mistral is evidently anticipating a fucking invasion, and ozpin instructs qrow to take the lamp to atlas anyway. lionheart is a faunus; ironwood is human. the tea set ozpin gifted to lionheart is a replica of salem’s tea set. math.

so the fact that salem is superimposed over the faunus leader here does not seem coincidental; the narrative is very consistent in linking salem to the faunus because she is herself a faunus.

in WOR: faunus, qrow describes the appalling treatment of faunus by humans throughout history (first ostracized and hunted down, later enslaved and exploited) before to the great war and states that, after the great war, “the world was desperate to find compromises that would ensure they'd never see the likes of it again; the faunus were awarded equal rights as citizens of remnant, and as an apology, they were given an entire continent of their own to do with as they pleased. there were some that saw this as fair and just, but many saw it for what it really was: a slap in the face from a nation of sore losers. and so menagerie was born.”

and from the great war:

But whatever the reasoning, everyone bowed to the King of Vale by the time it was over. The Great War had ended. The world was ready to live under the rule of Vale. But the King refused. The leaders of the four Kingdoms met on the island of Vytal, and it was there that they worked together to form a treaty and establish the future of Remnant. Territories were redistributed, slavery was abolished, governments were restructured, and the Warrior King, the last king Vale would ever have, founded the Huntsman Academies and placed his most trusted followers in command of each Kingdom's school.

a few things to unpack here.

first: ozma as the king of vale would have had quite a lot of power to drive the vytal negotiations in the direction he wanted them to go; the other three leaders were given at least a notional say, but these were people who had just seen ozma unleash the horrifying powers of the sword of destruction upon their armies and bowed to him in abject terror—and that’s before getting into the possibility that ozma may have used the crown of choice to compel agreement.

second: “territories were redistributed” mostly appears to mean that mistral was forced to relinquish control over conquered territories that did not want to be part of mistral; vacuan sovereignty was formally restored (…on paper) (shade academy is the de facto government and has been since the war ended, which is worth raising an eyebrow at), parts of western anima were liberated, and… menagerie was given to the faunus.

(menagerie had to have been a mistrali colony before the great war ended, otherwise the framing of “a slap in the face from a nation of sore losers” is nonsensical.)

third: note the implication that awarding the faunus equal rights and giving them an island was a desperate compromise to insure against the perceived threat of a second war. it’s of a piece with ozma’s attempt to appease mistral and avoid war by “sharing” eastern vale with mistrali colonists.

the vacuan leader—his ally in the war—was a faunus, but it sounds very much as though ozma saw her kind as adversaries, at least in potentia, whom he made it a point to appease in the hope of avoiding a war. which is irrational on its face but does make sense in conjunction with ozpin’s clear inclination to imagine connections between salem and faunus, however baseless that suspicion might be.

and on that note, qrow also says this: “a lot of settlements were lost during those years, and most were never reclaimed. rations on food and dust were put into effect, development of technology accelerated, humans and faunus who fought alongside one another became closer and every day, mankind grew more and more efficient at destroying itself.”

pay attention to that rhetorical structure.

many settlements were wiped out

food and dust were strictly rationed

technological (military) development boomed

humans and faunus grew closer

mankind grew ever more efficient at destroying itself

one of these is not like the others.

qrow’s framing of these events likely comes from ozpin, whether directly (things ozpin told him) or indirectly (ozpin’s influence as headmaster over beacon’s curriculum). so the inclusion of “humans and faunus who fought side by side grew closer” into what is otherwise a list of ways mankind “destroyed itself” is perhaps telling of ozma’s mindset at the time; which in turn supports the implication that ozma perceived the faunus as a potential threat to appease after the war.

now!

the question is, how was salem involved—and why?

well. we know that salem is inclined to revolution; she rallied people to rebellion against the brothers millions of years ago, and in her war against the academies in the present, she aligns herself with groups like the white fang. she refers to the global order ozma established through the vytal accords derisively as “your so-called ‘free’ world.”

and we know that salem herself is a faunus, and thousands of years ago she was present enough in faunus culture that their creation myth is just a refraction of her story—transformation into something new by a choice to leap into magical waters.

we know that the faunus did not have rights in any of the four kingdoms before the great war, and mistral in particular is noted for its reliance on (presumably, mainly faunus) slave labor. reading between the lines of qrow’s slanted narration, vacuo was a mistrali territory back then, and in the CFVY novels it’s mentioned that vacuan faunus were regularly enslaved in mistrali-operated mines within that territory.

and we can guess, based on their leader being a faunus, that the vacuan rebels who drove mistral and mantle out of vacuo were predominantly faunus, plus humans willing to follow and fight for the faunus.

in the present, salem preferred sienna khan over adam and dropped adam like a hot potato after he assassinated sienna; she also clearly has no intention to attack menagerie, where the grimm notably do not seem to be a serious problem. salem also implicitly identifies herself as a faunus (“your grace”). so there are grounds for thinking that she does consider the faunus to be her people.

vacuo’s part in the great war was a war for independence. salem is both pragmatic and ruthless; she understands that nothing forces people to cooperate quite like the threat of a common enemy; she has the means to turn the tide of any war by the simple expedient of directing her grimm against the side she wants to lose. if she was in communication with the vacuan rebels—or just had spies—she could have coordinated grimm raids to sever supply lines or winnow defending forces in advance of attacks planned by the rebels, tipping the odds in their favor.

she knows ozma. if she was paying attention to the war, she would have known it began with his futile effort to appease mistral by giving away parts of vale; she has to know he sees her in the shadow of every faunus. the vacuan rebels—most of them faunus, led by a faunus—saved his bacon by joining the war he very much seems to have been losing (the frontlines were in vacuo by the end of the war; all of eastern vale was destroyed, and the king of vale and his army made their final stand in vacuo; vale itself was… probably under mistrali occupation at the time).

i am sure salem did not want, particularly, to throw ozma a lifeline. but she does care about freedom in the abstract—“your so-called ‘free’ world”—and she may think of the faunus as her people. once the war began, once it became clear that vale was losing… well, either vale would fall and mistral would rule the world, which would be undeniably worse for the faunus, or she could grit her teeth and accept helping ozma as a fair price for a shot at liberating the faunus.

and the only thing she would have to do to influence the war’s outcome is use her grimm to disrupt mantelian/mistrali supply lines and specifically target their forces on the battlefield. such attacks wouldn’t stand out against the backdrop of regular grimm activity—there are a lot of grimm in the world beyond her control—but a sustained, deliberate campaign of grimm attacks focused on one side would absolutely add up over time to a significant advantage for the other. especially given that the logistical burden of waging war on a foreign continent is already so much higher than defending your home.

if salem could also keep wild grimm off the backs of vacuo’s and vale’s armies to some extent, a la the apparent absence of a grimm problem in menagerie, that advantage would be even sharper.

…although she probably did not anticipate that ozma would use the sword of destruction to crush everyone who opposed him, or the crown of choice to do… whatever it is he did with it. you win some, you lose some.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Genshin Boys would be Horrible as Disney Princes

Headcanon and Reader Perspective, Drabble

Sojourner Special (Followers Event)

Despite being the gentleman and sweethearts that they are, in the wrong hands, of badly aligned context and universal rules these boys can barely function as princes given their own ideals.

Diluc in Cinderella

Shortest one, oops.

Our Diluc would honestly be too busy for balls if we're doing this canonically, night time of all times. He's not your prince tonight, he's off somewhere doing Knight stuff...

If by chance you did catch him in the ball and he did indulge you with your dance until you escapaded at midnight, he's not gonna question it.

And since he didn't even REMEMBER your face, the next day just goes on as usual. No decree for searching the whole land for your foot or anything, it's just a normal day after a party.

"They left without a word, no name or promise, who am I to say no when they clearly don't want to stay?"

He's a gentleman. Too gentlemanly...

Childe in Sleeping Beauty

In this scenario, Childe embraces his knight-ness more than the princely aspect. I mean sure, he danced with you in the forest all so lovingly, sang along to your pretty lil voice. But when the prophecy came, his focus changed—

To the thrill of fighting a big ass green fire breathing dragon! Big woah, Childe had soooo much fun fighting it that he didn't even cheese it.

He lived for every hour of the fight and made it as slow as possible. Taunting, playing with his PREY- mid-fight the dragon would realize just how strong and horrifying Prince Childe is, but the entertainment had started, and the dance won't end until Childe wills it.

When he DID finally slay the damned thing, he'll come up to your quarters and stare at your sleeping body, and then think "Hey, if them being put under this spell gave me the fight of the century? What if ANOTHER dragon comes? That would be amazing!" No waking up for you, or the whole city for that matter.

Albedo in Frog Princess

You... You don't even get the chance to be the frog princess in here... simply because he himself REFUSES to change back to normal. You have never met a man so intelligent, much more a frog.

"I know of which you are not, I won't be fooled by cardboard crowns and secondhand dresses," you choke as he berates every fiber of your being, "It matters not, I still have much to learn about the life of an amphibian."

He disappears after that and you've never heard from him ever again, although at the back of your mind you're pretty sure he's a live and well, that bastard is too smart to end up as roadkill.

And well, you're right, he's out there in the world of frogs doing frog things. Triumphant over frog science and the other talking creatures he may meet.

He'll also find a way to revert himself back to normal, either making his own cure or just enlisting the help of a princess to bargain.

He might come to you upon the logic of marriage counting you as princess, but don't get too hyped, you won't be treated as his wife. He'd be too busy putting his frog research into paper...

Zhongli in Beauty and the Beast

A beast he may be, he's still dignified and elegant, upholding his end of the bargain so long as the other does the same.

Your father may have trespassed and have taken some flowers in his domain but well, really it's such a petty crime that can easily be solvable. And even if there needs to be punishment incured...

When you stumble to the mansion in search of your father, ready to take his place from his jail cell, you find him and the beast (ohh half-dragon Zhongles) by an elegant table drinking cups of tea with light conversation. Huh?

"There is no need to fret, your father and I are just discussing the terms of our contract. He spoke of his woodworks that I wish to commission in exchange, such good potential should not be wasted."

You can also, well, pay off things within contract? But either way, it would be hella awakward, he won't impose on your life and most certainly not about the curse when you had so much to live for.

Kaeya in Rapunzel

Little bitch, thru and thru. If Eugene is such a criminal, he's taking it TENFOLD.

He's not even gonna be the slightest bit trustworthy for you, little Rapunzel, because he raises so many red flags your frying pan wouldn't even be enough to threaten him. He probably has a really thick skull, and your resolve won't be able to smack that pretty face.

Bargaining won't work, he'd sleight of hand his way out and get the crown knowing you'd hid it in the pot immediately, and then just backflip outta there.

If you manage to get him to get you out, he's not gonna be of help either. Kaeya would be amused with toying with you, leaving you in the dark as you get scared shitless/dance around with some tavern criminals. Otherwise, ehh...

One way or another, he's gonna find a way to get you off his case. Either forcing you to travel with companions that's headed to the city anyways or forcefully knocking you out and heaving you back to your tower.

"You have a mother that never ages lock you up in this tower? Nu uh, sweetie, I'm not dealing with the dark forces of witchery when I'm already well off with the crown."

He got the crown.

Venti in Snow White

I'm sorry what? Free apples? Eternal sleep in a beautiful bed? He's gonna be glad to just take your place. (Spoilers, he would)

He'd be most definitely entertained with your dwarves, playing his tunes. You life would be filled with his lyre as he plays around, not even caring about the other implications of yours or his status in this woodland forest.

You ran away from home? Cool, freedom, man. Wish he could the same without jeopardizing the kingdom and his family. He'd probably take the apple too just for you~

During your rest, he'll come up with the most eloquent song to play for your seven dwarves as he watches your fate sadly. How peaceful you looked, away from the world and from the grips of death.

The dwarves would force him to please try and break the spell, and he'll shrug and indulge- except it didn't break the spell, as he expected it to be. And they are clueless on who else you had encountered in your life to even spare a true love's kiss.

"How saddening, the princess lays. Maddening to those around as they'd say, if only my kiss was enough for the curse to sway." You died, ouch.

Xiao in Mulan

Brutal. Brutal. Brutal. His voicelines would come in sooooo handy here, oh my goodness.

If you miraculously bypassed his analytical gaze enough to hide your sexuality, you're going to die in his training program. He's not gonna go easy on you, not when the fate of the nation lies upon your capability to keep up. You're gonna go through far worse than what true Mulan went through, and you may or may not just die in the process.

If by chance you survived, this would warrant enough respect to not kill you (oh, you lived) but you better not show up again.

He's never gonna be delighted to see your traitorous face again, he can save China on his own, thank you very much. And you know he can. Try and approach him, and a sword would be at your neck once again.

"Foolish gremlin, you think you had the right to present yourself after the treason you willfully committed? We won't crumble at the loss of one person, your job here is done." How sad.

Cyno in Little Mermaid

First of all, wack, mermaids exist! Sadly, that's nothing new for him. He knows a lot with that intelligent mind of his, so it would be no surprise that the existence of such mythical creatures doesn't make him bat an eyelash. He's been living near water, he's not that stupid.

With that in mind, your presence in your first meeting is going to be bad. Very bad. Cyno knows about sirens and he's not at all gonna fall for it, and if by chance he had known you before the ship was wrecked, he's probably gonna be veryyy keen in capturing you instead.

So if by chance you're stupid enough to interact with him and DESIRE to be on land with him, you're gonna deal with a lot of problems.

You're not getting that kiss easily. No, it's a huge challenge. He'd be repulsed in your naivety and will most likely be more concerned on your voice than ever. He'd be so kind to try and give a shot in helping with the cure but it's not the cure you needed.

He'll drown himself in every literature in full concentration just to see if there's any text he can find about curses and muteness. His curiousity would get the best of him, and you'll barely see him after you managed to explain your predicament without the need for words. Octopus woman doesn't even need to show up to intervene.

"A kiss? Surely not, such ailment won't be cured by fairytale methods." And then he goes back to his library once again. And you will be seafoam the next sunrise. Or was it sunset?

"So now that we've established these grounds," Exiled turns to the other two in the area, "Maybe, these boys would be better off as princesses."

And so the trio concocts a new type of fairytale, collaborated to masterpieces soon after.

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @struggljng @ellitx @kookieyachi @dandelion-dreams

[aenaxes-moved]

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

[spookyjuicefiction]

A King's Bounty, Pt. 6

Universe: The Hobbit/LOTR (films)

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x female!Reader

Description: Y/N is a bounty hunter sent to kill the exiled King Under the Mountain, but makes a deal that will benefit them both. What she doesn’t know is that this deal might change both of their fates.

Masterlist

A/N: I'm just gonna keep going with this until I get bored I guess. Fluffy af at the end

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, angst

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

Y/N was truly and really afraid for the first time since she could remember. Her adult life was a constant thrill, every day a new battle to be fought. Admittedly, she was cavalier about her probability to die with each new mark she took. It kept her confident. It kept her alive.

But this time, she felt the cold, heavy stone of dread in her stomach as she ran for her life, barely able to see where she was going. Why was it different this time? A warg flanked her and she swung out at it with her dagger, just catching its massive shoulder. She shrieked as its teeth gnashed out at her and the orc atop it swung a sword. Why was she suddenly so afraid to die?

It seemed, after all this time, she had truly found a reason to live.

Somehow, she took out the warg and its rider, lumbering forward towards the chaotic sound of the company's voices fanned out in front of her. Her eyes stung with cold as she ran as fast as she could toward the voices, but stopped cold as she realized they were reaching the edge of a massive cliff. Panic rose in her throat as she whirled on her enemies and killed them swiftly. We're trapped.

"The trees!" Someone shouted, and she swung her head around, seeing the dwarves clamoring up the nearby trunks.

"Y/N!" She followed Thorin's voice and saw him nearby, reaching for her. She grasped his hands and ran up the tree trunk as he pulled her onto his branch, snatching her foot just out of reach of a warg's jaws. The helped each other up the tree, pushing and pulling one another out of the orcs' reach. They paused as they neared the top, gasping for breath. She and Thorin locked eyes. Now what?

Below, the orcs instructed the wargs to to push on the tree trunks with their massive claws. Y/N cried out and clutched the branch as she felt the roots of their tree dislodge from the ground. Around them, orcs were throwing torches into the brush and lighting it on fire.

"We must jump to the next one!" Thorin called to her, and she nodded in response as she readied herself. The tree began to fall. Thorin and Y/N launched themselves onto the next one, scraping their hands as they grasped the rough branches for dear life. All around them the orcs pressed the dwarves closer to the cliff's edge, pushing and burning down tree after tree. They kept jumping.

At last, all of the dwarves, Bilbo, Gandalf and Y/N were clinging to a final tree perched on the edge. This was it. The end of the line. Y/N turned back to the flaming landscape and saw him: the Pale Orc on his white warg, emerging from the spitting fire with an evil snarl on his scarred face.

"Thorin Oakenshield!" he boomed, holding out his severed arm. Through it grew some kind of gnarled hook, a gruesome amputation. "At last. Come and face me as your grandfather before you, and meet his same end."

The tree was tipping earnestly over the cliff edge now, nearly perpendicular. In front of her, Y/N watched Thorin pull himself onto the trunk, stand, and make his way toward the ground. She wanted to call out after him, but her throat was dry as bone and her words were dust.

Never had he looked so beautiful as he did then, brandishing Orcist in his hand, his oak shield on his arm, and a look of pure determination on his ash-stained face. It felt almost slow-motion as he stepped toward the orc. The dwarves around her also watched in mute fear and admiration as their king squared off for what looked to be his final battle.

But Thorin was no match for the world's largest orc and most fearsome creature.

The king swung his sword as hard as he could, but it was not enough. Azog overpowered him easily as his kin looked on in horror. The foul warg beast picked him up in its mouth and threw him across the clearing where he rolled, clearly heavily injured.

"Thorin!" Y/N choked out. She wanted to run to him, to take on the whole orc army herself, but her grip on the tree branch was faltering and she feared she would fall if she tried to clamor onto the trunk. The others around her seemed to be in the same position, looking on helplessly as Azog ordered another orc to cut off their king's head. Y/N felt a strangled sob in her throat as the orc brought up the axe.

That was when Bilbo appeared, knocking the orc aside and stabbing him to death. He rolled to his feet, turning to face Azog and the rest. Brave little hobbit, Y/N thought. Tears streamed down her cheeks knowing that she would now have to watch him die as well.

But destiny had other plans.

A strange cry erupted from the sky above and the company looked up in alarm, wondering what fresh horror could be descending upon them. Dozens of massive eagles swooped down onto the clearing and below the falling tree. Behind her, Y/N could hear Gandalf instructing the dwarves to drop from the tree onto the birds' backs and they began to do so, having little other choice. Y/N refused to let go of the tree until she saw one eagle swoop down and pick up Thorin and Bilbo in its claws. With one last horrified look at Azog, she dropped from the tree.

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She watched Thorin throughout the entire flight, not saying a word to Bofur, who was with her on the eagle. She suspected he was doing the same. She could not see the king's eyes flutter and was not even sure if he was still breathing. Tears choked her at the thought of losing him now, when it seemed so incredibly clear that she loved him. She wished they had not argued about Bilbo. She wished she had kissed him in the hot springs. She wished for a lifetime with him. He was her home now. He had to live.

As the sun began to rise, the eagles descended on an open mesa dotted with a few trees and an abundance of lush foliage. The company disembarked their strange hosts and scurried over to where Thorin had been placed on the ground, seemingly lifeless. Balin held out his arm, preventing Kili and the rest from nearing the king.

"Give him some room, lads." His voice seemed solemn as he nodded to Gandalf, who approached Thorin's body. Y/N looked on with baited breath as the wizard murmured incantations and held his hands over the king's chest. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. Next to her, Ori took her hand and squeezed.

At last, at long, very last, Thorin awoke suddenly with a massive breath. The group around Y/N gasped in relief, clutching each others' shoulders and whispering grateful prayers in Khuzdul. Thorin lay panting for a few moments before sitting up, wincing in pain. Unable to help herself, Y/N rushed forward, fluttering hands around him.

"Thorin, please, you're injured, you must res-"

"Where is Bilbo?" his voice was gruff, his tone slightly alarmed. Bilbo stepped forward. Thorin shooed Y/N's hands away and pulled himself to his feet, again grimacing in pain. He nearly fell putting too much weight on one leg, and Y/N caught him holding him upright. He leaned on her reluctantly as he spoke to the hobbit. Sweetly, warmly, he apologized to Bilbo for doubting him and his previous treatment and thanked him for saving his life. Y/N was very proud of him in that moment. It seemed this very stubborn dwarf could admit when he is wrong after all.

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When his speech was done, Thorin grimaced again as the pain of his injuries took hold.

"Over here, lass," Dwalin indicated a large, smooth slab of rock and laid his cloak on it as Y/N shuffled a collapsing Thorin over to it, gingerly laying him down. He looked up at her as she fussed around him.

"Where are you hurt?" she asked worriedly, her hands busily untying his tunic and tugging it up over his abdomen in search of injury.

"I'm fine," he told her quietly, watching her eyes dart left and right and then hands to her pack, pulling out poultices and herbal remedies. She huffed out a hysterical laugh.

"'Fine?' You were dead just five minutes ago. I think not." One of the company members brought her over a bowl of warm water with a cloth in it. Her hands were shaky as she reached in and wrung it out, bringing it up to a gnarly gash on his ribcage.

He sucked in his teeth as she wiped the sensitive area. Her face, he noticed, was covered in ash, which made the streaks of shed tears all the more obvious.

"Where else are you hurt?" she demanded, dunking the cloth again. He indicated an area on his arm covered by his tunic, and she helped him lean forward to remove the shirt. He sighed as she ran the warm towel over him, cleaning off the blood, sweat, and dirt that stained his skin.

"That was all very foolish of you, you know that?" she asked him quietly. "Gave me quite the scare."

"I apologize, amrâlimê. It seemed the moment to face my destiny."

"Yes, well," she dropped the cloth in the bucket and reached for one of the poultices, pulling the stopper out, "it was very heroic and all. But I would rather you not die so soon. Perhaps for my sake you might practice a bit more caution in the future."

"I seem to recall you throwing caution to the wind when I asked you to follow Gandalf in the Goblin City and instead staying to fight by my side against my orders."

"This might sting," she warned. He did not know if she meant the poultice or her next words. "That," he winced as she coated his wounds, "was a battle I knew we would have no trouble winning. Plus, we make a most excellent team."

"You did not ask me what amrâlimê means," he remarked, his eyes transfixed by her beauty as she focused on her task. He was too enamored with her to argue.

"I am trying to prevent you from getting an infection and waking with a nasty fever tomorrow," she reminded him with a smirk. "But tell me what it means, if you so wish."

He caressed her cheek again, pinning a lock of hair behind her ear.

"It means 'my love'."

She met his eyes and smiled warmly, leaning into his touch. "It is a beautiful word."

"Fitting for you, the most beautiful," he whispered. "Thank you for tending to me."

"It is my honor and my pleasure," she wrapped her hand around his against her cheek, "amrâlimê."

Thorin felt his heart hammering in his chest. It seemed so unbelievable that this could be happening to him, at his age, moments after returning from the brink of death. It meant so much more now. Without her, Erabor could not be possible. Without her, he would be incomplete.

He pulled her face close to him and she leaned forward, their breaths hovering together for a brief moment before he captured her lips in his in a sweet and loving kiss. They pulled apart after a moment, their eyes sparkling with adoration as they gazed at each other.

"Amrâlimê," he whispered again, pulling her into another kiss. The word was as foreign on his own mouth as it was to hers. He had never had occasion to use it. Now he wasn't sure that he could ever stop.

[milfglupshitto]

the snare

The company most assuredly had enough rations to last weeks, if not months, while holding position. But anyone who has ever starved before will tell you that no amount of food is ever really enough, and anyone who has ever been left to hold a position will tell you that it is so very easy to end up waiting a long, long time for anyone to come back. Thusly armed with sharp knives and strong rope and these two hungers lodged deep within their bones, they set off into the woods away from the fires and the rest.

The forest was conversational, and so was the human. The further away they walked, the lesser the tension in his shoulders.

“Ever hunted burrobun before?”

The memory is not-pleasant and knife-sharp. Worlds and lifetimes away, in a wood much the same.

“A similar creature, once. They are rabbit-like, colloquially known as twitch-tails.”

“Only once?”
 “Only once.”

They continue into the woods.

After one thousand and thirty-seven paces, with the setting sun melting golden on the leaf-dappled forest floor, they find an ideal spot. A choke point between trees on the edge of a clearing- a logical ambush site, and a well-traveled one, based on the bare earth below. He gathers branches to further narrow the corridor while the human ties the snare.

Four more traps in similar locations, and then it is time for a silence that will prevent the enemy from learning of their position. But the insects buzz and whir, the leaves shudder in the wind, and the human remains conversational.

“Tell me about it. The ‘once’, from before.”

His hand rests on the hilt of the hunting-knife, catching dying light-from-sun. The human is clever enough to know this direction unwanted, but not clever enough to fear the knife or the hand holding it.

Clever and stupid rabbits can be caught both by a good snare. The thought whispers through his mind like a gentle breeze, and it is both clever and stupid. He begins.

“The fifth night of my exile. There were sufficient rations, but I had deemed it wise to set traps before the first snow-fall. The ground would keep the meat, and the pelts might be of use. I walked from my shelter to a clearing with rope and knife and set the first snare.”

One thousand and thirty-eight paces. Fortune, then, had made this clearing a little closer than the one past.

“Not long after I finished with the rest, I heard noise from that end of the clearing. There was a rabbit, a twitch-tail, caught. But it was… done wrongly. The neck unbroken.”

He sees it there in front of him. The glint of a sharp knife reflected in the wide, dark eyes of the trapped creature. Accompanying the spectre, the calm voice of a man in a clean white coat. You have to hold them correctly, or they’ll break their legs trying to get out of your grasp. We don’t want that now, do we?

“So what did you do?”

He looks away from the eyes of the rabbit and banishes the thought of the clean white coat.

“Nothing. I had killed it once-wrongly, and feared to with knife kill twice-wrongly. It twitched for a long time and then did not. I cut it free, carved away the edible from the non-edible and held it over flame, and when it all was done I could not bear to eat.”

He pauses, glances back. Still the rabbit stares, dark eyes unblinking.

“Only once, then.”

“Yes. I learned better snares for smaller things, and other traps for larger, and went to the rivers often, but never again a rabbit.”

“Larger things like humans.”

“Yes.”

The human sighs, glances away. “Hunting isn’t the same as killing. Lots of folks do both and never catch onto the difference.”

For a long time there is silence. It is broken by the sound of snapping twigs and snapping bone, and in an instant both are standing before the first snare.

The creature, the burrobun, is limp in the collar of rope. The human kneels to extract it. He watches the chest rise and fall, the dark eyes catching starlight as they scan the clearing. He hears the not-beating heart of the one and the exhale-prayer of the other.

The apparition-rabbit of before vanishes, as the ever un-still hands of the human, now steady, close gently around the neck of the already dead thing and twist.

All precautions taken and mercy granted thus twice, the human stands upright. He envies the dead beast, the collection of bones and sinew and fur held correctly. As they return to their place at the clearing’s edge, his heart beats rabbit-fast in his ears, and cradled inside the cages of both their ribs grows a third kind of hunger.